Editor’s note: This story originally appeared at NATO5 Support.

Comrade Migs, NATO 5 prisoner

Greetings of solidarity, comrades and friends.

I sincerely hope this communiqué finds all of you in the very best of health and highest of revolutionary spirits.

I am coming to all of you with all the love and admiration in my heart to thank you for the love, compassion, and solidarity you’ve given me since I was captured, along with 4 other comrades and brothers in struggle, in May 2012.

As most of you know by now, I eventually took a non-cooperating plea after deciding trial was not the best option for me. Though some of you may be disappointed I didn’t “prove my innocence” at trial like so many expected me to do, others were relieved to finally have some closure and an end in sight. I feel I should say why I chose what I did, for this is the first time I’ve been able to speak about this case without formal state persecution.

There is no justice or truth in the United Snakes of Amerikkka’s Justice System. It’s a lie. Propaganda. Laws and courts are about politics, power, and privilege, though of course the Authorities pretend otherwise. I am in political opposition to the state and clearly would never receive a fair trial even if such a thing existed in the system. I am an Anarchist and directly oppose The United States Government, its allies, institutions, armies, and courts. I perceive their very existence to be a direct and immediate threat to freedom and life.

We were targeted and arrested because of our beliefs and love of life and humanity. Though I had the best lawyers who did so much and in so many ways were just really huge emotional supports through this as well (Steve and Matt, I love you), I did not want to go to trial. They argued and fought for me to have the opportunity to be released before my trial would have even started.

I had total faith in both Steve and Matt and the NLG as a whole. However, for me trial would accomplish nothing. If I were to be found not guilty, then what? I still endured all of this time in jail, losing a year of my life already and many, many other things. All of those losses were well worth it to me to stand for Anarchism in the face of Global Capitalism’s military arm. Even if I were “proven innocent,” the system would never clean house or call for the lynching of the pigs, state prosecutors, Feds, warmongers, politicians – the tyrants who orchestrate political and social persecutions, who build a neoslave trade of prisons and prison labor, who send our youth off to die and kill the poor overseas for money, etc. There would be no accountability as usual.

Their decision in court means nothing to me because I will not be deterred and because I do not acknowledge them as my masters or a legitimate Authority, period. I feel, plain and simple, that I have a job to do as an Anarchist and Activist and a revolutionary. And that is to rebel, resist, and defy (as my comrade Hybachi says) against tyrants. Though many political prisoners continue from behind bars to do beautiful work and projects, to organize within these institutions – because it is not over, prison isn’t the end by any means – the fact remains that we are more efficient and have access to more resources outside these walls.

I felt I had an obligation to all of you and myself to do what I needed to do, without compromising my values, to get back to fighting and pushing the best I can. That meant taking this 3-year plea so I can get out soon and get back to our collective struggle. I felt it was the best option I had and was the best for my comrades, friends, family, and myself, as well as our struggle.

Now I have to speak about what is most important to me by far. More than anything else, I want all of you to know that your support, and compassion and solidarity, throughout all of this was and is so incredible. I fail to articulate the extent of how it has truly touched me. You showed us so much solidarity I could never forget. The countless letters of support (the guards hated that) and encouragement and inspiration moved me in ways I struggle to articulate. Having all of my legal expenses paid for and the NLG standing with us. Having money raised for us to be able to buy food, hygiene supplies, stamps, etc from commissary regularly. I received regular visits from so many people.

All of these acts of solidarity continue to prove how beautiful our humanity and “the people” really are and display why we need not a State and a force to regulate and stunt our growth, to keep us from experiencing our full humanity. I was not allowed to be forgotten. I was loved and supported the entire journey, and even now in prison, I’m walking with you. Never alone.

So many of you I did not know before this, and I have made new connections with many groups and individuals. Many of these new, beautiful relationships, forged and birthed from state violence and repression, I will have for the rest of my life. I am so fortunate to be part of such a strong and amazing community and network of communities. Local and global, we’ve stood together.

The State uses prisons and jails to divide and alienate us, to break unity and solidarity, to divide and conquer – attack us individually, break our “individual will,” and scare us collectively. As long as you do not let go of our hands and we do not let go of your hands extended in solidarity to us through the rows of razor wire, this entire tool and tactic of imprisonment as well as their intended outcomes will fail!

Solidarity is the strongest weapon we have, and it works.

The State uses prisons to destroy our movements and crush resistance. They are tools to maintain social control and psychologically destroy the mind and will of the prisoner. The support given me has enabled me to convert all of the abuse and violence of my incarceration into more pushups in my revolutionary boot camp and not paralyzing bullets, like intended.

I, like many “political prisoners,” was targeted, beat, threatened, thrown in segregation, starved, refused medical treatment, and on and on for most of my stay to varying degrees. Now, some of the most violent, volatile, and sick individuals I’ve ever encountered (including anti-fascist struggles and maximum security inmate populations) are employed as guards at Cook County Jail. Because of your campaigns and actions, these violent fascists were ordered to no longer put their hands on me, and then refrained from doing so. They eventually turned to less aggressive (and nearly laughable in comparison) forms of harassment. Your pressure got me released early from “the hole” more than once, and in many ways my treatment and handling improved altogether.

I want all of you to know this because we learn from experience. We learn to resist more effectively. What I want to convey is: because I was given the aid I needed, I have been able to use this terrible State repression and miserable incarceration to become a much more confident, strong, and determined Anarchist and Activist. I could not have done that without you. I give you my full love and gratitude.

I would also like to extend a special thanks to the NATO 5 Defense Committee, the Anarchist Black Cross, the NLG (National Lawyers Guild), the Occupy movement, and all of the people who’ve penpalled me through it all. Thanks to those who worked so hard to raise awareness of our cases, raise money for our defenses, representation, and commissary, and share information on the tactics the State employed to entrap and railroad us, in order to prevent and counter future attacks on others by the same means.

I will never forget you as you never forgot me.

I hope to be back out, side by side with you soon enough, continuing to fight for total Liberation.

No prisoner left behind! Dot your I’s, cross your T’s, and Always circle your A’s!

Til my coffin drops and til the end of days, long live Anarchism!

In solidarity and struggle,

Comrade Migs
NATO 5

Government name: Mark Neiweem
Slave #: M36200
Pontiac Correctional Center
PO Box 99
Pontiac, IL 61764

New York-I was in NYC from September 14-18 to support the one year anniversary of Occupy Wall Street. I met so many great people, learned so much and even marched into the Financial District to protest the horrible income inequality in our country. But this story is about what took place after the action. This story is about my participation in Jail Support. Occupy Wall Street took amazing care of all the people involved in the three-day gathering, but if by chance you were arrested while serving your country with OWS, you were provided with loving, focused attention. They call their working group Mutant Legal and they take their work very seriously.

As soon as you were arrested lawyers from the Lawyers Guild of New York got your name and immediately provided legal service. I can’t say enough about The Lawyers Guild. They were present everywhere during the three days of gatherings, with their bright green hats, and they provided legal counsel for each person who was arrested.

My job with Occupy was to make sure that people coming out of jail were well taken care of. This involved making sure that they had a good snack or meal if they needed it. Or even a cigarette if they needed one. It involved staying close by for a hug or a suggestion about what to do next. Here is my jail support story.

During one of the Jail Support trainings the day before the actions in the Financial District one of the trainers mentioned that the police often take away a person’s shoelaces and then don’t return them. On Monday afternoon I went down to the courthouse, where some of the people that were arrested on Monday morning were being let out of jail. I sat down on the sidewalk in front of a man and woman who had just been released. They seemed rather shaken and talked about their experience getting arrested. Mostly they were happy to be out of jail and they were happy to have cigarettes and food.

As we talked, I looked down and noticed that they didn’t have any shoe laces so I asked, “Would like me to go and get you some shoe laces?”

“Yes!” was their amazed and appreciative response.

So I walked up to a store on Broadway and found them some shoelaces. After we laced them up together they got up and danced joyously in front of the court house.

Later in the afternoon I moved to another location, One Police Plaza, where people were getting out of jail. A group of Occupy Wall Street Jail Support people had set up shop in a small park close to this spot. I walked there with a small brass band who were also on the way. It seems that one of their friends had been arrested. They welcomed their friend with a rousing brass number.

The mood became more serious and intense when a priest and a nun who had just gotten out of jail appeared among us. I was concerned about the sister because she was shaking all over. She said that she had not been able to eat any of the jail food and she was starving. Fortunately, with a little food and some hugs her shaking stopped and she felt much better. The priest was extremely concerned because he had left his drivers’ license in jail. Later, a police officer came out and returned the drivers’ license. I even heard a report from a friend who said that when the sister was talking to the whole group in jail he saw tears in the eyes of a female police officer.

On Tuesday morning I was back in front of the courthouse. It was a rainy, windy day and one of the Jail Support people had asked me to bring some ponchos. This time I went right into the courthouse with one of the Lawyers Guild lawyers. As people came out of the courtroom I took some basic information from them. These folks were just getting out and they were kind of disoriented. I really wanted them to get outside and get some fresh air, and some food and human contact.

After lunch I went back outside the courthouse. Lots of folks who had gotten out of jail plus other Occupy people were there. Suddenly a woman came up to a young guy who was standing beside me. She was sobbing and saying something like, “They have destroyed my son’s life, they have destroyed my family’s life.” A young man, who was also doing Jail Support, whom I will call Billy hugged her and consoled her. She told us that her son, a 27- year- old Algerian, had been entrapped by the NYPD. He had emotional problems and they used this to their advantage to get him into trouble. She gave us some leaflets with information on how to help her son and left.

Billy started handing out the leaflets to people passing by. A man and woman walked by him and the woman snarled at Billy,“Get a job!” Billy got upset and started talking to the man and woman, explaining that he had tried to enrol in college but he couldn’t afford the tuition. Suddenly the man opened up his coat revealing an NYPD badge. At that point I walked toward the woman and said, “I am a retired school teacher. I have taught for over twenty-five years!” When she saw me walking toward her she shouted at me, “Move back!” It frightened me, and I moved quickly away from her. Billy kept on talking to them.

In the middle of all this I recalled the Jail Support training we had received earlier. One thing the trainers stressed, “It is a really bad thing if jail support people get arrested. Do everything you can to avoid arrest when you are doing jail support!”

So I said to Billy, “Remember, we don’t want to get arrested. Why don’t you move away?” My advice was not well taken. Billy said to me, “I have a right to talk to them!” At that point I just sat down on the steps and hoped for the best. Before too long the police walked away and a bad situation was averted.

I feel so fortunate to have been able to assist, even in a small way, those people who were arrested near Wall Street on September 17. Many of the people arrested chose to participate in non-violent civil disobedience. I remember the saying from the civil rights movement, “Keep your eyes on the prize!” I think that the people with the courage to accept arrest placed their entire beings in danger for all of us. They knew why they had taken the trip to the financial district. A remarkable cross-section of people came to New York on this first anniversary of Occupy Wall Street. I think that what the people had in common was their powerful level of commitment and their deep understanding of the injustices in our country.

They took the risk of being arrested, and in spite of the extreme difficulties they faced all around them, they experienced so much love and support from their Occupy friends. I can’t help feeling that for those who were arrested their work will continue with an even greater sense of urgency and commitment.

-David Smith-

New York, NY – Yesterday I woke up before dawn and headed down to the financial district to celebrate one year of Occupy Wall Street. I met some friends at the assembly point for the Debt Zone and set off with the group to confront the police cordon around the Stock Exchange. We spilled into the street and briefly formed a wall in front of the barricades but police immediately moved in, made arrests and pushed us onto the sidewalks or down the street. Police blocked streets and formed moving lines around us and we retreated back to the assembly point to regroup and splinter into smaller groups.

From there I joined some friends and walked toward Wall St. once more. There was a group of protesters on either side off Broadway near Wall Street, mixing with business men and women heading to work. There were police horses behind the barricades, lots of police in the street and police cars and prisoner transport buses parked. When I stepped off the curb into the crosswalk during a chant of “Whose Streets? Our Streets!” I must have caught the attention of one of the white shirts. When it became clear that even with the red light I would not be able to cross I returned to the sidewalk but I saw a white shirt point at me to a new line of police that had just arrived. I tapped my friends on the shoulder and said, “I have to go, I think the police are targeting me.” With that I felt someone grab my arm and pull me toward the street but I was able to jerk free and duck under some scaffolding. I ran a few seconds before a large man stepped in front of me, blocked my path and gave me what amounted to big bear hug. I assume this man was an undercover police officer. Within seconds uniformed police that had pushed through the crowd, forced me against the metal scaffolding and tightened cuffs around my wrists.

They walked me onto the police bus where I had a front row seat to watch some clergy sit down in front of Wall Street in an act of civil disobedience. When the police crammed thirty of us into a holding cell, our cuffs still on and increasingly painful as blood collected in our hands, swelling them against the hard plastic rings, an 81-year old priest I had watched lay down at the foot of financial power led us in song. “I’d like to share some freedom songs I first sang with Martin Luther King in the jailhouse of Selma, Alabama,” he said. We sang songs, the dozen women in the holding cell across from us joining in. Our voices pushed out beyond the bars, and we alternated singing with mic-checks and soapboxing why we choose to join the movement. The 81 year-old priest then mic-checked a message to the police, dozens of whom clogged the space between our cells. I cannot quote the words but clearly remember the meaning and emotion: We are all brothers and sisters in this struggle and I urge you to see us as allies in a common cause rather than enemies. We each repeated his eloquent words and I could see a burly police officer directly in front me nodding his head. At the close, he looked at the priest and placed his hand on his heart. It sent chills through my body.

Finally, my name was called, my cuffs cut, my person searched then led to an even larger holding cell. When I walked in I saw about one hundred people pressed together between bars and reinforced glass, sitting on wooden benches, lying on the concrete floor and standing in the spaces in-between. All of them were clapping. As each new prisoner was added to our cell, we clapped. We clapped when each female was lead past us to the women’s cells. There was a non-stop flow of cheer. The holding cell had been self-organized into a very crowded section against the cell door that was loud and boisterous, while at the far end near the two metal toilets was quieter and some people lay on the benches or floor, using their shoes as a pillow. Within the louder section there was also a small General Assembly that formed where people shared their arrest experiences and discussed tactics. Every few minutes as new prisoners were added we heard new tales from the outside: We shut down a Chase Bank; I was plucked off the sidewalk for no reason; we blocked the doors at Goldman Sachs; I was trying to take pictures of an arrest when they grabbed me; etc. etc. At various points some prisoners grabbed garbage cans or water jugs and started drumming. Everyone else quickly picked up the rhythm clapping their hands or banging on benches, walls and metals bars and a hundred of us made music together before the police stormed in and took away the makeshift drums. The time between the noises we made together were filled with hundreds of subversive conversations.

It was wonderful. Each time I heard a new story of the actions taking place on the street after I was picked up I felt like I was missing something; but I also knew the community we formed in our cells was one of the most incredible things that would happen all day; one of the most liberating things I would ever feel. I knew that just by going out with Occupy Wall Street I was risking arrest; and in fact that was a major motivation in coming out, to show that I will not be intimidated, to count my body among the opposition. The power of the system is never so naked as when it forces it’s dissenters into a metal cage. Only then does it become so transparent and so obvious that they will never control my actions, that they will never control my thoughts and suppress my hope for a different world, a better world.

When I was released, nine hours after I was detained, a group of friends were waiting for me with food and love, thus completing the experience and ending it with warmth and inspiration rather than fear. Yesterday, I was free.

- John Dennehy -

Editors note: Mark Adams is serving a forty-five day jail sentence for his participation in an occupy wall street event. This story orginally appeared on Support Mark Adams.

Rikers Island Correctional Facility, NY - At 6:30 in the morning on Saturday, we met at the Queens Q100 bus stop moments before the heat struck. The bus comes frequently about every 20 minutes, but usually earlier than the scheduled time. We piled on with a group of predominantly female-presenting people carrying coffee, newspapers, and magazines with some children tagging along. It was an easy 20-minute drive out through Queens. We took the time to check in with one another, preparing mentally and emotionally for what we expected to be terribly oppressive conditions, and also to learn a song with which we serenaded Mark.

The theme park-style signs surprised us with retro lettering inviting us to “Enjoy your visit to Rikers!” which is situated just a few meters from LaGuardia Airport. The idea of people flying freely around the world right over the heads of 14,000 trapped individuals seemed like torture. Another sign read: “Bullying or intimidation of any kind by anyone of any age will not be tolerated. Period.”

The atmosphere going in was unexpectedly positive, complete with some smiling corrections officers; the first locker room was an open atrium, sunshine pouring in. We needed quarters to deposit our things in the locker and surprisingly we got them back at the end. We went through the first security check like standard airport scans, removing shoes, nothing metal permitted. Unfortunately, the harmonica we brought was not allowed in as a gift.

There are several boarding gates for the various housing centers of the prison complex, each with roughly 35 seats and 1 TV. The one to go to Mark is EMTC, and Fox News was on. We must have our photos taken and fingerprints scanned for our passport for the day before boarding a shuttle bus, so we tracked down a check-in desk with attending corrections officers, since the one in our gate was unattended. They asked each of us our relationship to Mark. We told them definitively, “Friend.” We went back to our gate, and waited for not even 10 minutes, boarded the bus to the Eric M. Taylor Center, the second stop.

We noted the spools of barbed wire atop the relatively flimsy chain-link fence lining all the grey buildings. All the female-presenting visitors, predominantly of color, were very chatty and upbeat, laughing with the officers, making bunny ears on the bus driver. Children played with the security trays on their heads. A few sitting nearby in the same waiting room asked us if it was our first time and made jokes about the different officers who check the inmate packages. They were going to visit partners, sons, husbands, and were very familiar with the system. It all felt oddly normalized. They said, “Saturday morning is the best time to visit, you just breeze right through.”

We went through another security check and then individual checks in a private room, asked to pull our socks down, unzip and lower our pants, run our fingers along our underwear and pull our pockets inside-out. Female-assigned visitors should know that it is a requirement to wear a bra, though underwire will set off the metal detectors. One visitor told us a story of one time forgetting to wear theirs when visiting their son and consequently forced to meet in a room separated by glass.

We waited in another room, this time similar to a hospital waiting room, for about 20 minutes facing a large TV blaring pop news about Tom Cruise. Those who had visited many times told us, “No matter how early you get here, they never bring them out until 9:00 a.m. on Saturdays.”

Soon enough we were all called and led into a colorful basketball gym with rows of plastic chairs in every Crayola color. There was a caged children’s corner with an impressive mural of characters like Dora the Explorer and Big Bird, of Super Grover holding up an NYPD badge in the sky. Next to the officer surveillance booth which sits behind a tinted window, was a mural of the Manhattan skyline with the Twin Towers still intact.

A CO (corrections officer) shouted, “Go home everyone! It’s too hot!” to the laughter and mock defiance of some visitors and indifference of others.

Then, solemn men in grey DOC jumpsuits began to file in and there was our Mark, not looking up to see us until about 20 feet away and then the beard slowly revealed a smile. We pulled him into massive loving hugs but were quickly told we had to sit down. We grasped his hands across the tiny round table for the entire visit. At first Mark seemed very small, he kept his head down and tears streamed from his eyes while he expressed his sense of loss to us. He said he doesn’t like who he is in here – that he feels he lost something the day he was taken to prison. He said he has not discovered anything good about himself from being here, that “Nothing good should live in here.” He wants to leave this feeling behind when he comes out. It was very hard to see his obvious pain but we were encouraged by Mark’s awareness of his emotions and his openness to share with us, both the dark and the light. We discussed what skills he has developed to survive and get through this time and we assured him that he will find the old Mark again, and that he won’t have to bear the weight by himself, that he will have all his friends to hug any last bit of sadness out of him when he is free. We promised all the support, rehabilitation and love he may need when he rejoins us.

We sensed that he really wanted to talk so we mainly listened and chimed in when it felt right. He quickly perked up and started to make eye contact again, his face still holding a healthy glow and the twinkle in his eyes has not faded. He talked a lot about being hungry and looking forward to eating again but he is dedicated to his hunger strike, sharing his food with other inmates at mealtimes. The doctors are attentive and concerned so he has two visits with them a day and is being well looked-after. He has the support of one doctor in particular who sympathizes with the symbolic meaning of the strike and tells Mark it will help him get rid of toxins. He has lost some weight, about 8-10 lbs but said he gains some of it back in water weight quickly. He mostly keeps to himself, stays inside reading and sleeping. He avoids going out to the yard for exercise because of some dangerous fights after which he has witnessed people come back bloodied with injuries. Although, we were very happy to hear he has a bunch of people looking out for him through individual OWS members’ connections with gang members and skinheads. There is a team of unlikely guardians watching his back.

Mark did describe concerns with his cellmate who has been transferred with him several times, even though inmates are usually transferred individually. He described him as being very inquisitive, asking for Mark’s phone number and email so they can be in touch when they get out. He asks lots of questions about Mark’s activities and politics. Mark chooses to remain quiet and keep to himself.

He is getting a reputation for the amount of letters he receives from all around the country – Texas and Alabama and Oklahoma – and even books from Vancouver, Canada. One CO cheered him on once he found out he was from Occupy Wall Street. Mark loves getting letters and he even received a lock of hair from Diego and relished its softness but he discourages others from sending hair. Rather, he encourages everyone to grow their hair out as he hopes to grow his beard out to reach his navel like in its glory days when he lived in Virginia.

He has received so many books that his small plastic bin is now full, but is very thankful for what everyone has given although he had hoped for more Anarchist theory rather than Communist. He is currently reading a book about the Spanish Civil War and made jokes about how the anarchists are criticized by the author for sitting in circles and talking too much rather than fighting the war. Mark is disappointed at the lack of a library at Rikers. He was hoping he could leave his books there when finished, and when he leaves. He noted that books left around are thrown away by COs and staff rather than shared with inmates.

He is starting to write back, primarily to strangers from across the country who are writing him. He would like to get more envelopes but hopes no one will be disappointed if they don’t hear back from him. We assured him that no one expects anything in return.

He was very curious to hear about what’s going on with OWS, and loved to hear about the protests at Trinity and the sleep-ins. We told him how everyone’s Facebook profile photos and Twitter avatars are now mostly either his face or red squares. He was delighted and surprised to hear his Facebook page is still active and that it’s filled with messages of love and solidarity. Keep posting on there so he can read through them all when he gets out!

He hates to be away from OWS and plans to jump right back into actions with his “family” although he hopes he can contribute without getting arrested. He is very worried about his open court cases where he will face the same DA and judge who sentenced him. He has gone to court for one case already while in prison and he described it as a painful 13-hour long process that he does not want to endure again.

Overall, Mark was extremely optimistic about getting out, and brightly announced he’s already done 15 days, already talking about the party he wants to have – full of food (though we reminded him he should probably carefully ease back into eating,) his friends, and Care Bears. He misses his bicycle but was relieved to hear that it was rescued by TimesUp! and looks forward to riding again. He spoke fondly of his going-away party at the Living Theatre and joked how the theater people there were confused by an anarchist party where people dance to Britney Spears and the Backstreet Boys. He is so thankful for this night and thinks back on it with much joy. He loved that there is an Otter Solidarity Group coordinating support efforts and laughed after hearing about the detailed forms people had to fill out to be able to visit him.

There will be little way of knowing when or where he will be released – which, if all goes well, will be on the 15^th of July. From what Mark has heard, releases usually happen after the 5pm dinner, sometime in the middle of the night, after having to sit in an extremely cramped transfer cell for several hours. Meg, his lawyer, has promised to be on-call 24/7 to track his whereabouts so we can all be present to shower him with love.

There are no clocks in the room and we were not allowed watches unless it was for an inmate so we couldn’t discern how much time we had with Mark. We went in shortly after 9:00 and had our watches back on by 10:15. It seemed to go by so quickly.

We sang Mark this song (to the tune of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelejuah”):

They say Mark Adams ain’t free

but that just doesn’t ring true to me

’cause everywhere I go I see Mark Adams

They locked him up and it wasn’t fair

but he kept his spirit and he kept his beard hair

and everywhere the people rise for Mark Adams!

(chorus)

We love Mark Adams

We love Mark Adams

We love Mark Adams

We love Mark Adams

(repeat as long as needed)

Mark was clearly moved and said no one had ever written him a song before. He smiled from ear to ear and thanked us.

Like the thoughtful, caring being he is, Mark summoned the energy to be a gracious host. He thanked us for going through the process to visit him and took the time to ask us each how we were doing and wanted to hear about our lives as well. He remembered that each of has been out of town recently and wanted to hear about our trips.

Before we knew it, we were asked to finish up. We asked if there is anything he wants us to do, to bring. He does need some envelopes for writing letters because he’s only allowed one trip a week to the commissary and can only buy so many. Also, he could use white underwear (boxer-briefs) because all inmates wear underwear in the shower. White is the only color accepted by the DOC. He looks forward to the surprise of his guests each time and trusts his solidarity network with decision-making.

We embraced him once more telling him we loved him and that we’ll see him soon when he is free! He walked through the gym without looking back. His face began to cloud over again as he stepped further and further away. By the end of our visit, it felt so familiar with us all laughing and talking about the future, it seemed like he would just walk out with us and head straight to a protest.

Saying goodbye left a sharp pain. We got our things from the locker in silence and then hugged each other. One friendly visitor from before asked how our friend was and they shared that their son was fine but the brightness of their earlier mood was now darkened. The bus ride back was much quieter as we all gazed at those grey impassive walls barring us from our loved ones. We took time afterwards to meet and process our visit, what we noticed about Mark, what we remembered, our own feelings and thoughts about freedom. We schemed designs for Mark Adams t-shirts and how we could construct a Care Bear-covered vehicle to collect him in and deliver him to the love and freedom that await him.

Keep the letters and the love coming! He feels it and sends it back with every fiber in his body.

With solidarity and rage,

Monica

Brett

Amelia

Chicago, IL-Jail solidarity is one of those amazing things that has come out of Occupy but that you don’t hear talked about outside of the movement. In case you aren’t familiar with the practice, when arrests happen at an Occupy protest, we gather outside the jail and hold vigil until our comrades are released. This often involves staying overnight, but people bring food and a spirit of solidarity, making the most of the situation.

While working my second job of the day this past Wednesday, I was monitoring Twitter and feeling a bit guilty. Some of my friends were in Wisconsin, marching against the failed Walker recall. Other friends were marching through downtown Chicago to the Canadian consulate in solidarity with the student protests in Quebec. And there was a memorial to a beloved mental health consumer and advocate who passed away in her sleep happening at both mental health clinic occupations.

I was missing all of the above because I was working, but I felt guilty because I had slept between jobs that afternoon instead of stopping by one of the mental health clinics or doing other Occupy activities. I know that it’s a good idea to sleep on occasion, but with so much going on it’s easy to feel like I’m not doing enough. Or at least that I wish I could do more.

I’m a nanny, and I was cuddling with an adorable baby girl (who happens to also be my niece) that evening, checking Twitter between wiping her spit-up. As I watched in horror, my Twitter feed started to blow up. First I learned that one friend had been arrested in Milwaukee as others were trampled by police horses. Within minutes I was seeing tweets from my friends in Chicago describing unprovoked police brutality and many violent arrests. I saw pictures of police officers using metal batons on protesters and heard that one young female comrade was surrounded by six cops, beating her brutally before they arrested her. I was in shock; I hadn’t expected a relatively ordinary march to end this way. My heart sank as I read the names of my friends who were taken away by the CPD, seemingly targeted for being main organizers within Occupy Chicago, but some of the most sincerely peaceful people I have had the honor of meeting.

Until this week, I had not participated in jail solidarity actions because one of my nannying jobs starts very early in the morning. As I watched the violence unfold, however, I did some quick mental calculations. I had slept several hours during the day; I could probably stay awake through the night and head directly for my morning job, given enough coffee and adrenaline. By canceling a couple of daytime appointments, I could even get a nice nap in later. It was the least I could do for my friends (who were later joined by those violently arrested in NY). So I went home to get a change of clothes, some snacks, a blanket and pillow, charged my devices, then headed back into the city toward the jail.

As I pulled up across the street, I could hear them still banging on pots and pans, making quite a ruckus through the otherwise still night. There were about 25 people, with more arriving periodically. I said my hellos, gave a brief statement on livestream, and found a spot to set up.

A short while later, a group of plainclothes cops came out of the station. The leader of the pack approached us with a printed copy of the sound ordinance in hand, telling us we had to stop making all that noise. I didn’t hear the rest of the confrontation because I was distracted by a plainclothes cop who had come around the side, where I was sitting. The most polite way to describe him is “meathead.” He was wearing a tshirt that said, I kid you not, NATO SUMMIT 2012 - WE WOKE UP EARLY TO BEAT THE CROWDS. He spent the next several minutes trying to provoke us and shining his flashlight in our eyes and cameras when we tried to take his picture. Luckily we did get a couple of photos, even if they aren’t as close or as clear as we would have liked.

After that confrontation, however, they mostly left us alone. We settled into card games, conversations, food runs, and cuddle piles. We were able to use the bathroom inside the station, but it meant walking a gauntlet past at least ten pissed off cops for the dubious privilege of using a metal jail toilet.

Photo by Rachel Allshiny

At about 2am, I bedded down. I never quite got to sleep, but I spent the next few hours lying on the sidewalk, drifting in and out of the conversations around me. When there was a lull in conversation, the rustling of the rats in the bushes took over. At about 3:30am the first camera crews showed up, but once I saw another press liaison had it covered I hid from the bright lights under my blanket and tried to tune it all out. I gave up at 5, accepted a donated cup of coffee, and started getting ready to head to work. None of the arrestees were released until after I left, so I didn’t get to hug them, but I’m glad I spent the night regardless.

Those early morning hours were very meaningful to me, and I wish I had enough words to express what I felt. I was aware that I had given up the comfort on my bed to not-really-sleep on concrete in solidarity with my friends in Milwaukee, Chicago, and New York who were doing the same inside jail cells. I felt the warmth and camaraderie of my friends around me and those at home sending messages throughout the night. I was overcome with the knowledge that if and when I got arrested for exercising my First Amendment rights, these same people would rally around me. And I knew that I was part of something special, something that no cop in a stupid tshirt could take away. We’re a family, and a community, and a force to be reckoned with.

Morning came and I went back to what I call my civilian life, but the experience of jail solidarity will always stay with me. Unfortunately, it’s an experience I expect to have many opportunities to repeat in the near future. But these arrests don’t weaken us; they make us stronger, individually and collectively.

I’ll see you all out in the streets.

- Rachel Allshiny -

Editor’s note: This post is one of many recounting events on June 6th, in which cities all over the world marched in solidarity with protests in Quebec. You may read about New York’s march here, an arrestee’s account of the experience here, and multiple points of view of the same march’s first five minutes here. The photo for this post above is by Abel Mebratu.

On Wednesday night, Jan. 4, 2012, #occupyoakland’s site at Oscar Grant Plaza was raided with little to no warning by armed, angry, & non-peaceful Oakland police officers. An estimated 14 occupiers were arrested with out any charges.

Minutes after the surprise raid, the occupiers held an emergency GA which led to a group of 50 – 100 people marching in the streets on their way to the local police station where the arrestees were being detained. Once there, we were met with a line of agitated “peace officers” who shouted at us to “get the fuck away from them.” Some were slamming their batons on the ground in a failed attempt to intimidate the growing crowd of protesters who began giving the “pigs” a piece of their mind.

After finding the entrance, a group of about 5 of us let ourselves in to attempt to have a reasonable conversation to gather information about those who were arrested earlier in the evening. Pratibha Gautam, an attorney and member of “The Fresh Juice Party,” offered her legal knowledge and engaged the clerk in a civilized manner. I began to film with my cell phone & within seconds a disembodied male voice firmly requested that we shut the door. As I began to walk over to shut the door, 15-20 armed police officers filled the space and instantly demanded that we pick one person to speak to the gang of officers and the other four of us were given a 10 second warning to leave the building or stay the night with our fellow occupiers in a jail cell for “trespassing.”

Gautam was chosen to speak to the officers while the rest of us waited outside the glass doors. Unfortunately the OPD was uncooperative and did not give her any useful information, but rather a lie designed to send us to an empty building in search of our abducted comrades.

Occupiers yelled messages of love & solidarity to the prisoners with a loud and clear collective “OCCUPY!”

-Fresh Juice Party