Editor’s note: This post originally appeared at Support Mark Adams.

New York, NY–Report from Daniele and Miriam after visiting with Mark!

This morning 3 of us met to take the bus to Rikers, around the crack of dawn.

Austin came with us, but was denied entry. He had multiple forms of ID, but his photo ID was expired and he was turned away. Lesson learned. For Mark, we brought envelopes, paper, 3 books and some radical zines, the last of which we were told to mail because they are not books. We’re thinking about binding them into a book.

It was a long, tedious security process to get to the visiting room; we had to take our shoes off three times. Seeing Mark walk in made that completely worthwhile. We hugged and we all cried. Mark was happy to see visitors; he had not been aware that he only gets 2 visits a week and wondered why no one was there on Friday. He has also been getting visits from our legal worker community.

Mark is definitely feeling depressed and withdrawn. He feels like he can’t be himself there–that he left his outgoing, bouncy self on the outside. Mark cheered up significantly halfway though our visit, started feeding on our energy and even laughing at our lame jokes. Daniele told him about her experience with The People’s Puppet and Rude Mechanical Orchestra at the Mermaid Parade. The Coney Island crowd has cheered in solidarity with the Occupy Wall St banner, and that seemed to lift his spirits a lot. Letters also seem to really make him happy; he told us about receiving some from people all over the country, including Oklahoma, and from people he hasn’t met, and drawings by children.

He doesn’t feel up to writing back but wants everyone to know he appreciates the letters and knowing that people are thinking of him. He mentioned the freedom party we threw for him right before he had to go. He spoke really fondly of seeing everyone, and of dancing to Britney Spears, the Backstreet Boys and Miley Cyrus. He said that he thinks about that night many times a day, this happy memory he returns to. We hope to have another party to welcome him out.

Mark discussed the doctors he’s seeing and life in Rikers. He has seen violence (especially in the hot weather) but inmates and COs leave him alone. He mostly hangs out and reads. Some of the doctors have been sympathetic, and Mark has been using his regular visits with them (due to his hunger strike) to talk to them about his politics and the reason he’s in jail.

We spoke about his hunger strike, and he seems committed to it, but not at the expense of his long term well being. He joked that he is having an easy time keeping up with his Veganism. He is drinking liquids, and Miriam discussed the health risks of what he’s doing with him.

On the last (first) visit Mark said he couldn’t believe how the community was organizing to support him. How much love and solidarity there is. He called us his family, not his friends, and sent his love.

Keep the letters coming! You can also send him books; true to the caring personality we know and love, he’s been sharing them with the other inmates.

Editor’s note: This post originally appeared at the Portland Occupier.

Portland, OR–A simple lap around Chapman Square one evening turns into an extended meditation on rhythm, global resistance, and the discovery of meaning in the monotonous.

Friday night. Freshly ejected from work and suffering from a serious case of the Digieye. You know what I’m talking about—dry, cloudy portals glazed over, fighting to readjust to the outside world after extended periods buried alive in brick and mortar coffins, fake-n-baked by commercial fluorescent lighting, swallowed by ethereal electronic matrices. A digital drunk, I spill out onto downtown city streets wondering:

Where in the hell did the day go?

Still genuinely feeling good about the work I do, low-grade guilt surfaces for accepting this digital medium as a centerpiece to my life’s professional rhythms. I get home and claw for an antidote. The demands are simple: Space. Solitude. Movement. Exposure to elements.

It’s late December, and I seem to be particularly stuck on the recent people’s movements igniting all around the world. Egypt. The Middle East. Latin America. Africa. Russia. Occupy Wall Street. I am consumed with this illustration of global congregation, millions mobilizing around the world, the reverberations of a recalcitrant choir exhausting vocal chords by shouting from the rooftops: this isn’t good for us, this isn’t good for the planet. I follow this collective chemical synapse firing around the planet, this orchestral disassociation with our addiction to profit and to ourselves.

So, I decide to take these thoughts and myself on a run.

—

Chapman Square, the retired site of the Occupy Portland camp, sleeps. For two months this camp served as an urban settlement for modern miners panning the muddied creeks of capitalism for truth. In solidarity with Occupy Wall Street, the camp served as one of the largest occupations in the U.S. outside of New York City.

Discussions. Idea-sharing. Public demonstration and protest. Workshops and seminars. This was the home for a collective decision to uncover the casualties of our government’s dirty affair with profit. To put into question our illusory binding contract owing allegiance to a shortsighted corporatocracy directing how we treat the earth and ourselves. The encampment was a distribution center of smelling salts to an unconscious populace waking up from a fitful nightmare, to break away from the subservient zombie and towards the wild wolf.

I wonder what is happening there tonight, so I decide to take my run downtown and check on the state of Chapman Square, post-eviction. Pinning an orange Go Collective Occupy patch to my jacket, I head out into an evening of octopus ink, guided by the faint flickering of city lights.

—

Downtown is buzzing. Urbanites abound, all decompressing from a week overworked and unfulfilled. Happy hour gives way to lavish meals, more alcoholic lubrication and uninhibited social games. I feel feather-light in stride but weighed heavily by this sort of judgment. Whisking past a young, drunk couple playing dress-up—corporate playboy and frail girl balancing her bones upon the highest of heels— I wonder if these two ever fumble with our catastrophic global condition or engage in their own personal agencies of change, to review the ways they are governed, how they live, consume, treat others, themselves, the planet. Might they aspire less to the affluent than to the activist?

Foot to sidewalk, I return to my breath and continue.

Lap 1.

Approaching Chapman Square, I notice huge fences around the perimeter of all three blocks. To avoid stoplights, I decide to take a one-lap tour around the central Chapman park block. On this first revolution, I pass by two police officers in yellow jackets guarding the park.

“Passing on your left.” I announce, approaching them from behind. No response.

Peering through the chain-link fortress, my mind navigates nostalgically through the communal kitchen that once was, peering into the library tent where books and workshops were available. I float above the labyrinth of tents and tarps, the crazy eyes and animated conversations. My nostrils recall the filth and dirt, the panhandling parades of grime. Though I never slept a night there, I find myself curiously homesick for the void of such a raw, inclusive, community gathering-place.

After a full lap around Chapman, I begin a second. Then a third. How about 99 laps, to pay homage to the 99%? Quick arithmetic makes this task achievable in a few hours, so the decision is made.

Lap 15.

The night is serving dinner ice-cold.  Older couples walk the streets after enjoying holiday performances downtown, holding each other close as the warmth from Shnitzer Hall flees quickly from their thick coats. I wonder how these elderly view the state of things. What inhabits the frontal lobes of such weathered minds, those having potentially experienced a World War, Nazism, nuclear deployment, the Great Depression, Korea, Vietnam, the Khmer Rouge, the civil and environmental movements of the 1960’s and 70′s? I become obsessed by all their eyes have seen and their hearts have navigated, while curious about their responses to the recent revolutionary surges.

I find this urban lap to be flat and uninspiring, as running repetitively around a 1/8-mile square of cement is demanding less on the body than on the mind. I begin to understand how such monotony offers some interesting meditations in movement. Sure, the unpredictability, irregularity and aesthetic of mountain foot travel are much more preferable, but I realize here that a flat road, track or even treadmill (yikes) certainly has some benefit, if only for cultivating mental fortitude. “Everything is practice.” To work on finding peace in rhythm, anywhere you are. 24-hour races. Sri Chimnoy’s 6 and 10-day Transcendent Races. Satish Kumar’s 8,000 mile walk protesting nuclear proliferation. My 99 laps certainly pale in comparison to such accomplishments, but I begin to understand the power of finding meaning in the monotonous.

Returning to breath, I continue.

Lap 33.

I have to pee. I take this opportunity to visit the Occupy Candlelight Vigil at City Hall, to ask where they go to relieve themselves. I find five street kids sitting with their dogs, bandanas and face tattoos, all laughing and smoking. Wary of a runner approaching them, their eyes wander to the Occupy patch pinned to my chest and tensions ease. Still confused.

“You guys know of a public bathroom around here?” I ask.

“Yah, there’s one in the parking garage,” the larger one responds. “Probably closed though, man. One about six blocks away that might be open, likely not though. Honestly, I would just hop in them bushes right there and go for it.”

Pudgy, greasy fingers point towards park bushes across the street, then he retreats quickly behind dark glasses. I strike up conversation with the others and mention my impromptu experiment of running 99 laps around Chapman tonight, paying tribute to civil disobedience and contemplating the future of this movement. They are barely impressed. As though my words had to first ricochet off nearby buildings to reach their ears, one guy finally responds:

“Shit, I may be able to run 99 feet!”

They all laugh and twitch nervously, and I join them. The laughing, not the twitching. I tell them my idea to complete 33 laps one way, then turn around and do 33 more the opposite direction, then a final 33 the original way, just to mix things up.

“Wait a damn second!” says another kid, cigarette limply parsed between cracked lips.

“Wouldn’t that be like only running 33 laps? ‘Cause once you turn round and run 33 the other direction, it’s like going backwards, like goin’ right back to zero. Then if ya turn round and do 33 the original way, your total laps run would only be 33!”

He was impressed by his math, and I equally amused by his imagination. The street kids wish me luck and promise me they’ll call 911 if they look over to see someone on the ground crawling or crying. I thank them for their kindness and cross the road to relieve myself, into the darkness of the park’s dying urban flora.

Then I return to my breath, and continue.

Lap 45.

Fog infiltrates the city, shrouding the surrounding skyscrapers. The haze joins an eerie blue-green light on top of the Wells Fargo Building to create a severe laser beam effect, an authoritative eye scanning its subjects below.

The two young policemen return to again walk the parameter and, this time, I am running towards them. As I do, I catch one officer taking a glimpse of my Occupy patch. Finally! Only takes 50 laps to get some attention around here. Excited by an opportunity for dialogue, I begin to formulate an answer for any interrogation, but after passing them three additional times over the next five minutes, I realize they still have no interest in me. I however, develop an interest in them and, in each passing, I tap into their conversations, dominated by two topics: Girls and Music. One of the guards holds his head up to an iPhone blaring bad hip-hop to pass the time.

I realize here that, despite our glaring differences, the officers and I both share a common rhythm of repetition, monotony and humanity as we venture into this cold night of Mystery together.

Returning to breath, I continue.

Lap 66.
Over two hours circling Chapman Square, legs begin to feel heavy from the impact on unforgiving cement. I disrupt my urban orbit and begin running the opposite way for the last remaining 33 laps. It is 11pm and several policemen now filter out of Central Precinct for their night shifts, orange shotguns and riot gear in tow. To Serve and Protect Profits.

I wonder, despite some of the good work they most certainly do, why these policeman agree to blatantly suppress peaceful demonstrations which raise awareness for wealth inequality, corrupt banks and corporate interests running U.S. politics, all of which undoubtedly affect them? I try hard to cultivate empathy for the police, as Plato points me in the right direction:

“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”

They too are good-natured humans, like us. Full of veins and brains. Blood and guts. Anxieties. Family or none. Victims of abuse. High cholesterol. Car payments. Mortgages. They could be full of love or empty entirely of it. Regardless of their personal narratives, I still expect them to inquire about whom they are actually serving and have the courage to reject such a blatant repression of expression.

Returning to breath, I continue.

Lap 80.
Low point. Tired of this cold, boring loop. Want to go home. Wondering why I decided to do this. No one cares. Nothing changes because of this, not that that was even the goal. What was the goal anyway? Right, to meditate on the current waves of civil unrest around the world. To pay homage to past efforts locally and contemplate new possibilities for the future. Our future. The human and the non-human. All of us. A recalibration of responsibility to stand up for what’s best for the Earth. To conduct a small, human-powered experiment of endurance for a bit more insight into our potential. Nearly three hours of running city squares begins to mirror the perseverance needed in our fight for global justice, trudging relentless forward through times of darkness and uncertainty.

I am reminded of the initial discomfort appended to any experience pregnant with change. Traveling from womb to world. Growing pains. Confronting an enemy. Moving past old relationships. Quitting a job to pursue your passion. Confronting death. Waking up to a system that’s required absolute submission and saying, “Nope. No way. Not anymore.” Dropping old habits, products that poison the Earth. Food and clothing produced from the sweat of the forgotten. Exploit Other. Exploit Earth. Exploit Yourself.

I gather this loose kindling and set it ablaze, regaining control of the fire that burns inside me. Any temptation dissolves to return home early, to feel silly for this experiment or wonder what anyone thinks as I complete my 90^th revolution around Chapman. This contemplative exercise is for me, for everyone, for all things and for no one at all.

Resting blissfully in this realization, I return to my breath…and continue.

Lap 99.
Reaching the final lap, I playfully imagine something tripping me, a fleeing rodent or missing sidewalk chunk. Perhaps the sprinklers will turn on, signaling some celestial cheerleader applauding my effort. Maybe I’ll get speared by one of the officers dressed in yellow, clandestinely counting my laps only to foil the experiment at its last possible moment. Nothing so dramatic unfolds as I take four familiar lefts and make it back to my starting point.

Then I stop running.

With little hesitation, I find myself moving yet again, destined to complete one final loop for the remaining 1%. After all, no one is left out of this revolution. No one escapes the challenges we face. There’s no division. No Other. Just a floating vessel of blues and greens and browns, all traveling into the vast Mystery together. Together. Together. Together with the greedy CEOs and child sex offenders. Together with Chinese, Chileans and Canadians. Together with lovers and loathers, bodhisattvas and border patrol. Together with devastating earthquakes and radiant sunsets, great blue herons and scorpions, the Serengeti and the Sierra Nevada. To think our minds and hearts separate from anyone and everything is our Supreme Illusion. We are one singular unit making this work…or fail. A great revolving system taking deep, collective breaths together. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Fiercely empowered by this thought, the last lap feels like the first.

—

Hobbling the remaining 3 miles back home, I return hungry, tired and irritable. It’s past midnight when I get back. I plop into my chair after preparing a simple quesadilla and with zero ambition to process the evening, return to the womb of my warm bed, haggard and deeply satisfied with the effort.

The 99 Revolutions.

- Nicholas Triolo -

Photos by Igal Koshevoy

New York, NY–Monday afternoon I refreshed my Facebook newsfeed to find some unsettling news: Mark Adams, one of the 8 occupiers on trial for trespassing on December 17 last year, had just been sentenced to 45 days on Rikers Island. Admittedly I hadn’t followed the trial as well as many others, nor do I personally know Mark, but I was familiar enough with the #D17 action and trial that Mark’s sentence, 15 days longer than what the DA had asked for, seemed excessive and that charges hadn’t been dropped by Trinity was ridiculous in the first place.

So I decided to halt things and run to Foley Square that evening to show my support for Mark with other protesters.

I got there early at 7pm, meeting with a small group of comrades sitting by the fountain near the southern part of the park. A live streamer was on hand, giving anyone who was there in support of Mark a chance to tell his audience their thoughts or feelings about the trial As we mulled about, a few made signs, many of which had drawings of thick beards to hold before one’s face, because “We are all Mark Adams.” I looked across Centre Street at the Supreme Court building, whose engraving read that “the true administration of justice is the firmest pillar of good government.” I didn’t know what to make of those words that evening, except for a feeling that as things continue, more and more can only wake up and see that the state is not working in their interests.

I had come out to support, unsure of what we would be up to tonight. I asked a few people but others were confused as I was. And just where was everyone? I overheard we would be marching and saw on Twitter that the Feminist GA was happening. The plan was to march to Reverend Cooper’s home in the village, where we would hold a vigil. By then, the Feminist GA would be done and would meet us there, after which we would discuss our feelings about Mark and what had happened to him.

We left Foley just around 8pm, chanting “Free Mark Adams and all political prisoners.” If there’s one thing you can count on our community doing, it’s making light of terrible situations, so another popular chant was “We want the sexy bearded man (and so do you!)” It was probably not the best chant for outreach, but it boosted morale in a situation that many were angered and deeply saddened by.  We eventually took the streets, mic-checking outside of opened-window restaurant fronts and tour buses to explain why we were out tonight.

One tour guide called the police, or threatened to, while we blocked her bus from moving, but we didn’t care; we’d established before leaving Foley Square that we would not be arrested, that if we saw the police we would simply rush to the sidewalk and comply with the rules. We didn’t want to be too controversial, because Mark would be upset if our rally to show solidarity with him ended up with more people being arrested. That isn’t to say there was no small drama: one man heckled us out his window, high above, and another threw an egg at us some blocks away. But we kept on.

Aside from passing a cop car that happened to be parked along a sidewalk we marched down, there was no police presence until we made it to Cooper’s home. We congratulated ourselves on marching through the streets with no conflicts with authority, and organized ourselves on the sidewalk, careful to keep it open for pedestrian traffic. Someone had brought small candles, which were passed out and lit.

A couple of police officers crossed the street to ask us what we were doing. There seemed to be nothing very accusatory about it, just asking what a random group of people congregating on a residential street planned to do there. We explained Mark’s story and that we were only here as bodies and to discuss what had happened. The police were cool about it and told us all was well so long as we kept the sidewalk open.

Eventually a white shirt came and interrupted us all to repeat to us that the sidewalk and stoop must be clear. The sidewalk and stoop were already clear, which made the whole thing redundant, and his tone lacked the courtesy that the previous two officers spoke with. He—and a couple new officers—spent the rest of the time occupying the stoop himself.

Someone who had spoken to the officers earlier said that Cooper was in fact home, that he’d called the police because he would not face us. Cooper was being cowardly and bringing in his own personal guards, courtesy of the NYPD. But still we complied with the police—we had no intent on blocking anyone from anything in the first place—and no issues arose. We watched out for each other, policing ourselves in regards to pedestrian traffic. We began our speak-out session, in which peoples words were carried down the line of us over different generations of mic-checks.

Where the march’s atmosphere was somewhere between celebratory and anger, this quiet moment was a mix between sadness and inspiration. Some talked about their hopes that Mark might organize from prison; others expressed that the best way we could support Mark would be through our actions and by looking at his enthusiasm and attitude as example. Someone pointed out that we kept talking about him in past-tense, that he was not dead and we would see him again. This comment got a few chuckles and brought the mood up a little bit.

I wondered what the police officers were thinking or feeling about all of these words. They understand sacrifice and must have understood that this trial was a moment in which we all realized that our sacrifices are in fact very real. But our group tonight was showing no signs of being discouraged, and I think the vigil presented a very human look at us that might sometimes be lost in the heat of an action. It’s consistently difficult to rank beautiful moments in the Occupy Wall Street community, but I think all of us coming together the night of June 18^th is among one of the most poignant.

I went home carrying my cardboard Mark Adam beard. I didn’t want to throw it away or abandon it. So I put it on my desk, in the hopes that when I feel lazy or exasperated while working or question whether anything I do is worth it all, I can be reminded of Mark’s example and get shit done with a smile. So I’ll thank him for that when he returns, because he will.

- Joe Sutton -

New York, NY–On June 17th, an estimated 50,000 people silently marched down 5th Avenue in protest against the city’s Stop & Frisk policy.

The most impressive thing about the day was the silence. It spoke volumes as the marchers walked; you could hear the feet quietly shuffle and the birds chirp in the trees of the adjacent Central Park. The amount of people matching with the complete silence was awe inspiring. They came in seemingly endless lines and kept coming, block after block after block. People from all walks of life. People who are fed up with racial profiling, marching in complete silence… It was an amazing afternoon of peace, reflection and unity. Even the NYPD, whom they were protesting against, had to bow their heads in respect.

More of Tim Schreier’s photos, including photos of this event, may be found here.

- Tim Schrier -

Photographer’s note: These photos are “open source” and “public domain” with the condition that no product or service uses them for commercial purposes.

Editor’s note: This story is part of an on-going series documenting the Occupy Caravan’s journey from California to Philadelphia. This part was originally posted here.

Wichita, KS–Hey guys! So today was a really exciting day. First off, I got to sleep in until around 11am. It was the first time I have been able to sleep in, and it felt wonderful.

The big excitement for us today was the protest we did at Koch Industries. Granted, it was a Saturday, and there was nobody there other than a few security guards, but we did get some honks of support from vehicles that were passing by.

The building that houses Koch Industries, as you can see from the photo above, to me, seemed to be very monolithic. It was this huge, black glassed building, that to me, looked like it came directly from the belly of the beast. We were only on the property for about 10 minutes, before security came out and told us we had to leave and that we were trespassing.

There were 4 security officers that came out to confront us. They told us that we were on “private property,” and that if we refused to leave, they would call the police. Most of the folks who were there in protest stepped back from the property; however, there were a few of us, myself included, who refused to leave. When I asked for the security officer to show me a prominent sign posting that we were on “private property,” they were unable to do so.

Eventually, Wichita Police showed up, and also stated that we were trespassing on “Private Property.” According to Kansas Statute 21-3721 – Criminal Trespass, it states:

 (a) Criminal trespass is:

      (1)   Entering or remaining upon or in any land, nonnavigable body of water, structure, vehicle, aircraft or watercraft, other than railroad property as defined in K.S.A. 21-3761, and amendments thereto, or nuclear generating facility as defined in K.S.A. 2007 Supp. 66-2302, and amendments thereto, by a person who knows such person is not authorized or privileged to do so, and:
      (A)   Such person enters or remains therein in defiance of an order not to enter or to leave such premises or property personally communicated to such person by the owner thereof or other authorized person; or
      (B)   such premises or property are posted in a manner reasonably likely to come to the attention of intruders, or are locked or fenced or otherwise enclosed, or shut or secured against passage or entry; or
      (C)   such person enters or remains therein in defiance of a restraining order issued pursuant to K.S.A. 60-1607, 60-3105, 60-3106, 60-3107, 60-31a05 or 60-31a06 or K.S.A. 2007 Supp. 38-2243, 38-2244 or 38-2255, and amendments thereto, and the restraining order has been personally served upon the person so restrained; or
      (2)   entering or remaining upon or in any public or private land or structure in a manner that interferes with access to or from any health care facility by a person who knows such person is not authorized or privileged to do so and such person enters or remains thereon or therein in defiance of an order not to enter or to leave such land or structure personally communicated to such person by the owner of the health care facility or other authorized person.
     
 (b)   As used in this section:
      (1)   “Health care facility” means any licensed medical care facility, certificated health maintenance organization, licensed mental health center, or mental health clinic, licensed psychiatric hospital or other facility or office where services of a health care provider are provided directly to patients.
      (2)   “Health care provider” means any person: (A) Licensed to practice a branch of the healing arts; (B) licensed to practice psychology; (C) licensed to practice professional or practical nursing; (D) licensed to practice dentistry; (E) licensed to practice optometry; (F) licensed to practice pharmacy; (G) registered to practice podiatry; (H) licensed as a social worker; or (I) registered to practice physical therapy.
      
  (c) (1)   Criminal trespass is a class B nonperson misdemeanor.
      (2)   Upon a conviction of a violation of subsection (a)(1)(C), a person shall be sentenced to not less than 48 consecutive hours of imprisonment which must be served either before or as a condition of any grant of probation or suspension, reduction of sentence or parole.
      (d)   This section shall not apply to a land surveyor, licensed pursuant to article 70 of chapter 74 of the Kansas Statutes Annotated, and amendments thereto, and such surveyor’s authorized agents and employees who enter upon lands, waters and other premises in the making of a survey.

I pointed out to the officers who showed up that according to section A, subsection B, that Koch Industries did not have a sign stating that it was private property. When confronted with this information, one of the officers arbitrarily determined what was to be considered the property line for Koch Industries, giving those of us that were protesting and area less than 2 feet from the side of the road.

I’m sorry, but it is getting very late here (1:12AM) and we are taking off early tomorrow. We will be heading to Oklahoma City, OK in the morning, and we are planning on leaving at 8am. I will continue with the recap of the Koch action tomorrow while we are on the road, as well as my regular updates as well.

Until then, I bid you goodnight.

- James Jennison -

Editor’s note: This piece was originally posted at Occupy Caravan Road Trip. Part one may be found here, and part two here.

Salt Lake City, UT–So, I apologize for not being able to finish my blog post from yesterday, but the place we camped out last night had absolutely no cell coverage at all.

So, I am doing today a little differently today as I am not riding in either of the caravan minivans. I’m actually riding with Roy today, primarily because I want to avoid the problems I had with Allred yesterday.

I had a nice, pleasant surprise yesterday when I got a call from my old roommate Mark. He happened to be on his way back from New York to San Francisco, and was traveling along I80 towards Elko. We met up with him, and he donated some sleeping bags and sleeping mats to us. This was good because we had a few people with us who had no sleeping bags or gear of any kind really.

The place we camped last night was beyond beautiful. The group photo that is attached with today’s blog post was taken right next to a beautiful flowing river. It was quite majestic. And the view of the sky last night was breathtaking! Stars as far as the eye could see. Never in by life have I seen so many stars. I wish I could have captured it on camera, but it was too dark.

So, our next stop is going to be in Salt Lake City, UT. I’m looking forward to being able to play tourist there for a little while. As a former Mormon, I have actually wanted to visit the Mormon Temple there. This is yet another place I want to visit before I’m 40 that I can mark off my list.

Okay, so I am going to sign off for right now. I will post more later after we arrive in Salt Lake City.

–
9:12pm
Wow, this has been an amazing day! I have seen so many beautiful sites and locations today, as depicted by the photos included in this post.

The first thing we saw getting close to Salt Lake City was the Great Salt Flats. It was totally awesome. I think a quarter of the U.S. salt supply might come from there.

The next beautiful site was the Great Salt Lake itself. Standing at the edge of the water looking out at the horizon felt like I was standing looking out from Ocean Beach…there was water as far as the eye could see.

When we got to Liberty Park, we were greeted by the folks from Occupy Salt Lake City, and the reception was very warm and welcoming.

One of the folks from Occupy SLC played tour guide for Roy and me, and took us to see the Mormon Temple, which for me was a really huge treat, as I was a practicing Mormon for many years. Even though I’m no longer a practicing Mormon, I do appreciate the history and architecture of something that was a huge part of my life for so many years.

We finally ended the day going up into the foothills where we were greeted by even more folks from Occupy SLC. They had a campfire blazing, and soon after we arrived we were cooking hot dogs and hamburgers, and roasting marshmallows over the open fire.

Well, that about sums up today’s leg of our journey. Stay tuned for more updates tomorrow, as we make our way to our next stop, which will be in Denver, CO.

- James Jennison -

Editor’s note: This piece was originally posted at Occupy Caravan Road Trip. Part one may be found here, and part three here.

Elko, NV–It’s our second day on the road, and it’s looking to be a beautiful leg of our journey. I woke up around 6:30am to the wonderful sound of birds chirping, and a lovely sunny day.

Our beautiful hosts in Reno had scrambled eggs with cheese, homemade coffee cake, coffee, and orange juice ready for us, and it was so good and tasty.

We’ll be leaving for our next destination, which is Elko, NV in a few minutes, and I will be going live as soon as we leave. Remember, you can follow us live here.

Stay tuned for more updates soon.

–
2:30pm

Well, it’s been an interesting past couple of hours. I’m really having some doubts regarding one of the people in the van I am in. He is extremely confrontational, controlling, and, in my humble opinion, thinks way too highly of himself.

I don’t know what is going to come out of this with him. I’m definitely not comfortable with having him on this trip. I’m really wishing I had voiced my concerns about him before we left yesterday. Now I worry about how miserable I am going to be for most of this trip.

I have the option of switching to the other van when we reach Elko, however the van I am in is the only one with a power inverter, and I need to be able to charge the phone and battery pack to be able to stream.

This is going to be a very long trip…

- James Jennison -

Editor’s note: This piece was originally posted at Occupy Caravan Road Trip. Part two may be found here, and part three here.

Oakland, CA–So, I have to admit, I was extremely anxious about our departure this morning when I hot to 19th & Telegraph at 10am and saw nobody was there. My fears were soon relieved when I got a call from one of the organizers telling me that a second van was rented and that it would be there in about an hour.

My fears were also abated when I started seeing people start to show up. I don’t know how many people I was expecting to show up, but I have to admit, I was worried that we would not have enough room to bring everyone.

Fortunately, we left Oakland with 9 people. We have 4 people in each van, and one person traveling in his own vehicle. We have plenty of leg room, a power inverter, music, food and water…what more do we need?

Our first stop on our journey to the National Gathering will be Reno, NV, which we are scheduled to arrive around 6pm. I’ve been told that there will be a potluck and a march when we arrive. Looking forward to streaming that!

So, that’s my update for now. Keep checking back, and I will keep you updated as we progress along our trip.

–
5:05pm
Well, we just crossed into Nevada, and are about 20 miles outside of Reno. I have to say, the scenery out here is absolutely breathtaking.

We’re actually making really good time, with minimal delays…primarily restroom stops. We stopped in the town of Truckee for a couple of minutes, because of its history regarding the Donner party.

Incidentally, I forgot to mention earlier that I will periodically be live streaming the road trip to Philadelphia. If you want to tune in, you can click over to here. If you wanna follow my blog for the caravan, it’s here.

OK, that’s all for now. I will post more later after we have gotten settled in Reno. I’m looking forward to our reception there.

–
10:00pm
So, our reception in Reno has been nothing short of awesome. We met up with Occupy Reno at a cute little bar called Strega. It’s actually a house from 1912! We were met by Occupy Reno with a very beautiful potluck dinner followed by a short march.

We only had about 20 people on the march, but I was told that was due to the march being planned at the last minute. The interesting thing was that we marched on the sidewalk. Apparently, when folks were marching a couple of weeks ago, Reno Police surrounded them with rifles drawn. We don’t need that.

So, this is going to conclude my post and updates for today. Type to everyone tomorrow!

- James Jennison -

NEW YORK, NY–Showing up at Zuccotti looking for an angle to a story for a film was not easy. There was movement. Tension. Too many TV news and reporters jockeying. All I noticed were lenses. Press passes and mikes. News trucks and generators and satellite dishes.  Everyone seemed important. A lot of talk. Yelling, intensity, and of course a ton of politics. This was great–unless, like me, you are looking for a story to tell. There was too much politics to figure out how to begin. All the meeting s with the GA’s seemed too intense, and how do you film that? Stand there for a long time…

I noticed people running around near the main stream media–live streamers. I started asking questions: who are you? Why are you filming? Where does your work go? Lorenzo Serna explained that he was streaming. This grabbed my attention.  Then, Bill Boggs at the press tent handling PR was loaded with intensity. Then Hero Vincent was doing some kind if Skype chat. I started asking all of them questions. This led to meeting Justin Wedes and Priscilla Grim and Flux and Haywood Carey–and Tim Poole. Of course, Jesse Lagreca made a splash with the Fox News people. I knew this was the angle for my film: the media people. They had  a job to do. Help drive a story. Whether it was filming, editing, getting out a press release or a newspaper, this was new, exciting, living media happening from Zuccotti in the rain, snow. Anybody getting out a story to the world with this feverish energy was exciting, and to me, the first time in a long while in New York City that media wasn’t old, stale and redundant!

I made a 40 minute film that was almost live. I made some good friends and they shared with me some great video that I couldn’t film alone. I needed a team of 5  camera people 24/7 .

I made a film that mirrored the days and nights of Zuccotti. Raw, fast and real, I wanted the sound rough. The shaky camera from when I was shoved. Zuccotti was not a glossed-over filtered fantasy. I am a hard New Yorker, and this energy was real. The OWS media team is brilliant. From the Direct Action to the graphic artists to Sophia writing the Spanish paper, I tell  the story of many people. Personal, yet showing their commitment to OWS media, I filmed it.

This is new journalism. They don’t need press passes and insignias to get out a story. This is greatness in action. I’m happy they trusted me to tell the story. And, regardless of criticism, they know how to create a story, and they work hard.

It was a once in a lifetime event in New York. Finally people said “Enough with the bullshit. We are citizen journalists. This is what we do. We will tell our own story.”

I used my energy to capture it.

-Kevin Breslin-

Editor’s Note: You may view #WhileWeWatch in its entirety here at SnagFilms.

Editor’s Note: In the run-up to what promises to be a May Day to remember, we are collecting stories from the people who are pouring their soul into making it happen. Are you involved in planning for May Day in your occupation? Have you been to any of the actions building toward the general strike? Tell us about it! You can find a collection of our May Day stories here.

NEW YORK, NY–Waiting for fellow Occupiers outside of the courthouse at 100 Centre Street in lower Manhattan, Justin Young explained the role of the OWS Street Medics, also known as the Red and Black Cross, and updated us on how they’re preparing for May Day.

Click PLAY to hear Caroline’s interview with OWS Street Medic Justin Young

-Caroline Lewis-