MIAMI, FL–I remember when Occupy Miami had gained its respected reputation for having the most peaceful relationship with the police… Things are now a bit different.

As you can imagine, Spring has come and things have steadily been heating up here. There had been a few recent cases of police brutality and harassment on a more personal level that some our occupiers had been subject, not to mention March 13th’s infamous FBI and SWAT raid on our building, and let us not also forget that Miami has already had its own long history of corrupt police…

Despite the negativity and fear tactics thrown at us, a new revolutionary spirit had been growing within Occupy Miami as our movement has undergone internal changes; petty individual differences have been settled and forgotten with strong bonds and communication being established, enthusiastic and talented newcomers have been welcomed, new activists groups have emerged from our ranks creating a network of solidarity that has been long overdue, inspiration has come from all around and all bright minds are back in focus.

The past months have been really building towards May first and the following months.

Certain media aggressors such as the Miami New Times are entertaining the notion that May Day foretold an imminent death for Occupy Miami. However, those who were there will tell you that what we are now watching here is a rebirth of the movement in South Florida.

I have to be honest; we at Occupy Miami have a little history of half-assing our events in a way with lack of real promotion and many last-minute announcements which, of course, usually resulted in unsatisfactory turnouts. May Day and the events that preceded it had brought about new shows of effort and even a new radical side to our activists here altogether. I, myself, had to be convinced to stay until after May Day in order to help set things up, rather than leave to Oakland or Chicago, which is what I honestly wanted to do. So in the days leading toward May Day, there was a lot of excitement but also a desire to not get our hopes up for anything too exciting.

However, despite our skepticism, our general strike did not disappoint. Our numbers weren’t in the thousands like other major occupations you may have heard of, but this had been our largest turnout without union help since October 15. SEIU [Service Employees International Union] had set up a rally of their own at a hospital which had recently been privatized, and was now facing mass layoffs at the hands of Wachovia’s old CEO, Carlos Migoya, now Jackson Memorial Hospital’s own CEO.  Their rally probably had much more numbers as well, but it seemed to be overshadowed in a way. Though our numbers were estimated at only around 150, they carried a growing intensity and unity that the unions’ permitted rally could not compete with.

Occupy Ft. Lauderdale and Occupy Palm Beach were making attendance, along with other local groups such as anti-capitalist group MAS [Miami Autonomy and Solidarity] and One Struggle South Florida. We were even joined by a new feminist women’s caucus, RYPE.  Black Bloc elements, which Occupy Miami had lacked in earlier days, had also been emerging; a contingent of black and red flags, accompanied by a little variety of others, were leading the way as we departed from our rally at The Torch of Friendship, after a series of inspiring speeches and warm reunions. We were passing by the nearby port of Miami, and immediately the tone for radical action was set for the day. Without warning, black-clad protesters were joined by many others as they began to close off the port’s entrance with steel barricades that were so conveniently lining the surrounding sidewalks.

It was a valiant effort but, sadly, it seemed to have been predicted by police as blaring ambulances attempted to go down the very roads we had not even finished blocking. Though it seemed to be a strategic move to thwart our plans, bleeding hearts began to clear the way and were then pushed towards the sidewalk by police. We shook it off and continued to move, never neglecting to take the streets and not the sidewalk.

We stomped on toward downtown area in a very energetic and tight-knit coup, moving past a college and then an art school. Several students joined us and were welcomed by deafening cheers. We then marched through the inside of our county hall, Government Center, which was also graced with our campsites for three and a half months. This was our first time doing this and security could do nothing but hold the door open as we all went through and poured back out.

We walked in and out without trouble and continued to march through the surrounding streets, making a notable presence at all the nearby banks, eventually making our way to the financial district, Brickell. Spirits stayed cheerful and positive and were well lifted by cheers and chants of “WE ARE THE 99%!” from a passing school bus. We nearly set up camp at a very cozy Bank of America, but as police pressure started to build up, we gathered our ranks and began to march back toward the downtown area.

This is when things began to escalate and go down a different path. It seems police were growing weary of us taking the whole street. As we marched up the bridge back to downtown, they started ordering us to seclude ourselves to the right lane, but were defiantly ignored. An unmarked police car came aggressively into the picture and tried to push us into the prescribed lane. The driver blared his siren wildly which was lightheartedly answered by a bullhorn siren. The driver was not amused and began charging through the march, nearly running over a girl and her dog. The car was then approached by angry yelling protesters so it drove away and we continued on, still taking up multiple lanes.

Now things were getting heated but we hadn’t really expected the extent. We marched past a huge corporate Wells Fargo Center and were nearly fully past it when we were all urgently called back towards the building; one occupier, Rolando Prieto, was being arrested.

He later told me that as he’d straggled in the back of the march, he began to walk backward while police came behind us. He closed his eyes and began praying in the direction of the police as he walked. As another protester came up to hurry Rolando along, one officer ran up and gave Rolando what I was told to be an open palm punch to the chest. He was dropped to the floor and was then roughly arrested, which is when we were all called back by onlookers for help.

All cameras were on deck as we confronted officers about their actions. Protesters were being pushed and shoved onto the sidewalk for recording and asking questions. One occupier, Brian Tanghellini, had his back turned as he had one foot off the sidewalk. Police pounced on him and a game of tug-of-war ensued with Brian’s body. A few others and I attempted to give aid but then an enormous bike cop threw his bike at us and jumped in to the scuffle as it went to the floor. Another officer was standing on his car swinging his baton wildly at us. He struck one grounded protester in the mouth and then Brian, who was now on his back, grabbed the tip of the baton to put a rest to his onslaught. This is when the giant bike cop, which we have identified as Walter Byars III, began to throw his fists at young Brian, a 22 year old who could have been no heavier than 145 lbs.

Our livestreamer, Alfredo Quintana, (who’s even smaller) saw this happening and ran up to record. Officer Byars then turned his attention to Alfredo and delivered a heavy handed punch to Alfredo’s eye. This happened less than a yard in front of me. Due to Byars’ excessive force, he was pushed away but we’d simultaneously lost the battle for Brian as another female cop seemed to almost stand the heads of two guys who’d been holding on to Brian.

At this point, we were enraged. We were facing this line of very cocky police and were throwing every insult in the book at them. We looked in to their ranks and were surprised to see one officer bleeding heavily from in between his eyes. We figured he’d injured himself from diving at us but we were short on sympathy, due to their violent behavior.

As usual, they gave us no explanation as to why they’d begun arresting anybody in the first place. We remained to voice our disapproval for a long while as they drove off with our two comrades and then brought an ambulance for theirs. We were truly mad, but more united than ever.

After a long confrontation filled with harsh words, we finally proceeded to march back to our rally point at The Torch where moods were to be lightened with an anarchist puppet show put together by members of Occupy Ft. Lauderdale, titled “The Autonomous Playhouse.”

Unfortunately, our troubles were not over. Our bike police aggressors stalked us back to our rally point and watched us intently, waiting for us to vacate this area that was out of their jurisdiction. I was masked up and was about to unmask when I was approached by a couple others who warned me that officers were pointing and intending to target me for arrest. I didn’t doubt it because Officer Byars had been all over me since the beginning of the march and he was still giving me a lot of bad looks.

I wasn’t the only one, of course.

So some of my closer comrades and I began to clear out because it seemed that they were being targeted as well. We picked up the pace once an anonymous friend approached us; “You guys need to leave. Police are about to start making arrests,” he whispered.

That’s all we needed to hear, though it pained me not to be there if any of my fellows were to be in trouble. Still, it was for the best.

As we vacated the area, a helicopter began to patrol above and there seemed to be way too many police around. About an hour later, I’d been informed that our livestreamer Alfredo had been arrested as he tried to leave the rally. This was confirmation to us that our concerns about targeting had been valid and that we’d made a smart move by heading out early. This was the second time Alfredo had been arrested for what seemed to be his attendance at an Occupy event and we were itching to find out what the charges were this time, especially after seeing the video of his arrest, which only showed Alfredo with his hands up, asking why he was being followed and why they wanted to arrest him. Another officer was then explaining to a couple of our activists that what they’d done had been for our own safety–there’s very obvious issues with that logic.

The charges were apparently 3 counts of aggravated assault and one account of resisting with violence. The joke came about later that Alfredo had assaulted Byars’ fist with his face. Police apparently take that very personal, it seems… We were all pretty sure that Byars didn’t want the first-person view footage of his flying fist to be released. That night, we had a vigil outside of the detention center for our May Day 3. One correctional officer actually stated to us that “there’s no such thing as police brutality.”

All 3 were released within the next day and despite the mishaps it seems that everybody had been inspired and re-energized by the experience. We know, now more than ever, that Occupy Miami is not dead and we will now build upon the newly emerged foundation that we have. May 1st has triggered a new vibe and attitude, and perhaps a new day for these growing movements in South Florida. Spring is here and we are ready. Serious momentum has been gained and we are determined not to lose this momentum. Perhaps, if we utilize this momentum righteously, we’ll see a Miami Summer…

-Chris Mazorra-

Editor’s Note: Check out all our May Day stories here.

New York, NY – Today, I occupied the May Day International General Strike of Occupy Wall Street. The few thousand Occupiers at Bryant Park midtown, were made up of union workers, disappointed conservatives, disillusioned liberals, veterans of wars past and present, those fighting still for equal access to affordable health care and students who cannot get jobs or pay off their student loans. Protest was almost a misnomer today, because the park was filled with musicians beating their percussion instruments, blowing horns,chanting and singing, with many people swaying to the beat of their own drummer.

Most of  us have met a union worker we like or have loved. Many of us have worked a union job. This American worker, so unemployed now and for so long, is a group we can really stand up for and celebrate. There was a police presence there too and they are also in a union.

It occurred to me that the NYPD are occupying also. These are hard working union men and women, doing a job that most of us would never want to do. Yes, the police have been behaving badly. In the beginning of the Occupy movement, they herded young women into nets and assaulted them with pepper spray. They beat up young men with brutal tenacity. When Occupy Wall Street began to step up civil action in the spring, the police met them with seemingly more violence than they have used before, after comments that  Mayor Michael Bloomberg made about the police being his “private police force” and after we found out that Wall Street gives huge money to the NYPD, when we all thought their salaries were paid by the taxpayer.

No matter how you want to look at it though, the New York Police are Occupying Wall Street with us. They are there every day. They stay as long as we stay. Most of the time, there is very little tension, and most of the police do not want physical conflict. Their pensions are being cut also. They are losing their jobs as a result of a bad economy in most cities and towns. In fact, many city cops still have their jobs JUST to police the Occupy Movement.

If we started to think about the ever present police presence as being part of our Occupy family, would our relationships with them change? Could we teach them that they are just like we are – Occupiers; city union workers who’s jobs, pensions and benefits are being slashed while they perform work that most of us would never want to do?

If we all felt the kinship that is there, would the police stand down? Would the violence deescalate? We are not going to stop committing acts of civil disobedience. We have a world to change. I would love to see what will happen when we all realize that the police are actually with us, and not against us.

-Marianne Hoynes-

Check out all our coverage from May Day here.

DETROIT, MI–For the May Day events, I started in the Media Command Center for Occupy Detroit till about 4 or 5 pm. Then I joined the fun. In this video clip from Occupy Detroit, there is a group of “police officers” that are dressed in all black with different shoulder patches indicating they were different units:

Most city police ware dark blue uniforms, and here are a few cop cars and the bus parked on Woodward:

The talk last night was that these guys where Homeland Security. At about 9:30, they announced that everyone must leave the park by 10 pm. With the understanding that the sidewalks where a legal public space, a group of people congregated around the Pingry statue. Then the guys in black, with the company of about 40 city police, decided that we were not aloud to assemble on the sidewalk, saying that this was an illegal assembly. The protesters asked where they could go and were told to go south. To me this indicated that no one cared where we were as long as we didn’t stay in Grand Circus Park.

We regrouped in another park for about an hour or so and started getting visitors from the city police. They asked the group to go back to Grand Circus, and when told that  that’s where we came from and why, they didn’t even know about the events. That makes me wounder just who was calling the shots in Grand Circus…

All in all, it was a good day. Occupy had a food line for the homeless people in the area and a few musical groups played some tunes.

-Occupy Journey-

Editors note: Check out our other May Day stories here.

NEW YORK, NY–After being at Bryant Park for about four hours, some of my group and I stopped for a minor snack break. In the midst of our meal we watched a stream of other protesters leaving the park, passing by us down 6^th avenue, turning eastward on 40^th street and up 5^th Avenue and towards Grand Central.

We didn’t know exactly where the march was headed—there was so much scheduled to happen, and it was difficult to find pickets we attempted to visit earlier in the morning—but we decided to get in on the action. Overhearing the name “Grand Central” from someone ahead, we initially thought the station was our destination until we passed it; crossing the streets, a line of NYPD officers on their motorbikes attempted to stall the march by threatening (and trying) to ride through us as we crossed. But the march went on, stopping first outside the Capital Grille on 42^nd street before 3^rd avenue. “One, two, three, four, don’t go through that restaurant door!” we chanted as we circled around, “five, six, seven, eight, until they don’t discriminate!”

We backtracked the path we took to get there—more crossing streams of police on bikes, more crossing of streets—converging at Chipotle across from the New York Public Library’s north side. The march quickly became a picket for farmer and immigrants’  rights as a wall of NYPD officers watched from the parking lane, the public standing across the street with their cellphones. We were welcomed back to Bryant Park, which held a relaxed and celebratory atmosphere—confetti, music and art as the day continued.

-Joe Sutton-

You can check out more of our May Day posts here.

CHICAGO, IL – Despite numerous arrests and previous dismantling of tents, the occupation at Woodlawn Mental Health Clinic on the southside of Chicago continues.  In its second week, Occupiers and mental health advocates opposed to the closure and privatization of half of the city’s remaining clinics began more formalized use of the space.  On Saturday we held a health fair open to members of the community.  On Sunday I brought a selection of books from the Occupy Chicago library out to distribute to those occupying the space and people just passing by.  And Monday saw local clergy come out to bless and pray with the occupation, as well as advocate for the clinics.

I want to take a minute to make a confession.  Before this occupation began, I don’t think I had ever visited Woodlawn before in my life.  It’s easy to say that I simply haven’t had any reason to; I live on the opposite side of the city, 20 miles away.  Except that the reality is I never wanted to visit Woodlawn before.  It’s a place I’ve only heard of in passing as the site of tragic shootings.

Dancing at Saturday's health fair. Photo Credit: Marcus Demery

I wasn’t sure how the people who live and work in Woodlawn would feel about someone like me setting up camp on their front lawn, to be honest.  But the reaction to our presence in the neighborhood has been overwhelmingly positive.  I couldn’t begin to count the number of people who have thanked me for coming down and spending some time with them, fighting their fight.  They’ve been welcoming and kind.  I don’t know if it’s the recent gentrification, the ever-present police surveillance, or my fellow Occupiers, but I feel safe there.  I would sleep there at night if I could.  Plus, it’s a lovely drive down the lakefront and through the heart of the city.  It’s so easy to become ensconced in the parts of the city I’m familiar with and forget how far it stretches, and what a beautiful place Chicago really is.

While occupying on Sunday, I heard more detailed plans for the clergy event, including the intention to set up tents again.  This time, each tent was named after a clinic being closed by the city.  It was a win-win situation; either the city arrested us during a prayer service with some prominent local religious leaders in our midst, or the tents stayed for a while.

I was still working when the event began, but made it down to Woodlawn by 8pm.  There were about 60 people present, speaking out in the form of a prayer circle.  They gave testimonies about themselves and loved ones who struggle with mental health issues and need this vital resource to continue being available.  They told of friends and family members who lost the struggle, and the horrifying consequences.  It was poignant and heartbreaking.  There is a heavy stigma attached to mental health problems that makes hearing them spoken about so openly truly inspiring.

Dancing at Saturday's health fair. Photo Credit: Marcus Demery

When the tents went up, before I arrived, police presence increased and threats of arrest were made.  But by the time I got there, only a couple patrol cars remained parked across the street.  The atmosphere was charged, but in a positive way.  Nobody doubted the police would be back, but for a time we were free to discuss exactly what is at stake when public clinics are closed or privatized.

As the prayer circle concluded, I wandered between groups of friends discussing the movement and speculating about what the night would bring.  A small group went to collect firewood and marched it back through the streets, chanting.  We built up the fire and stayed close for warmth.  Someone brought a guitar over and started singing in Spanish.  It was the most relaxed part of my day, despite sensing the squad cars (many unmarked) circling ever closer.

The calm was shattered by the sounds of sirens as two fire engines and an ambulance pulled up to the retirement home next to the lot we have been occupying.  As it turns out, this was a dry run for what was to come later.  But as the fire engines drove past us on their way back to the station, they honked and shook their fists in solidarity, eliciting cheers.

A while later, some of us went to a nearby church which has given us a key in order to use the bathroom.  On our way around the block, we noticed an unmarked car with plainclothes officers watching the encampment from a distance.  On the way back, three more unmarked cars were congregated.  We knew something was going to happen, and soon.

Arrests being made. Photo Credit: Marcus Demery

Sure enough, at 10:30pm (conveniently timed for when the news broadcasts all go off the air), a legion of police vehicles descended upon us.  The street was completely lined with them, all points of access blocked off.  We were given 30 minutes to clear out before eviction.  We all took to our phones to call, text, and tweet for supporters to join us.  And then the signs and banners came out, and it became a protest again.  That struck me as odd, how it had felt more like a friendly campfire sing-along until the authorities showed up and turned us back into the angry protesters you see on TV.

When the police came to make their arrests, most of us had moved to the sidewalk.  Two patients told their stories via megaphone as the supporters standing with them were cuffed and taken away.  Then they came for the patients themselves.  Have you ever seen a man arrested with his walker?  It’s not something I’m likely to forget.

The tents came down, and still CPD occupied our lot with officers numbering close to our own 40 or so people left.  They said we had to keep moving or we would be ticketed, so we marched in a circle, still protesting.  And then we found out what they were waiting around for as our new friends from the fire department returned, sirens blaring.  Several

Thanks to CFD for keeping us safe from the warmth of this grill. Photo Credit: Marcus Demery

firefighters jumped off the front engine and put out our grill fire in less time than it took to read this sentence.  It was the funniest thing to me, that they would call the fire department out to douse our small, contained grill fire.  An Occupier standing near the engines asked why they had given us thumbs up as they drove by earlier.  They said they support the occupation and were just following orders.  Their jovial attitude made it clear they felt those orders were as ridiculous as we did.  Then they pulled away, honking and waving in solidarity.

The cops left, with 10 of our friends in the paddy wagon.  What was accomplished?  The tents are down, but the space remains occupied.  Our fire was restarted within minutes.  Surely this whole operation, complete with semi-staged arrests on shaky legal ground, cost the city.  How much is it worth to afford us less of a visible, permanent status in the community?  And when will they learn that we don’t give up so easily?

The Woodlawn occupation is not leaving, and neither am I.

-Rachel Allshiny-

PORTLAND, OR–If you were watching at least one or two news stations last night, and if you’ve read the Oregonian‘s website this morning, you might have heard about an aborted attempt to “reoccupy” Chapman Square—the heart of last fall’s Occupy Portland encampment.

I was out there, too, showing up a little before 11 and staying until well-after the cops cleared the park’s sidewalks (no one messed with the still-tender, still-fenced-off replanted grass). And it was a strange affair. (And the Oregonian story, relying on a morning report from a police spokesman, got a few details wrong, mostly in timing.)

The occupation was impromptu, led by one occupier, Remi, who put the call out on social media for reinforcements in hopes of making a stand on First Amendment issues. He brought a sign, his molecular biology textbook, and a backpack. The idea was interesting: Occupy and break park curfew hours without camping—a protest, not a party, etc. Whether and how to reoccupy isn’t yet a clearcut issue for Occupy.

Editor’s Note: This story is excerpted from the Portland Mercury; you may continue reading here.

-Denis C. Theriault-

Editor’s Note: A version of this story originally appeared at the Portland Occupier.

Today it was my privilege to sit down with Rose and Pam Hogeweide at Anna Bananas in North Portland to discuss Rose’s arrest on the morning of Occupy Portland’s eviction. They are a dynamic and strong mother and daughter that I first met after seeing proud mother Pam’s Twitter posts announcing Rose’s first court date on December 13. They have been involved in Occupy Portland actions since October 6 and recently celebrated Rose’s 18th birthday in very Portland-like fashion with a tattoo that matches her mother’s.

I briefly visited with the family prior to court and we’ve kept in touch in social media circles. As was the case in many Occupy related arrests, Rose’s charges were dropped. By her account, this left Rose feeling very discouraged and ultimately dismissed, in the same way that she felt the entire Occupy movement was dismissed and disregarded. In the next 90 days, Rose actively participated in several actions, such as Occupy The Ports, with the full support of her family. Still feeling no sense of closure about the initial arrest, they decided that they needed to take further action and filed a complaint with the City of Portland. As a result of this complaint, earlier today [April 15, 2012] Rose participated in mediation with the officers who arrested her . She met with the pair of officers she was handed to after being pulled from the crowd in the following video around the 6:44-8:04 mark.

One of the most important questions Rose wanted answered was: why? Why her? She was 17, smaller than the protesters surrounding her, wearing a knitted hat in the shape of a lion, and as you can see from the video, was presenting no threat. Rose’s question initiated a tactical discussion in which she learned that she was arrested because she was in the “bubble”–the area defined by the supervisor standing behind the line of riot police. Anyone located in the bubble was subject to arrest, having supposedly been notified by the infamous “Ice Cream Truck” bearing the sound apparatus calling out a repeated warning to disperse. Rose stated she doesn’t remember hearing the dispersal warning and was suddenly being pushed forward right in the center of the line of scrimmage, in what was reported by officers as a somewhat tense situation. The police also told her that someone had thrown a water bottle or some small item, and that that was what began the series of arrests.

Simply put, Rose was arrested because she was there. She was detained for a short time, and asked a very reasonable question as she was being processed. She asked if she would still be able to attend college and one of the officers stated “this is Portland, this will help you get into college!” She was also told that she was “the nicest Occupier” they had ever arrested.

On that note, we discussed how her view of the political landscape has changed. She stated that prior to Occupy Portland, she wanted to go to college elsewhere, perhaps the east coast. She really had no thought or involvement in local or national politics. Pam stated that Occupy has caused a moment of enlightenment and a growth process in Rose and it is evident that she both supports and loves this awakening in her daughter. It is apparent to me that Rose began to Occupy as a child, and has emerged a more confident, self possessed and empowered young lady with a very bright future.

Through the past months, as Occupy has grown and progressed, Rose has learned that there is a method by which to express her feelings, and that there are solutions to the problems we all face. It has turned her into somewhat of a celebrity in her school, especially with her political science teacher, who looks to her for an opinion whenever Occupy is mentioned. She has gained a fierce sense of community pride and continues to demonstrate a civic consciousness that makes her mother’s eyes light up. Most importantly, she has found her voice and a sense of empowerment that will serve her well as she heads to Portland State University, to perhaps study political science.

-Angella Davis-

CHICAGO, IL – As the Chicago Police Department closed in on those who had barricaded themselves inside Woodlawn Mental Health Clinic last Thursday, I realized this was a terrible time for me to be going away from Internet access for the next 48 hours.

If you aren’t up to speed, here’s the situation.  Under Mayor Rahm Emanuel’s budget, 6 of the 12 public mental health clinics in Chicago are scheduled to be shut down.  Adding insult to injury is the fact that the clinics slated for closure are uniformly located within the poorest, hardest-hit neighborhoods of the city.

In other words, those who need it most will no longer have access to mental health services.

The Mental Health Movement associated with STOP Chicago has been working for the past 4 years to protect mental health clinics from closures and privatization.  When Emanuel’s budget was about to pass, they staged a 10-hour sit in outside the mayor’s office that Occupy Chicago joined in solidarity.  With the Woodlawn Clinic set to close on April 30th, however, it was time for drastic action.

Photo Credit: Marcus Demery

Last Thursday night, doctors, patients, activists and Occupiers barricaded themselves inside the clinic while others supported the occupation from outside.  Shortly after midnight, CPD cut their way into the building with chainsaws, arresting 23 people.

When I returned to the land of Internet connections on Saturday, it was to the welcome news that the clinic had been re-occupied with a small tent city established on an empty lot across the street.  Eviction seemed imminent but they held through that night and the next, despite severe wind and thunderstorms.

After work on Sunday I was able to join the occupation for several hours in the afternoon and evening.  Before heading out, I blindly tweeted an offer to drive any interested northsiders down to participate in the occupation.  I got one reply, a political science and sociology student from Northwestern University named Isa–formerly a stranger, now a friend and first-time Occupier.  People at the encampment also tweeted me with supplies needed, which I was able to deliver.  And, naturally, I brought homemade cookies–because it’s not a revolution until somebody bakes cookies.

If I didn’t know better, my first impression would not have been that this was the site of an embattled protest.  As we approached the camp we saw people sitting together–talking, laughing, and sharing a bite to eat.  A long table was overflowing with food donated throughout the day and a makeshift grill gave off the scent of fresh barbecue.  Music played, people danced.  It had all the makings of a great block party–plus, of course, some large protest banners and a few police vehicles idling nearby.

Photo Credit: Marcus Demery

I introduced myself by my Twitter handle and joined the group in discussions of philosophy, recaps of the arrests, and just plain socializing.  One Occupier said (and I’m afraid my memory is not good enough for this to be an exact quote): “I don’t care if they arrest me.  My friends will bring me books to read, and when I come out I’ll have even more knowledge and power.”  It began to rain; everyone rushed to cover the food table with tarps.

The cafe on the corner has been more than kind about letting us use wall sockets and bathroom facilities during business hours.  A small group of us were recharging ourselves and our various electronic devices when I noticed an Occupier, one of the 23 arrestees, talking to a Chicago police officer.  It’s a conversation I wish could be duplicated with every police officer in the city.  She explained why we were out there protesting and how the closure of public mental health clinics would affect him directly, as he would be encountering untreated mental health patients out in the streets.  He listened attentively and seemed to understand what was at stake–but told her the order to arrest came from above.

Photo Credit: Marcus Demery

This occupation is the work of the Mental Health Movement and STOP Chicago–we at Occupy Chicago are joining in solidarity.  As such, the core Occupy Chicago members whom I’ve gotten to know over the past several months were interspersed with other activists and those whom use the clinic and know firsthand how devastating it will be to lose it.  It was humbling and inspiring to be amongst both those who have worked so hard to keep the clinics open and those who will be directly affected by the loss of this community resource.

The evening concluded with a meeting to discuss next steps and possible uses of the occupied space.  We haven’t held a space for over 24 hours in Chicago until now, and the possibilities are exciting.  It’s in a community where we haven’t held any actions or done much outreach, but now we’re out in the open, talking to the neighbors and spreading the word.  All of that gives me a great deal of hope that we can change hearts and minds by reaching out to those who need our help the most.

Update: As I was writing the final paragraph about being hopeful for the future of this occupied space, the encampment was surrounded by squad cars and threatened with mass arrest.  After dismantling the tents, the police left without making any arrests. Many stayed overnight anyway, sleeping in cars or staying on the sidewalk.

UPDATE (April 17th 5:35pm): Woodlawn was briefly re-occupied this afternoon just after 2pm.  CPD moved in almost immediately, demolishing tents and destroying personal property. Two Occupy Chicago participants standing on public sidewalks were arrested, including press liaison Rachael Perrota.

-Rachel Allshiny-

MINNEAPOLIS, MN -As planned, groups met today [Saturday, April 7th] in both Loring Park and Peavey Plaza at 12-noon. Around 2:00pm Minneapolis Police officers came to Peavey Plaza to state to us that we were in violation of a state law (609.74) in which our tents, banners on strings, and tarps were in violation of the law and were to be considered as a public nuisance. This was, of course, the first that we had heard about such a law in the state. When the Lieutenant and Sergent were speaking with me, they literally stated that this law had been found by the City Attorney and that the order to enforce it was sent from the Minneapolis Mayor’s Office. News reports prior to the re-occupation essentially guaranteed our right to erect tents upon Peavey Plaza and if you look back at the Minneapolis Business Journal, it quotes the Minneapolis Police Department stating that this was the case. When the officers approached us, we asked for them to return with a printed ordinance so that we could decide what we were to do with the new enforcement of this law.

Around 6:00pm, the officers returned to Peavey Plaza with copies of the ordinance to pass out. The ordinance itself applies to any type of item that is infringing upon the public’s right-of-way. It is important to note that while we had tents erected, they were not on the sidewalk, but rather they were upon the plaza itself. It is also important to note that the city of Minneapolis had just recently erected signs along the edge of Peavey Plaza advertising the planned renovation, and that those sit (unpermitted) upon the sidewalk itself along with the Minneapolis Police Department’s stationary cameras. They would not comment as to whether or not they felt that their own signs and camera were within the jurisdiction of the law itself.

After we received this notice, occupiers held a meeting to decide what it was we were to do when the officers chose to enforce the law itself. They had not given us a time-frame as to when they would be back to enforce this.

At around 8:30pm, the Minneapolis Police Department including Chief Dolan had returned to Peavey Plaza to enforce the law that they had found and chosen to enforce against Occupy Minneapolis. As they ordered us to either remove the structures or have them forcibly removed, we chose to pick up our tents and march through the streets. We marched to Loring Park where our other Brothers and Sisters were gathered, and were followed by the Minneapolis Police. Upon vacating Peavey Plaza, the remaining items were taken by the Minneapolis Police. They also removed all signs, sidewalk chalking, and any other trace of the day’s events from the plaza itself.

After gathering in Loring, we decided as a group that we would attempt to take back Peavey Plaza and place our structures upon the plaza itself. It is important to note that while the law has been on the books in Minnesota for a while, there was no mentioning of it prior to our reoccupation and the enforcement of the law is a clear sign that the City of Minneapolis has no respect to our First Amendment rights of both freedom of assembly and free speech. (Congress shall make no law…)

We marched from Loring Park, up Hennepin Avenue, and then back down First Avenue until we arrived at Peavey Plaza. We sat our tents and canopies back down, and began to have an open discussion as to why we all occupy. This was interrupted by the Minneapolis Police Department as they gave us a warning that the structures were in violation of the law and that we must remove them. Again, they gave no time-frame of how long it would be until they acted. After I literally forced them to give us a clear deadline (they gave us 10-minutes) we decided that we would take to the streets again. Individuals raised up our tents and canopies again and began walking up the Nicollet Mall.

While we were walking up the Nicollet Mall (in the streets) the police tried to block us from continuing our march. As they had not completed their barricade, they ordered us onto the sidewalks or risk arrest. Protesters complied with their request, and went onto the sidewalk. After passing through their failed barricade, most protesters remained on the sidewalk and continued heading North near the Target store on the Nicollet Mall. A few protesters took to the streets again but were met by mounted police (on horseback) shortly after crossing the intersection to continue North. Police then grabbed the canopy that these individuals were holding and began to bend the metal legs of it, whilst shaking the grips of protesters from it. Several protesters were knocked to the ground by the force of the police along with the fact that the mounted police were commanding their horses into the protesters. Those that remained in the streets were arrested.

While the police arrested the individuals in the streets, they also began to grab onto others that were standing upon the public sidewalk. These individuals had complied with the police, however several were still arrested without proper cause. During that time the mounted police then directed their horses onto the sidewalk itself in an attempt to intimidate and possibly injure those that were peacefully complying with their orders. I was one of those individuals. A Minneapolis Police Officer had grabbed me in what seemed to be an attempt to take me into custody, however a mounted officer began to direct his horse onto the sidewalk at that time. I was pushed into stanchions that were on the sidewalk (the stanchions were placed there to separate a restaurant’s patio from the main sidewalk itself) and as the horse pushed me, it was also kicking. If I did not have my bicycle in front of me blocking the hooves of the horse, I surely would have ended up being trampled.

During this time, across the street, Minneapolis Police Officers had grabbed onto the camera of a local reporter from KSTP. The reporter himself claims that he was assaulted. They threw his camera onto the ground and kicked it despite the fact that he had vocalized that he was with KSTP. The camera itself was ruined and his footage could not be salvaged.

According to our most recent confirmation, 9 individuals were arrested. We have been working to bail all of them out of jail tonight. After the confrontation with the police, we moved from the Nicollet Mall back to The People’s Plaza to debrief about our evening and hold a solidarity rally for those that were placed under arrest.

It concerns me that the city of Minneapolis had intentionally searched for a law to cite against us whilst claiming that they respected our First Amendment Rights. It is clear to see that the type of behavior that the Minneapolis Police Department showed to us is beyond aggression, it is clearly oppression. A reporter for a local media outlet had his camera ripped out of his hands tonight, which shows that the freedom of the press itself is not being respected. The Occupy Movement focuses upon using civil disobedience as a method of protest, and tonight’s marches were no different than those that we had last fall.

-Osha Karow-

NEW YORK, NY–A few hours before I was arrested on the Brooklyn Bridge, I met Nicole in Zuccotti Park. She wore dark blue jeans that stretched across her legs, a grey sweater and a blue and white scarf that hid behind her flowing brown her. It was our first date.

Nicole was handing out flyers with legal advice while saying, “Protest is not a crime.

“I work for a law firm so the legal stuff interests me,” she explained.

When Occupy Wall Street began its march the protest stretched back for many blocks as it crowded onto the sidewalk with barricades and a heavy police presence lining our way. By the time we arrived at the bridge the front of the march was already funneling onto the pedestrian walkway, though only a handful of police stood casually at the entrance to the roadway.

“We’re not taking the bridge?” I said to Nicole in disappointment.

“Doesn’t look that way, I guess they don’t have a permit,” she responded.

“That’s such a letdown; the power of OWS is that it doesn’t ask permission to disagree. There’s hardly any police, we should just take the bridge,” I said.

The crowd bulged at the narrow entrance to the walkway and had begun to fill the street in front.

Without thinking, I stepped away from Nicole and into the growing crowd to start a familiar chant.

“Whose streets?” I yelled.

“Our streets!” the crowd answered.

The chant grew quickly and more people moved into the street at the base of the on ramp. The assertiveness and ambition was back, the crowd was alive. One police officer lazily spoke into a megaphone but was drowned out by the crowd.

I shouted “Take the bridge, take the bridge!” and the crowd immediately and aggressively picked up the refrain. It was infectious. I had lost myself in the moment and briefly forgotten about Nicole. I thought my idea of protest might have been more aggressive than hers, but then she caught my eye, smiled and rushed down from the pedestrian walkway toward me. She grabbed me and put her fist in the air. “Take the bridge” she shouted with the surging crowd. We watched as the group of people closest to the police locked arms. Everyone behind them, including Nicole and I, followed their example. It was loud and tense but it all melted away when the first line took a single step forward, their legs all moving in unison, connected as one solid line at the waist. The police turned their backs and walked ahead. They were leading us onto the bridge, we won! The crowd cheered and rushed up the ramp.

Nicole and I held back a few minutes and helped people from the walkway climb onto the road with us. The crowd was thick and excited, and our hands met so we wouldn’t get separated; it felt so natural. Once the crowd spread into all the lanes and gave us space, neither of us let go. I only noticed her hand still in mine because they began to sweat against each other. Confused motorists, stuck behind us, were honking in support.

“I can’t get arrested,” Nicole told me.

“They can’t arrest everyone. I can’t see the beginning or end of the crowd. There’s no way they can arrest this many people; we already won,” I said.

“Okay, good. This is incredible,” Nicole said, squeezing my hand and looking up at me.

“Yeah. I went to a lot of protests in college, but this is different.” I said.

The crowd stopped suddenly then surged backward, pushing Nicole’s body against mine. We couldn’t see what was happening, but the joy instantly transformed into panic. The chants stopped and people started screaming a few rows in front of us in the all-of-a-sudden-dense-again crowd. “The police are attacking, go back, go back!” they yelled. I put my arms around Nicole and held her tight; her fingers clasped behind my back and pulled me even closer.

As some people from the front pushed back into us, others pushed forward, trying to reach the front line to break the police cordon.

“We have to keep going forward! We have to break through!” a man behind us yelled.

“There’s nowhere to go, people are getting crushed up there!” a woman cried, her voice cracking.

A second man with a calm but firm voice started shouting rhythmically, over and over again, “Sit down! Sit down!”

Most people sat down but there were still others pushing one way or the other and stepping on top of people. Dozens on our left, against the inner side of the bridge, were climbing up the scaffolding to the pedestrian walkway above, trying to escape the crush. It was chaos.

Nicole tucked her head into my arm as I moved my hand across her back. Our bodies moved tighter, her right leg rubbing between mine while my left leg nestled between hers.

“I can’t get arrested,” Nicole repeated, more desperate than before.

“They can’t arrest everyone,” I repeated, almost as sure.

To our left, where the people had been climbing the scaffolding, police pushed in and set up a net. They immediately walked two protesters in handcuffs down the corridor so everyone could see. They were pushing them hard, making them stumble, and almost knocking them on their face. They were sending us a message: You’re next.

The police pushed everyone off the pedestrian walkway and shut down the bridge. The crowd was tense. We were stuck in a police net, hanging above the East River, completely alone, utterly vulnerable. Rumors swilled though the crowd. “The police cleared the airspace,” someone shouted, and we realized: there were no witnesses. All of a sudden taking the bridge seemed a terrible idea.

We waited, and as we waited the fear left and the spirit of the crowd that had locked arms and took the Brooklyn Bridge returned. People started to mic check, mixing rumor and fact, but the tone changed and each message was more defiant than the last. Each time the crowd roared louder than the last.

“5,000 people are watching us on livestream.”

“A crowd is gathering on the Brooklyn side of the bridge, they are waiting for us.”

“10,000 people are watching.”

“The MTA is going on strike in solidarity.”

“25,000 people are watching.”

Even as the minutes dragged into hours and it became clear that the police were in fact going to arrest everyone they had netted, it still felt like victory. Everyone shared what they had, fruit and water passed through the crowd and people called out of work and cancelled dinner plans with borrowed phones.

Nicole and I still held each other. Long after the crowd thinned and the panic passed, our hands were still interlocked when we sat, and our bodies still pressed tight to the other when we stood.

“Mic check: It is an honor and a privilege to be arrested with you all today. Fifty years from now, when you tell your grandkids about this, you can say that you were a soldier in the Battle of the Brooklyn Bridge!” The crowd roared.
Nicole pulled her head out of my arm and we looked into each other’s eyes.

“Best first date ever,” I said.

She giggled. “This is incredible.”

People were still mic checking, still passing around markers so everyone could write the legal number on their arm, but we were isolated from all of that, stuck in our own moment. Our eyes were locked on each other and our faces pulled together, like magnets finding their mate. Our lips touched, and then opened. When we drew back our eyes were staring into each other again but in a different way than before the kiss. I could tell she was smiling though all I saw were her eyes. I could feel my own face stuck in the same pose. We moved together and kissed again, oblivious to the crowd around us.

It began to rain and the sun disappeared behind the clouds, then fell below the horizon. We had been in the police net for over three hours now and I was getting cold. “Let’s go get arrested,” I said.

“I’d love to.” Nicole smiled.

I tapped someone on the shoulder near the police blockade. “Is this the line to get arrested?” I asked.

He laughed. “Yeah,” he said.

There was a separate line for women so Nicole and I shared one last embrace and kissed one last time.
“I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait for you forever,” she said.

A police officer slapped cuffs on my wrist then walked me onto a commandeered MTA bus, and when I looked back, Nicole was gone, on her own bus I presumed. All the police stations and holding cells in Manhattan were already overflowing with protesters, so we got on the Williamsburg Bridge and for the second time that day, I headed to Brooklyn. This time, a prisoner in police custody, I made it. The first two precincts we went to were also filled and we finally stopped at the 90th precinct, which, ironically, I could walk to from my home in Bushwick. We were the third bus in line so we waited for the others to be processed first. For more than three hours we sat uncomfortably, forced to sit at the edge of our seat and lean slightly forward to accommodate the handcuffs digging ever deeper into our wrists as the blood collected in our hands and swelled the skin around the plastic rings. All the while, we took advantage of our captive audience and tried to convert our arresting officers who were acting as our guards now.

“The banks crashed the economy, and when the government bailed them out they used the money to give bonuses to the CEO’s and increased foreclosures against families like your own. When it comes down to it, we are all on the same side. You are the 99% as much as we are,” we told them.

One of the officers, the loudest one, never genuinely responded to our attempts at engagement. He would chuckle and say things like, “I think your dreadlocks are seeping into your brain,” or, “what good are you sitting in handcuffs here, why don’t you just plant a garden or something?”

My arresting officer was much quieter but also much more thoughtful.

“National elections are overwhelmingly decided by who has the most money so they can better spin the narrative in their favor, which gives great power to corporate CEO’s at our expense. The system is broken, and while we may not have all the answers, we need to start creating alternatives, we need to take control over our own lives,” I said.

“You’re right,” he said. “The country is heading in the wrong direction and people need to stand up in order to change it, but I got a job to do. I got a wife and kids so if my CO [commanding officer] tells me to make an arrest, I have to do it. I wish I could be with you guys, but I need this paycheck,” he said.

Finally it was our turn, and the police marched us off the bus and into the station.

Someone yelled my name as I was being walked to my cell.

“Anita?” I stopped, happy to see my friend smiling behind a row of bars next to me. “Hey! You got arrested too huh?”

An officer grabbed my arm and yelled, “Get to your cell!”

I kept forgetting I wasn’t free.

The cells were built for one with a single plank of wood hanging from one wall as a bed, a metal toilet filled with urine and feces and unable to flush, and not much room for anything else. The first thing everyone did was pee. There were five of us, and our urine stirred the thick brown liquid and released an even more pungent odor.

Danny, Craig, Adam and Lucas were my cell mates. We were locked in what was essentially a crowded and dirty bathroom, but it felt like a party. I’ve never felt free as I did when I was handcuffed and forced into a 5 by 8 cell. Given the chance to do it all over, I wouldn’t hesitate a second. But freedom is more than a lack of fear; it’s replacing that with the belief that we can build something better. Though I spent the day inside a police net and then locked in a cage, I saw the beginnings of a community based on altruism, compassion and solidarity, and you can’t lock that up.

Finally, after twelve hours in police custody, we were given court dates and released. It was the early morning and dark and cold outside. Two women were waiting outside to support us and gave everyone coffee and snacks.

My phone rang. “You’re out!” Nicole gushed. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. I’m in Brooklyn, where are you?” I asked.

“I’m waiting for you in the park.”

I took the subway away from my house and back to the park. The streets of the financial district were deserted and police barricades lined every sidewalk. There was a steady stream of people rising from the subways, returning from jail. It felt like the city was ours.

I ran into Danny and Craig at the edge of the park and we embraced like old friends who hadn’t seen each other in years. Nicole was sitting on a wall with a blanket wrapped over her shoulders. She dropped the blanket and ran toward me, and we embraced like old lovers.

“You must be cold, take this.” She threw the blanket over me. She had enormous energy considering the hour.
Nicole brought us to a group lying on an air mattress. Though it was already crowded beyond what seemed comfortable, they cheerily made space for us. They were all drinking coffee and soon after they got up to welcome others returning from jail, leaving Nicole and I alone in their bed.

We never slept. We barely even talked. We wrapped our arms around each other and touched our lips together. It warmed better than any blanket. A few hours after I was released from jail, the darkness began to fade. On all sides the park was hemmed in by skyscrapers creating an empty shaft of air reaching toward the sky. The sun filtered between the walls of concrete and through the honey locust trees above us, bathing New York City in a new light.

It was the brightest sunrise of my life.

-John Dennehy-