Tag Archive | "police intimidation"

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Anti-Capitalist March: Brutality and Victory


Editors note: This is part of a collection of first-person accounts from #noNATO. Don’t let the corporate media speak for you, if you’re in Chicago tell us what you’re seeing. Submit your story

Chicago, Il -A march that officially started around 6:30pm, but at 3:30 for those who simply traveled from one march to another, was focused around an anti-capitalist theme. The group of protesters started at Lake St. and Desplaines in Chicago’s West Loop. Following the success of a large, vocal, and influential rally and march the day before organized by the NNU (National Nurses Union), police seemed to be extra determined to dampen spirits and the confidence of the protesters who were running mostly on adrenaline, and the solidarity from their fellow brothers and sisters.

Within five minutes into the march, we were met with a line of riot police blocking the street in front of us and the right, and all of them had batons in hand. The front of the march took off to the left in a frantic sprint and everyone followed. This set the tone for the rest of the night, as we continued to try to out maneuver the police as we were trapped several times, and continually threatened with the stalking presence of riot police and mounted police officers. At one point to escape being kettled, we ran across the corner of a small garden then through a parking lot.

Never did we feel comfortable, tension and stress were consistently present, and the hot summer-like temperatures weren’t helping our endurance. Even when we were allowed (practically forced) to travel down certain streets due to blockades we were constantly surrounded and trapped at any given moment making an emergency escape for anyone impossible in case things got bad, but nonetheless we all did the only thing we could do: march and chant our asses off.

As the march came to Washington and State St. once again protesters found themselves trapped. Several times before and often the amorphous group was conflicted in which direction to go, and at times considered turning around and going back the way they came. This time though it seemed as if they had had enough. They came to exercise their first amendment right, had been intimidated and bullied and instead of trying to outmaneuver the police would try to move straight through the police line.

At that point a shoving match ensued, but the police quickly upped the ante and started swinging their batons, beating protesters. I quickly backed up to the sidewalk as I anticipated things getting bad. It didn’t take long for a woman to emerge from the crown bleeding from the head, with blood covering about half of her face.


Video from the Anti-Capitalist March via natoindymedia on YouTube

Those in my affinity group were quick to act and form a wall in front of her as to not incite panic, as well as to block off the media. We were effective in allowing the street medics to treat her while maintaining a relative calm as to not draw unnecessary attention to the violent situation.

As the march continued we were successful in doing the one thing the city of Chicago didn’t want: marching on Michigan Avenue, the world renowned Magnificent Mile, and the premier shopping street in the city, that is filled with large groups of people drinking, dining and shopping. We were able to put on display in front of the public an uncensored view of what a protest really looks like instead of relying on the media conglomerates. People were in awe of the display of police force as dozens of riot vans and police vehicles stormed in to provide back up. The march was then trapped onto Michigan and Congress, the location of Occupy Chicago’s GA’s (general assembly meetings), but hundreds of people were able to see from the median and the sidewalk the absurdity of the police state and how it treats those wishing to exercise their first amendment right.

Months ago we were scolded, jeered, and even threatened by the public, but now it seemed that the mood was overwhelmingly in support of the protesters. Those of us who were separated from the march started chanting in solidarity and quickly got other non-marchers to join. Creative, witty chants brightened and rather bleak situation because it was here last fall that those in Occupy Chicago was mass arrested twice.

It was in this climactic moment that energy skyrocketed as the divide between protester and civilian was removed. There was an instantaneous realization that what was occurring was wrong, as if everyone had a unifying moment of empathy for the march that was being bullied by the police state. Once the march was allowed to continue up Michigan virtually all the spectators followed along side the sidewalk and some even joined in on the street.

The power of the people had been unleashed Pandora’s Box and there is no way to put it back in. The stage is now set for the NATO protests in the next two days, and if this day is any type of a sign of things to come, then history will be made and Sam Cooke was right all along: A Change Gonna Come.

-David (oloroso.david@gmail.com)-

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May Day Miami – Heating Things Up


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.

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The Woodlawn Occupation Is Not Leaving


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.

Woodlawn Clinic health fair

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.

Woodlawn Clinic health fair

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.

Woodlawn Clinic eviction

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

Woodlawn Clinic eviction

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-

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How Rose Found Her Roar


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-

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Gimme That Picnic Table


Editor’s note: This is the final installment of a  14 part  series of excerpts from Jim Gober’s forthcoming book titled “Deep in the Heart of Occupy Austin.” 

“The illusion of freedom [in America] will continue as long as it’s profitable to continue the illusion. At the point where the illusion becomes too expensive to maintain, they will just take down the scenery, they will pull back the curtains, they will move the tables and chairs out of the way and you will see the brick wall at the back of the theater.” Frank Zappa

Today was the Saturday before Halloween and we planned a 4 pm march to the capitol
building that continued down dirty 6th street then back to the plaza. As people
gathered about the plaza in preparation for the march, I went around and talked to
my friends I met along the way. Only the most clueless could not smell the coming
fascist assault. I told my young friend Kendall how proud I was of him and all he’s
learned, I thanked Carlos for his sense of humor and unbelievable spirit along the
way, I talked to Larry and hoped he someday finds the money he needs for his dream
of a veterans’ shelter for the homeless, and then I spotted Brighton, standing on
the curb holding a protest sign. Young beautiful peaceful Brighton, who broke up the
argument between the drunken instigator and me weeks before, who had put his soul
into the movement, and now stood there for the last time, his eyes still aglow with
the optimism of a young person who believes all you need is to be on the right side
of the argument, and you will win in this world. I told Brighton how impressed I was
with his bravery and dedication and how much I admired him and all his hard work. My
heart was so full, and the pain was so great, I began to cry unashamed because these
were my people, my friends, and my family, and I loved them. And with each of these
people I talked to, I asked, “How long do you think we have?” And the answer was the
same. Hours.

The march began and went off without a hitch, but when we made the turn down dirty
6th, I noticed the police had abandoned us and were hot-footing it back to the
plaza. It was then I knew the end of the movement as we knew it was nigh. When we
arrived back at the plaza our belongings were being rifled through and piled
willy-nilly to anger and disorient us. As the sun set, the plaza seemed to groan in
pain as rumors flew like leaves in the fall breeze and people confusedly planned
their next move. There were a few speeches to rally the troops, but most were
hunkering down waiting for the impending invasion. The murmurings of the occupiers
began to sound like a family praying over a dying relative. We were just waiting for
the police to come and pull the plug.

About 10 pm, the blue monsters began massing in the parking garage beneath the city
hall and another group formed a solid line along the western side of the plaza. You
could walk right up to the line, get inches from their face and look deep into their
eyes. It was breathtaking to see the entire history of the world’s oppression
encapsulated in their emotionless orbs. The steady stream of Halloween revelers that
passed through our camp on the way to the bars downtown appeared as grotesques while
we awaited our execution. As another line of police formed on the east side of the
plaza, I looked at the protesters. I watched fear turn to courage, then courage to
solidarity. I can only hope one day everyone experiences the part of the human
condition when everyone sticks together armed with only their faith, while
surrounded by the enemy armed with guns, tasers, mace, and batons ready to hurt,
imprison or possibly kill them. And to see all the brave women in the mix was
unbelievable. It was a deeply religious experience. I witnessed the shimmering
beauty of God in all its glory. Once people walk into this realm, they will not go
back until justice is served. Maybe, that is what the fascists are really afraid of.
That once we form the solidarity only seen in a battlefield, solidarity so strong
even death cannot destroy it, the fascists will be doomed. Fear not, my brothers and
sisters, for we have seen the light and the light cannot be extinguished by the dark
blue uniforms of the fascist machine.

There were a few more discussions on whether to move the food table as requested in
the rules passed out by the Police Chief the day before, but after a while it was
obvious the food table was going to be our Raison D’être and wasn’t going anywhere.
There was a short standoff about midnight as the pigs got into a “V” formation, then
at 12:30, they moved in from both the east and west sides of the plaza. The cries
and sound of breaking hearts was so deafening you had to cover your ears so it
wouldn’t overwhelm your sense of judgment and make you attack the pigs with your
fists, feet or whatever weapon you could find. Our core supporters and leaders
locked arms around the food table, but they were quickly subdued and bound with
plastic handcuffs. “Why?” everyone asked. “Why are you doing this to us?” There were
cries of “Shame” and “The whole world is watching,” but the fascists were
undeterred. As the table was dismantled and carried away, the pigs walked into the
crowd and grabbed people they had identified as leaders of the movement weeks
before, who were not doing anything but what the rules had told them to do. When it
was over, 18 of our people were taken down. About 3 hours later, the power washing
crew came in fronted by a another police line that grabbed 20 more people who either
refused to move or were still disoriented from the first raid. By then, I had
already moved on to take a walk and cool off. The plaza was not a place to be
another minute for someone with my temper. And the sight of seeing people I loved
being demoralized and carried away because a bunch of fascist pigs decided a picnic
table should be over here instead of over there made me nauseous.

The ridiculous display of overwhelming might used to wrest a picnic table from a
bunch of rag-tag folks who are trying to tell the world, “This is what democracy
looks like,” kept playing over and over in my head, and although it was about 2:00
a.m. and the bars were closing, I decided to stroll down dirty 6th street to lose my
thoughts in the Halloween celebration. What I saw was shocking. When I entered dirty
6th from Congress Avenue, the entire street was completely occupied with stumbling
drunks and humans behaving at their worst. I saw indecent exposure, public
urination, fighting, slick piles of pink, orange and green vomit, people treating
each other terribly, plenty of illegal drug use and needed to only glance down an
alleyway to see a sex act performed by two men in the wide open. It was all there
and ignored by mounted police whose tongues were hanging out as they looked only at
the women’s skimpy Halloween costumes. As I walked through the crowd, I laughed
openly and loudly while tears ran down my face. Was this a dream? Did I just witness
100 policeman destroy a tiny group of committed sober adults who were making a
statement about the theft of our country from the powerful fascist machine by
arresting them over an 8 by 2 foot food table? Did I just walk five blocks east and
see a hundred thousand people doing everything we were accused of, and getting away
with it, because their mission was to get intoxicated and find somebody to fuck
while pissing and vomiting all over everything? Oh that’s right-they were spending
lots and lots of money. And when you spend lots of money you get away with
everything-even the murder of thousands of innocent people. So here was the bare
truth in all its painful glory. This is what we’ve become. This is how America
really works. An old food table used to feed the poor and unarmed equals bad.
Reprehensible behavior while you spend lots of money equals good. And if it takes a
billy club to beat that idea into your head, so be it. This is America God damn it
and that is how it operates. Any questions?

I went back to the plaza and tried to sleep between a boulder and the bricks of the
city hall. I could hear the voices of lonely men and abandoned women as they
gathered under street lights somewhere in the distance trying to make a final deal
before dawn. Zero-eyed people rolling on ecstasy or geeking on stimulants walked by
looking deep into my eyes to see if I had anything to offer. I had a fitful sleep
and was up as soon as I saw the first sign of dawn. I rolled a cigarette, and
watched life begin to stir among the tattered battle scene as the sun rose over the
plaza. The survivors began rebuilding the camp straight away, but this time it had
an air of Austin funkiness, because everything was broken and had to be patched
together. Unfortunately, most of the core supporters and strategists of Occupy
Austin were now not only in jail, but banned from the plaza for at least a year.
While this was an unmitigated setback for the Austin occupation, it gives others the
chance to step up and hopefully get the movement going in another direction. As I
walked around the plaza asking questions about the state of affairs, you could see
many in shock from what happened the previous night, but also plenty of street
people waiting around for a cigarette or slice of pizza to arrive, oblivious to the
disaster that had befallen our camp.

I stood back and looked at the remaining occupiers. What I saw was many of the bums
that gave us a bad name in the first place, who avoided jail by just laying there,
the same way they avoided everything else in life, and many of the people who worked
very hard to make the movement work, but were now packing things up and milling
around waiting for rides to somewhere-anywhere but the plaza. By mid-morning, the
plaza had the look of a busy bus station or the last day of summer camp, where
everyone is saying farewell and waiting for the winds of fate to scatter them hither
and yon.

By noon, the police presence was once again gaining steam. It occurred to me the
protesters inhabiting the camps throughout the US, who are now completely surrounded
by uniformed fascists, have actually built their own prisons in which they will
suffer mightily in the coming months. Since I am interested in fund-raising and
public relations for the group, I asked around and finally found someone who might
know a little about the financial side of the movement. I asked her where the money
we raised would best be spent. She said to get more food and water for the occupiers
at the plaza. At first I thought, you have to be kidding me? Aren’t we done here?
Then I thought, yeah, we can rebuild, and we will rebuild. Are we going to fail
because the fascists thought we would go away because they stole a broken down food
table? Hell, no.

Yes, we all felt like frogs in a cauldron, where the fire was turned up so slowly we
didn’t know we were cooked until it was too late. But we learned about the
psychological control of an angry mob by the fascists, and as the saying goes, “We
won’t be fooled again.” But we have a choice; we can fight them like dogs, or work
within a system that unfortunately favors them. But as I said before, we must be
smart enough to take the fight to them on their own turf. We sat in the plaza for
four weeks and allowed the fascists to bring the fight to us, while we became an
easy target for their horrid and demeaning tactics. They have everything they need
on their side to keep us under their thumb, we know that. So we have to work smarter
and be tougher in order to win this fight. At this point we have two choices, go to
jail, or freeze to death, of which neither of those am I interested. But I am very
interested in promoting the core beliefs of the occupation movement and will never
stop fighting for what I strongly believe. And if some of our brothers and sisters
want to tough it out on the plaza until we see change, then I will support them to
the end. But myself, I am going to work on getting somebody with money involved in
the movement so we are no longer a broke-ass joke. And if that somebody happens to
be a liberal billionaire, so be it. When it comes to beating or pepper-spraying
billionaires, the fascists tend to freeze up. They are funny that way.

That Sunday afternoon, Police Chief Acevedo, true to his passive-aggressive form of
mind-fucking, made a statement quoting Gandhi and MLK before releasing the
protesters, who cannot reenter the plaza for two years. I went with a small group of
angry and passionate survivors marching from the plaza to the police station to
welcome the prisoner release, but most folks didn’t want anything to do with the
cops, and especially didn’t want to go stand around the police station. The release
was still an emotional moment for those who went. While I recognized some of the
folks being released, some of them must have shown up Saturday night for no other
reason but to create chaos and get arrested, because they were completely new faces,
to me anyway. Meanwhile, back at the plaza, the police presence had become
overpowering. By Sunday night they outnumbered the remaining protesters 2 to 1.

I thought about the speech I wanted to give on day one, when I wanted so badly to
express my thoughts and exercise my freedom of speech in a public plaza to a group
of like-minded people hungry for change. Now I know, if I stood in that plaza right
now and gave that speech, in which I implored the police to stand with us instead of
against us, I would be immediately arrested, and indeed there was an arrest of a
young man who attempted a rallying speech in the late afternoon. Over 5000 people
across the country now have police records from this nationwide protest, and not one
of the war criminals, war profiteers, investment banks CEO’s or hedge fund managers
that caused the financial collapse in this country and the deaths of hundreds of
thousands of people have gone to jail. Obviously, this is a fascist police state we
are now living in. To some of us, it’s plain as the nose on our face, while others
just don’t “have time to think about these things.” Or maybe they don’t understand
what freedom of speech means. It is the ignorant people who taunt and laugh at those
attempting to exercise one of the basic tenets of our democracy that frighten me the
most. While they talk about our troops overseas fighting for our freedom, they don’t
have the slightest clue what freedom really is because they are imprisoned by the
straight-jacket of fascism and corporatism.

I thought back on Saturday’s march to the Capitol, before the camp was raided. While
marching down Congress Avenue, I caught up with my friend Carmen, who I met on the
island only a few weeks before. When I spotted her, she was trying to manage two
large cardboard signs while clutching a list of protest chants she had written in
blue ink on a scrap of folded notebook paper. They read, “Whose water? Our water!
Whose food? Our food! Whose land? Our land! Are we afraid? Nooooooooo, we are not
afraid.” She was trying to get the few protesters at the back of the line to go
along with them, but was frustrated because her small voice, with its beautiful
Puerto Rican accent, was not being heard, and the tall folks in front of her, many
in Halloween costumes, had relegated her to the back of the line.

I hollered, “Carmen!” and she was happy to see me and thanked me for the profile I
had written about her on my blog. I asked her what was going on and she explained
her disappointment that she couldn’t get anyone to chant her demands. So I took a
look at them, gave her a big smile, and then Carmen and I chanted in the loudest
voice we could muster, “Whose water? Our water! Whose food? Our food! Whose land?
Our land! Are we afraid? Nooooooooo, we are not afraid!” We chanted the lines over
and over and louder and louder and let the voice of freedom ring out and echo
against the glass and granite of the downtown buildings. Our cadence rang down the
hollow side streets and the alleyways where the downtrodden sleep and newspapers
blow on cold and lonely blue-gray dawns. It rang over the capitol building, where
the Lady of Liberty looks over manicured avenues where the mentally ill wander
aimlessly in search of help, and it rang over the din of expensive cars and city
buses filled with those too blind to see. It was freedom ringing and it was ringing
for us, for you and for all the folks in this fight who are jailed, shot,
humiliated, tasered, beaten and maced because, like Carmen chanted, “Are we afraid?
Nooooooo, we are not afraid.”

At one point, Carmen was confident enough to stand in front of a group of bewildered
diners sitting at a sidewalk cafe while she chanted her list of demands. I was
immensely proud of her. After we made it a few blocks, and were out of breath from
exercising our First Amendment rights to such an extent, Carmen looked at me with
her beautiful face so full of life, kindness and excitement. The bright autumn
afternoon sun slanting into her exquisite brown skin made a tear in the corner of
her eye glint like the most spectacular topaz ever seen. She joyfully exclaimed,
“Boy, did that make me feel good! Thank you, Jim!” And I hugged the tiny fragile
body of this beautiful woman, whose only mission on earth is to express love for her
fellow man, and replied, “Thank you, Carmen.”

Afterthoughts:

What you just read was a true first-person account of the birth of the occupy
movement in Austin, Texas. Although it flows in fits and starts, the movement is by
no means over and will continue as long as dedicated people see the truth and stop
believing in the lie America has become. Because I am proud to be part of the
movement and a passionate believer in the cause, I encourage everyone with a voice
to stand up, get involved and be heard. We are the 99%! Carry on brothers and
sisters. I love you all more than you know. We aren’t perfect, but we will prevail.
For more information on Austin Occupy, please visit: occupyaustin.org

In Solidarity,

Jim Gober

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Rearranging the Chairs on the Titanic


Deep in the Heart of Occupy Austin: Chapter 13

Editor’s note: This is the thirteenth in a series of excerpts from Jim Gober’s forthcoming book titled “Deep in the Heart of Occupy Austin.” A new excerpt will be published at OccupiedStories.com every Wednesday, so come back next week to follow Jim though the evolution of Occupy Austin. The final installment will be April 25th.

Today was Friday October 29, 2011, the day we found out APD Chief Art Acevedo is just another slime-ball, like the rest of the fascist ilk. His slick speech on Thursday night about how he supports us, blah, blah, blah, was met today with what was basically an eviction notice. He came around and personally passed out the fliers himself, with a big smile plastered on his thick skull, of course. There were so many rules, they would be impossible to follow. For example, everything has to be moved once a day, such as the food table, so it is not a “permanent” structure, and any sign not being held when they show up to fuck with us will be confiscated and tossed. Then the power washes will resume three times a week which means the freezing cold plaza will be soaked with water between 3am and 5am, and don’t think you can evacuate to the Island across the street, because the park curfew is now enforced there after 10pm.

Then there were enough other rules to keep the GA meeting arguing until late in the night, with some vowing to do nothing but stay there and Occupy–which is unfortunately not a radical idea, but creates the danger we may lose our core supporters. It’s funny that no matter how hard I rack my brain, I don’t remember one Tea Party protester ever being evicted from anything, even the town hall meetings when they did nothing but disrupt the entire meeting while a Democratic senator was trying to speak about delivering affordable healthcare to everyone. But look how many OWS protesters have already been forcibly removed from every meeting, park, plaza or “town hall” for just standing up to complain about their desperate plight, which is real and not manufactured by the propaganda machine. The police brutality forced on the innocent people who can see through the fascist lies is unspeakable.

I was beginning to feel our little sideshow may be about over, and may be over in much of the country. What is amazing is how Acevedo managed to move us along. It never occurred to some of us (including me), that have never experienced the psychological part of crowd control, only brazen force, exactly how it was going to be used against us. But this was a typical fascist technique we should have recognized: smile while you fuck ‘em over good. Now we have a choice: to physically engage them, which will last for about 5 minutes before we get beaten and gassed and handed a police record the fascists can use to forever lock us out of the plaza and society, or we can get worn down by constantly moving our shit around, to appease King God Acevedo, until we finally get fed up and leave on our own.

Meanwhile, as the fascists are having us move things about, the billionaire Koch brothers will spend billions to defeat Obama, and once that’s done they will install a fascist dictator into our government, which we are only a presidential election away from having. This news comes as dirty tricks by the GOP will prevent 25% of African-Americans from voting in the next election, and the fascist money flooding to the corporate media will brain-wash us into believing that having our throats cut by big business is good for us. Do you really think the corporate media, from Rockefeller Center to Main Street USA, that stands to make millions from the corporate “citizens” in the upcoming election cycle, will be on our side? Hell, no.

All of this news about a bunch of rules that amount to nothing more than hastening the demise of the Austin occupy camp follows on the heels of more arrests in Nashville, where the camps are being cleaned out, and the order in New York for the protesters to give up their generators and gasoline, which provide power and heat. So the camps, which just yesterday thought they were getting a reprieve, and also thought the fascists were backing up because they had hearts, are today getting demolished. For some reason, this passive-aggressive tactic is even more demoralizing than outright confrontation, and causes the protesters to seethe with anger even more than if we had our day in the ring with these jerks. Today, in America, niceness is a weakness and is there to be plundered, and now we felt like we were hogtied and about to be raped.

In reality, the camps could not last forever, and as I said before, to be seen is to be heard in America, so they had to be cleaned up. The fascist state cannot tolerate anyone making a complaint or wandering around homeless and upset because they’ve been picked clean by our system. But true to what a grass roots movement is, the anger is stronger and will only grow. Cut us off at the top and the roots just get deeper. This is real grass roots, not the astroturf of the Tea Party. I believe the camps should be allowed to remain and dissolve on a consensus vote by the occupiers, which is coming anyway, because most of the people involved in the camps have little or no real-life management skills. I had to laugh last night when I heard one of the young protesters say the reason the number of protesters was thinning out was, “people were afraid to come and learn from our young minds.”

The idea that a certain group of people with no experience and little education are in control, or are “smarter” than everyone else, has a corrosive effect on America, and I presume will destroy the occupy movement. For example, older workers, which these days includes anyone over 50, are now pushed out of society to fend on their own. They are considered too dumb for even the most basic work, even when they have years of experience doing it or advanced college degrees. Half of the problem has to do with the healthcare expense burden older workers place on American companies, while the other half has to do with a marketing machine that convinces everyone in a society that dumb is smart and anyone who questions anything is an idiot. It reminds me of the dumb kids who bully the smart kids at school because they make the lazy dumb kids look bad. It also reminds me of how every progressive idea in America is piled on by the fascist press until it disappears under a pile of right-wing bullshit. Americans must stay dumb. The carousel of stupidity must continue to spin, so the fascists riding on it can wear their pretty bonnets and waive at the poor folks, who fought tooth and nail to get a ticket so they could ride along and pretend they were rich too, but for some reason, the carousel never stops to let them on. Really smart people don’t dump their money on dumb products or believe hollow slogans which mean nothing. But it is America’s innate ability to follow the slogan that is causing us to follow the fascist ideal as well. This is an ideal where we harshly judge each other and get apoplectic because someone isn’t going along with what the voice on the latest electronic gizmo tells us to do. Like lemmings, every living generation in America is now rushing to see who can jump off the cliff first simply because we can’t think for ourselves.

But to be fair, the Occupy movement has generally been inclusive of everyone, including the older folks, but you could see from last night’s meeting the youngsters were in charge, and were making it known they’ve successfully pushed out many of the older people who made the process work until now. Maybe it’s because, like the young man believed, the old people are afraid of learning things from all those “young minds.” But in reality, too many of those young minds at the plaza are not in control of anything due to an absolute inability to get anything done besides spout off a lot about a system in which they don’t have a voice or real knowledge. Add the cold weather and even the true protesters, who braved the cold the night before, had left much of it to the “brains” of the outfit that weren’t coming up with any solutions, were splitting into cliques, and were also getting bogged down in the new rules set out by the police.

Once Friday evening rolled around and the deadline of 10 pm to move or rearrange our belongings neared, I noticed many of the original protesters had magically reappeared to lend their support. But I worried too, because these were our leaders and a raid followed by arrests would permanently remove them from the camp. They should have stayed home. The clouds of doom were gathering on the horizon, and you could see the mighty ship we worked so hard to build listing frightfully in the cruel waters of history. Still, there were some incredible, passionate rallying speeches, including a beautiful one by my young friend Kendall, who had soaked up the philosophy of the movement like a sponge, and of whom I was so proud. Hopefully, he will go on to college in order to flourish in this world, even though it will mean taking on massive amounts of debt that will put him way behind his peers, most of who will become cogs in the wheels of the fascist machine. But Kendall, if he holds true to his values and keeps an open mind, has great things ahead.

I started thinking that this is the time we need to think about digging deeper into the movement instead of simply occupying. It is time to join the different groups and become involved in not only the Occupy community, in which I still strongly believe, but the community at large. As of today, the occupation brand of civil disobedience is pushing us further to the fringe where we can be ignored or taunted. Just today, a man about 30 years old stomped up to the steps of the plaza and demanded everyone take this crap off his city’s property. Then he stormed off. This man is the type who would stand by while our skin was being stripped off by a pair of pliers. One would hope people like that don’t outnumber us, but they do in the media and other places where money makes the rules. So we must work against the fascists on the national stage, on their turf, with intellectual arguments, which they will never have on their side. Something tells me we will never accomplish anything by wandering aimlessly around a makeshift camp hoping for the world to change.

But believe me when I say there are heroes in the local movement that existed on that plaza–especially the women, like Jamie, who leads the night marches every night at 9:30 and is constantly coming up with ideas to get more people to the plaza. I can still hear her chant and never again will I hear a call to action that carried more conviction and came from deeper in the soul than when Jamie shouted, “This is what democracy looks like,” over and over until she lost her voice. And other women, like Michelle, who worked the welcome desk all day, then was disheartened to see the food line of hungry homeless form faster than she could get across the plaza to get a slice of cold pizza. People like Michelle and Jamie and a host of others did without a lot to keep the scene together. And to all those folks, I am deeply indebted. But when our main focus becomes dancing around a bunch of rules made up by disgusted fascist suits–rules designed specifically to trample on our right to peacefully assemble–one has to question: What the fuck are we doing? Oddly many people in our society want to see us hurt, even though we are fighting for them. I suppose mean is ingrained in our culture and has been since the days when the Puritans believed that if you were sick or poor, it was your punishment from God, and you did not deserve help. And if you didn’t fit into their rigid view of society, which changed depending on who was in charge, you were burned alive at the delight of the others. Sound familiar?

The Occupy movement has changed me as a person. I am enlightened, tolerant and genuinely love the people I’ve met, who enjoyed exchanging ideas with me. For the first time in years, I had conversations with people who had open minds and not minds moldy from age or slammed shut years ago because of some prejudice or another they are not even aware they have. I enjoyed talking to people interested in what I had to say, and also being interested in what they had to say. We let our ideas soak in and not just roll off all the layers of preconceived notions. The Occupy movement is and will continually be fun and interesting, but to be effective we must change our tactics. That is what political movements are about, and like it or not, this is a political movement.

Today, I brought a sleeping bag donated by my neighbor to the plaza and gave it to Buck, a middle-aged African American man who has become my friend, although he occasionally asks me if I am going to kill him, which I assure him I’m not. Why would I waste my tobacco and a perfectly good sleeping bag on somebody I was going to kill? His troubling questions aside, he was still very appreciative. He has nothing except the clothes on his back and gets cold and lonely at night, just like everyone else. Just like you. But tonight, there was no room for comfort. You could hear the rot-infested fascist tide on the march. Soon they would arrive to throw us into the streets in a desperate attempt to separate us from our right to free speech and assembly.

I thought no matter what happens tonight or tomorrow, I’ll be attending every organized march until I can no longer walk or crawl. And I will continue to put my energy, money and time into this cause, which has risen haphazardly without the use of millions of dollars of dirty money from the propagandists such as Fox News, the Koch brothers or Dick Armey’s Freedomworks. We are the people, and the Occupy movement will continue. Who knows how long the plaza will be occupied? But I’m afraid the camp and accompanying sideshow is drawing to a close, because we cannot waste our time and energy sitting in one place surrounded by the police. It is time to bring the fight underground, where we can work and think without trying to survive the elements or having some drug addled or mentally ill individual screaming about someone stealing their whatever.

Once the end comes, it will be up to all of us: the older and educated people with experience, who can put a professional face on this movement and begin to work through the established power structure, as well as the young idealists who have the energy and optimism essential to any political movement. But there has to be some guidance and organization. I have seen so many young people in this movement try to reinvent the wheel, unaware the US has a system to be heard, albeit confusing and complicated. And while it doesn’t cost money to break windows, it costs a lot of money to change opinion through a structure that, like it or not, includes working with the corporate press and reaching a wide audience with sane arguments instead of haphazardly planned events that only illustrate how angry people have become. Everyone in America knows what is going on now and everyone is pissed. We need to channel that anger into reform. So we have to raise money. That is how America works. At this point the occupy movement reminds me of someone sitting on the roof of a car instead of the driver’s seat and getting upset because the car isn’t taking them anywhere.

As I walk through the plaza tonight, I know this movement, which came into the world kicking and screaming like a child born in the darkest part of the forest, will grow up and walk into the sunlight and become a powerful force that will conquer the fascist demons that have pillaged the countryside. But to make it work, we must roll up our sleeves and stop sitting around the plaza waiting for food to arrive without even taking the trouble to hold up a homemade, worn out and illegible protest sign. And it is disgusting to see everyone grovel at the feet of the fascist police so they won’t run us off, which they eventually will do anyway.

At this point, the movement on its surface seems to be faltering because many in the US like to see people in pain, especially when the power structure those people dared to challenge crushes them. This allows the coward to say, “See, I told you so.” But oddly, while Americans look at pain and torture as a source of satisfying entertainment, they sit in their homes scared to death they will be the next victim. I’m sure there is a psychological term for that, but it escapes me-oh yeah, fear manufactured by the fascist corporate media. It keeps you in the house watching the TV so you’ll watch more commercials and buy more crap. That’s how a cult, religion and even a controlling spouse works to control you. They keep you afraid so you won’t leave the fold. The bogeyman, or devil, is waiting just around the dark corner. The sheep will always fall in line once the big scary sheep dog starts nipping at their haunches.

One thing I’ve been amazed at is the number of people who laugh at, criticize and taunt the homeless and sick in our country. And I’ve seen it all now. But I have also seen the light, and I am not going back. I am a warrior for what is right and what will be right for our democracy. My personal and spiritual growth experienced through the movement is amazing and life-affirming. I was dead inside and now I am alive again. I love everyone I’ve met and I know together we will make a change, but now we need to move to a bigger battlefield that is not surrounded by the slimy police, and away from people who occupy the camps that do things like vandalize city property or steal from each other. And for the young people involved in the movement who are hanging around the plaza and the occupy movements throughout the land and not doing anything: Read some damned books.

Whose street? Our street! Remember that? The plaza was our boot camp. We must follow our hearts and tell people every day to do their part to stop the fascists from rolling over us. There is no second act-this is it. Move your money to a credit union, shop locally, support local farmers, and don’t buy anything made in China. Look who is behind all the propaganda you hear. America is in no danger of becoming a socialist or communist state like the propagandists want you to believe. But we are in danger of becoming a totalitarian fascist state run by billionaires–and we are on the edge. That, you can believe. Let’s all work for the better of each other and this country and stop trying to strip others of dignity and then laughing when we do. Do you want to continue to be that country? Do you? If that is the case, may God have mercy on us all.

-Jim Gober-

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Tucson Police Department Protecting and Serving the 1%


TUSCON, AZ – Six months of my participation on the front-line of the Occupy movement have come and gone, and my disdain for Tucson’s police force and cops in general has evolved to outright disgust. In this movie-like past six months I have been arrested forty times and so far twenty of those cases have been dismissed. That is the good news, the bad news is the local police force has escalated from strictly …enforcing the law, to outright breaking the law in order to quash the Occupy Movement. The fight over the use of public land for the sake of free speech and peaceable assembly has gone back and forth so far, but most recently there is no place in the City of Tucson that can be occupied twenty four hours a day, even for the purpose of peaceable assembly.

Currently the debacle that has peaceful protesters banging their heads against the
wall in Tucson is the Tucson Polices denial of Tucson City Code 11-36.2(b)4. It
reads;

Section 11-36.2. Prohibited conduct; exceptions.

(a) No person shall sit or lie down upon a public sidewalk or upon a blanket, chair,
stool, or any other object placed upon a public sidewalk or median during the hours
between 7:00 a.m. and 10:00 p.m. in the following zones:

Except a person:

(4) Who is exercising First Amendment rights protected by the United States
Constitution, including free exercise of religion, speech and assembly; provided,
however, that the person sitting or lying on the public sidewalk remains at least
eight (8) feet from any doorway or business entrance, leaves open a five (5) foot
path and does not otherwise block or impede pedestrian traffic.

In the past two months the Tucson Police Department has completely ignored this code
and used Tucson City Code 16-35 (No person shall obstruct any public sidewalk,
street or alley in the city by placing, maintaining or allowing to remain thereon
any item or thing that prevents full, free and unobstructed public use in any
manner, except as otherwise specifically permitted by law.) to arrest and remove
people from the sidewalk.

Being a person that has had my first and fourteenth amendment rights violated by the
actions of the Tucson Police Department obviously I hold a bias, but even the most
cop friendly people can see the obvious violation of our Federal, State, and Local
laws. This will seem even more obvious when I have the other twenty criminal
violations I hold dismissed, but that will not regain our rights.

I will continue to occupy the front-line putting my mental, emotional, and physical
safety at risk to expose the injustices in our city, state, and country. It will be
an uphill battle and I may not accomplish a thing. But, it feels great to have a
purpose, and if I do not do something now than when should I?

-Jon McLane-

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The Battle to Re-Occupy Minneapolis


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…)

photo: occupyminneapolis.mnWe 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 photo: occupyminneapolis.mnhave 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-

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#M24: Let Freedom Spring


Occupiers assembled last Saturday in solidarity with victims of police brutality. A group of hundreds that included city council members marched for hours from Liberty Plaza to join hundreds more at Union Square. On the way, they shared messages on the right to assemble with evocative banners, chanting, and performance art. Photographer Rose Magno documents this expressive and coherent culture of a civil society coming together in peaceful protest.

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An Account of Two Arrests in One Week


NEW YORK, NY–I have had strange confrontations with Bank of America lately.  In the last 8 days I was arrested twice only on the verge of approaching the Bank, steps away from the unknown possibility. And what was the NYPD working so hard to protect Band of America from? First I was dressed as a clown with a team of merry pranksters who sought to enact a short, harmless skit of pulling down the pants of “unsuspecting executives” to expose ALEC, an organization that allows corporations to draft legislation–which, no surprise, Bank of America is a prominent member.

It was raining and biting cold but the +Brigade Shenanigan team, a newly formed OWS effort of creative resistance, was suiting up in Bryant Park on F29 with bright monochromatic colors and the “executives” scavenging in trash cans for Starbucks cups to look authentic. But our pantsing skit was deterred, because as soon as we tried to cross the street, a police barricade of bodies and scooters lined up alongside us. The Bank of America tower, like the Death Star, loomed in the distance surrounded by police, like clusters of black mussels clasping onto its mammoth shape.

We had the light. There was the flashing white man walk sign taunting us with the rite of passage. Struck by the absurdity of police barring 8 clowns from crossing the street, I was immediately on my hands and knees crawling between their legs. I was promptly lifted up and put in handcuffs. I didn’t want and wasn’t expecting to be arrested. I was in that precious liminal space of free play. I felt like I could do anything.

But corporations have a way of smashing any spark of the unique human spirit rising up. As the crowd looked at me for some words of inspiration, something, I could only muster a call to bravery for the clowns to carry on, and a bad joke: “Why did the clown cross the road?  To get arrested!” As they marched me off into the paddy wagon, I began singing and dancing, “I’m Singing in the Rain!  Just Singing in the rain!  What a glorious feelin!  I’m happy again!” But as I was placed into the wagon alone, watching my comrades carry on valiantly with their march, my ridiculous wet spandex costume began to chill me to the bone at the thought of being a drenched clown in the tombs tonight. That day I was lucky to be released within 5 hours at the precinct, where I was joined by a fellow bicyclist friend, Joe, whose bike was confiscated for “evidence”; a 16 year-old mega force, Mesiah; and another cyclist, Mandolin, who tried to carry a tent on the march.  In my cell, Mesiah and I did yoga and talked about housing rights.  In the other cell, Joe and Mandolin were starting a men’s group to discuss privilege.

My next encounter, I was not so lucky. This time it was a call from the courageous Code Pink on International Women’s Day. The plan was to gather at the Bank of America at Zuccotti Park as super-Sheroes with message-ready breasts for a BUST-ing up the Big Banks action, harking on a thousand year old tradition of women putting their bodies on the front lines. I dressed in a denim jumpsuit with a red scarf on my head, re-appropriating Rosie the Riveter. I met Savitri in the park, that empty park once so full of life.  It was hot with gusts of wind shooting through the trees. She wrote on my arm, “We can do it!” and I  painted “BofA, You can suck it!” across my chest. We began to walk casually into the bank.  Savitri, Medea and Rae, all wearing suits, made it in.  As soon as I stepped up to the doors, the cop locked the door in my face.  Ah yes, the paint was peaking out from my jumpsuit.

Mark and I walked around to the other side to look for another entrance and saw customers slipping out.  People could get out, but no one could get in. Well, at least we shut down Bank of America again. I called Savitri on the inside, who said there were only three of them and they were very vulnerable.  She had a beautiful baby to get to after this.  We waited at the side exit and suddenly Savitri bounded out the door like a leaping gazelle and raced off to safety. Soon after, Rae ran out with the policeman close on her heels. I called out to him, “Hey Officer! Over here!” but he was hot on the pursuit. He grabbed Rae roughly. Mark was quick to de-arrest. The burly policeman grabbed her by the neck and threw her head down into the concrete, all the while she was crying out that she had a neck injury.

As they were detained in the bank lobby, the choir gathered and decided to sing in solidarity, walking along the sidewalk in front of the bank. As we walked past once and I began to circle back, a cop told me I couldn’t sing and had to keep moving. I said that I was moving and was not obstructing traffic. Instantly, the same rough cop threw me over the scaffolding to arrest me, my things spilling out of my bag. I lifted my leg over the scaffolding so as to not have my stomach jammed into metal and try to kick my things from falling into the gutter and another cop snapped, “Stop resisting arrest!” And off the 4 of us were carted away, at the bank manager’s request. I watched the rough cop throw around several woman walking by for no apparent reason.

Maybe it was the full moon, or the solar flares in the sky, but there seemed to be a lot of crazy in the air that day. In the precinct, two men in Mark’s cell seemed dead set on winning the crazy war. A white man in an all black suit skirted over to our side when he was released to go to the bathroom and starting messing with the cops, “How crazy do I have to be?  What do I have to do so you’ll take me to the hospital so I can get a meal?  How CRAZY do I have to be?”  The other, a young black man, was far more sympathetic in his rants.  Screaming bloody murder about injustice and racism. Despite all the machismo, you could understand his anger. We began to sing to try to calm him.  Love, Love Love, all you need is love. When we quieted, he surprised us by calling out, “Love is what I need. Keep singin’, ladies! I need you to sing.” We sang every song we knew.

First they told me I would be there for 15 mins to an hour because I didn’t enter the bank. Four hours later, we were all taken to Central booking, which was packed with men lined up against the wall in chains.  Throughout the whole process, Medea was brought in again and again to try to capture her prints, and they made ageist remarks, like she was so old that her prints were rubbed off or that she was some kind of alien. We said goodbye to Mark, fearful of what he was being led into.  Later we found out there was huge brawl in his cell and he got punched in the back of his head.

Rae and I were led into the women’s cell. Medea’s fingers were still being pushed and prodded. We had about 16 women in there, mostly in their early 20s, all of color, almost all of whom were new mothers too. It was freezing cold, the window open, a fan on. We weren’t allowed to keep our jackets because of the zippers. Rae’s neck had fingerprints on it still and she was sore. We told jokes, arrest and action stories, talked about what ideal brunch we would have. For awhile we tried to huddle on one mat but I couldn’t get warm and fall asleep until hours later, when a kind prostitute offered to cover me with her fur coat and to share her mat. We snuggled tightly and she asked me if I had lice. Said she’d been there 36 hours already, had been working the same streets for 28 years.

They woke up everyone at 5am and said we had to clean up and get ready to go to court. Only 3 women were taken. Later on, everyone felt up to chatting again and they all wanted to hear why we were arrested. They laughed and laughed, couldn’t believe we’d be arrested for protesting a bank, let alone for singing. The women there were smart, knew what was going on in the world, knew all about Bank of America and its foreclosures, its corruption. There was no surprise that corporations are criminals. They were arrested for fighting back against an abusive boyfriend, getting in a screaming match with her boyfriend, bringing in a cigarette to her son in jail, smoking pot, selling fake watches. But none of them were interested in protesting. They agree it has to be done but they can’t do it. They have to work, take care of their babies, survive. They said things have to get really bad so people will get up and do something. How much worse does it have to get?

We waited and waited. Didn’t want to drink the dirty water or the milk or the vacuum packed sandwiches. Finally, after 3pm, our names were called.  We were all charged with criminal trespassing.

It wasn’t until I was sitting in the courthouse next to Rae, when I saw my friends out there, looking tired but smiling supportively, that a rush of anger flooded over me.  The parody of this system.  There we were in this dressed up, fancy court when a foot behind us lay filthy floors covered in cockroaches and a system that has no interest in improving society. Police protect the corporate personhood and never our freedom of speech. There’s no telling what we could be arrested for any more. I can’t gauge actions by the same standards any more. As Spring blossoms, the spirit of the people is heating up again, we’ll be out on the street in big numbers. We will fill those cells so packed, the walls might explode.

-Monica Hunken-

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