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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They say Mark Adams ain’t free

but that just doesn’t ring true to me

’cause everywhere I go I see Mark Adams

They locked him up and it wasn’t fair

but he kept his spirit and he kept his beard hair

and everywhere the people rise for Mark Adams!

 

(chorus)

We love Mark Adams

We love Mark Adams

We love Mark Adams

We love Mark Adams

(repeat as long as needed)

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

With solidarity and rage,

Monica

Brett

Amelia

Editors note: This is re-posted from Support Mark Adams, who is currently serving a forty-five day jail sentence on Rikers Island.

Rikers Island, NY - As of today, I am on my sixth day of a hunger strike. I intend to use my body to make a political statement and to continue to draw attention to the fact that Trinity Church put me behind bars. What would Jesus do?

Thank you to all my friends, no, family, for supporting me. You mean the world to me and I intend to continue my hunger strike until I see your beautiful faces outside. I love you all and hope to see you very soon.

With rage and solidarity,

Mark Adams

Editors note: We revisit the occupation of Duarte Square on D17 today as activist Mark Adams prepares to serve forty-five days in jail after a judge handed down a guilty verdict this week stemming from his arrest in Duarte Square. We will have more coverage from solidarity actions happening right now later today. This story was originally published on We’ll Die When We’re Dead.

New York, NY - This past Saturday, December 17th, was the three-month anniversary of the Occupy Wall Street movement. Back in September, people began sleeping in a privately-owned public space a few blocks away from Wall Street in protest of the gross economic malfeasance the investors on Wall Street, the higher-ups at big banks, and the United States government has perpetrated against the American people, and people throughout the world. Whether or not you agree with OWS’s tactics and all of its beliefs, you can’t help but read the paper, watch the news, or look at your bank account and realize that, to quote the signage of one protester, “Shit is fucked up and bullshit.”

While I’m an adamant supporter of Occupy Wall Street, as anyone who has read this blog will likely know, I’ll admit that I was conflicted about the plans for D17, the anniversary celebration. OWS was going to take over a space that was not public, was fenced off, a space whose owners made it very clear that they did not want to be occupied. The owners of Duarte Square, Trinity Wall Street, have helped out OWS in the past, providing shelter and office space, food and some verbal support. This further complicated things in my mind, OWS was not quite biting the hand that feeds it, but close.

Do churches owe a movement that is committed to social equality anything? Trinity Wall Street is an Episcopal church that also happens to own about a third of the land south of Canal Street in Manhattan. They are equal parts church and corporation, like so many other mega-churches throughout the United States. A Christian church, you would think, would be committed to little more than the words of Christ himself, words like “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth” or “My house shall be called a house of prayer, but you are making it a den of thieves” or “sell what you possess and give to the poor.” And while Trinity doesn’t owe anybody anything, you’d at least think that following Jesus’s words would be important to them.

OWS weren’t asking for money, or shelter, or anything, really. They wanted to set up tents on a piece of concrete that no one uses and is fenced off from the public. An actual presence is important to the movement, a place to meet and gather and discuss and call home. It doesn’t seem unreasonable that a church, supposedly devoted to spreading God’s message of helping the poor etc., would give up a scrap of land, of which they own billions of dollars worth, to create a home base for a movement they supposedly ideologically agree with. But that was too much to ask.

Not much happened between noon and 3pm on D17. Me and the handful of friends I was with hung out in the cold, talking, milling, and eventually Eric and I were asked to hold a sign on the side of the road, “Tune in to 99.5 FM/Follow the revolution.” 99.5 WBAI worked in conjunction with OWS, broadcasting a series of performers, including Lou Reed, from their studio. Protesters were encouraged to bring radios so that everyone could have a party in the park. This worked and didn’t, but it was done in good spirit.

At about 3pm, we headed to a Starbucks to warm up and use the bathroom. I was wearing an OWS button on my coat that someone had handed to me weeks earlier at another event. The cashier saw it, clapped her hands with glee, smiled, and didn’t charge me for my coffee. We waited nearly an hour in the immense bathroom line and when we made it back to the park, nearly everyone was gone. We thought the police had cleared them out.

From a ways down Varick Street we heard a loud but muffled “WE. ARE. THE 99%!” The protesters had gone a-marchin’. When the march returned, they took the square.

Banners held by protesters concealed two small sets of staircases. The staircases were put up against the fence, and the first to climb them was retired Episcopal Bishop George Packard, followed by dozens more. I chose not to occupy the space, I didn’t want to get arrested and knew that those who did go in, would be.

But that didn’t spare me from getting roughed up by the police. As the crowd chanted “BLOOMBERG’S ARMY!” and “FROM NEW YORK TO GREECE, FUCK THE POLICE!” you could see the anger in the police growing. No one wants to feel like they’re anyone’s lackey, and it surely didn’t make them feel good to know that Bloomberg himself claimed the NYPD were his army recently. As police attempted to clear the sidewalk on Grand Street where the stairs were going up, I was pushed multiple times by an officer, a nightstick held by both his hands and pressed across my chest. Behind me was a police van that I was repeatedly pushed into. “There’s a fucking van behind me! Where am I supposed to go?” was what I had to yell, over and over, before he let me go. And minutes later, on the park side of Duarte Square, I came across a man being hassled by riot-geared cops who wouldn’t let him near the fence to the Square. “What law am I breaking?” he kept asking them. He showed identification and was an assistant to the NYC Attorney General. A whiteshirt refused to give the man a straight answer and turned his back. The man tapped the whiteshirt on the shoulder and a swarm of riot-geared foot soldiers grabbed the man and threw him, multiple times, into me. I was pushed in the process, too. A stream of obscenities flew from my mouth and a friend held me back, thank God. Not that I’d ever touch a cop, because they are untouchable as this whole scene proved, but if a cop decided that I was out of line, all of my rights would’ve dissolved with the crack of a baton.

I didn’t shoot this video of George Packard being taken to jail, because I wasn’t arrested that day, but he points out that Trinity doesn’t want to help OWS because the people who can afford to lease land that Trinity owns won’t do business with Trinity if they help OWS. It’s disgusting to know that a church even worries about doing business with anyone. I’m no Christian, so what churches do in general I find odd and strange, but in my mind, the last thing a church should ever worry about is pissing off its business partners, or even having business partners in the first place. A church shouldn’t have business partners. A church should be there to a) worship their god and b) serve the community. Why else are they given tax-exempt status, if not for being a charitable organization?

It’s really too bad that Bloomberg’s Army has also become Trinity’s army, as well as the army of all those who oppose the common man and the struggle for financial and social equality. Though I’m not a Christian, I’m reminded of the Centurions in the Bible. While the Pharisees, the Jewish religious leaders of the time, the ones who believed in strictly following Rabbinical law but also loved making a buck, called for the execution of Jesus, it was the Centurions, Rome’s army, who carried out the orders, who dragged Jesus through the streets, who tortured him, who hung him on a cross to die and then gambled for his clothes. But it was also a Centurion, Cornelius, who was the first Gentile to convert to Christianity. I wonder who the first convert from the NYPD will be? Because they’re with OWS, they’re part of the 99%, whether they like it or not. It’s only a matter of time.

Duarte Square wasn’t taken that day, and OWS still does not have a physical base that’s open and transparent and welcoming. But that’s ok, for now. The few thousand who showed up on Saturday despite the cold have shown that the movement is still alive, even though corporations, church corporations, and their minions have tried to crush it.

-Matthew Stewart-

Editors note: We revisit the occupation of Duarte Square on D17 today as activist Mark Adams prepares to serve forty-five days in jail after a judge handed down a guilty verdict this week stemming from his arrest in Duarte Square. We will have more coverage from solidarity actions happening right now later today. This story is via SuicideGirls and TheMudflats.net

New York, NY–My wrist hurts.

Really more that it possibly should. This is not good. I’m a writer, a photographer, I like to shake people’s hands. I need my wrist functioning.

And I’m not even arrested yet.

It’s 12 o’ clock and there’s maybe 100 people here…and that’s including the press. #D17 is not looking to be all it was cracked up to be, like an ‘N Sync reunion when Justin doesn’t show up. (It was intended to be a celebration of the 3 month anniversary of the Occupy Wall Street movement and its encampment at Zuccotti Park, and was supposed to be marked by a reoccupation in New York at the nearby Duarte Square, a vacant plot of land owned by Trinity Wall Street, a parish of the Episcopal Diocese of NYC.)

It’s freezing, well, maybe not that bad, but I’m underdressed for the occasion, wearing a light jacket and no gloves or a hat. An hour and a half into standing around at Duarte Park in Lower Manhattan – I thought I’d be running after occupiers and dodging kettling nets.

I get the standard shots – the wide above the head shot (for crowd count), the protesters children (cute sells!), the old school occupiers (who knows AARP might run a piece on #OWS), the funny signs (always good for Internet reach), and then the pretty portraits (30mm f1.4 Sigma, wide open, manual focus – shallow depth of field).

Ok. So now it’s 1:30 PM. Our sources inside the OWS movement tell us that since the organizers were pre-arrested** – one of which is some guy named Zach – they’re not sure anything is actually going down during the day, maybe not until 7 PM.

Fuck.

CS (still photog), Andrew (still photog), Brian (still photog), Rosie (Village Voice writer) and I (SuicideGirls photog) huddle in a group, trying to decide what to do. I hate to admit it, I’m the first one to say fuck it, let’s go home – warm up and recharge for the night.

Brian, a shooter says he’s staying, has to and recommends that we all stay. Even if he didn’t have to, we all know he would anyway. He’s done Egypt and Greece already, so we kind of look to him for guidance. He’s known within his agency to be the one that will go for days without sleep just to get the shot. During the cleansing of Zuccotti he went for about 2 days without sleep, going from assignment to assignment carrying other people’s shifts. Our motley crew decide to take Brian’s advice and stick around until 3:30, and if nothing happens run home and file.

3:30 PM EST.

CS and I are chatting, talking about brunch, warm coffee, French toast…suddenly Brian runs by – we immediately follow blindly.

The crowd suddenly starts to move. Where? We haven’t a f’n clue – but like the lemmings that photojournalists are – we follow (well, actually we run to the front of the crowd and walk briskly backwards while taking photos).

Immediately I get that something else is going on. The crowd isn’t going anywhere in particular and the turns it’s taking seem to be just to throw off the police that are on scooters.

And then I go around a corner to get a wide shot of the march and almost run straight into a man in purple robes. Oh, it’s a diversion. Bishops only move diagonally though. Where’s the rook?

I quietly say to myself, “I see what you did there.” Realizing that something is afoot with all these religious figures randomly hanging out watching a protest go by, I stay back for a moment allowing the protest to go by.

Like a ADD kid that hasn’t had his Ritalin, I very quickly get impatient and see a scuffle with a cop and a protester, I take one last look at the Holy figures I’m standing next to and run off chasing the pretty pictures.

Did I say fuck before? Because you see this time I really mean it. Like a crap Chess player going up against Bobby Fischer, I immediately lose the Bishop. Chasing after pretty pictures, ones I have hard drives filled with – I lose what will very quickly become the whole point of this charade.

Fuck it, I follow the protesters back toward Duarte Square, I know I screwed up, but maybe I didn’t waste the whole day.

Slowly we turn the corner to Grand Street and to my surprise (and quiet anger) I see several hundred protesters already there – some setting up a step ladder up against the fence that surrounds the other half of Duarte Square. A purple flash of cloth begins to ascend the wooden ladder that the protesters have propped against the fence, as if playing out some medieval storming of the castle. Except the castle is a park and the battlements are a standard wire fence.

The Bishop doesn’t wait for the other half of the stepladder – like a boss he runs to the top and then lets himself down the other side slowly. People quickly follow behind him, nearly falling on top of him. I’m stuck in the crowd about 20 feet away from the ladder – I look to the fence and judge correctly that there’s no way in hell I can scale it myself and then push toward the ladder – a path opens up and suddenly as I tell OWS organizers that I’m going over they’re all smiles and hands helping me and my gear over. Climbing over and taking blind shots from the top, I suddenly realize what a bad idea this is – fuck it, I’m over and now officially in “criminal trespass” territory.

About 75 people are over – including CS and about 5 other journos that I can point out as pros. The occupiers start pulling at the fence bringing it upward so that the rest of the crowd can rush in – there are very few takers. This very clearly worries the people on my side of the fence – and worries me – any moment now the police will be here and numbers are the only thing protecting us from batons, plastic cuffs and a night in the clink. I give up on waiting for the shot of the protesters going all Steve McQueen under the fence and start grabbing every possible angle of the scene I can think of. Through the fence, the wide shot, the closeup…Then suddenly there’s a very large officer from the NYPD in my face yelling “GET THE FUCK OUT NOW!”

Photojournalists understand that as “YOU HAVE ONLY FIVE MORE SHOTS TO TAKE AND YOU NEED TO START MOVING TOWARDS THE EXIT.”

CS flies by me yelling at me “TIME TO GO, NOW!” For once he’s being the careful one.

I begin to comply and start moving towards the stepladder, the only “exit” I know of from this fenced-in park. I, of course, continue taking shots though moving towards my non-arrest, then I make it to the place where the stepladder used to be.

Oh, shit!

It’s not there.

Well, to be exact, it’s on its side.

Again, oh shit!

Also, on the other side of the fence, where just moments before the protesters and other journos were pushing forward, now the police are pushing them back. I looked around and couldn’t place CS, Brian or any of the rest of my crew. I also noted, with growing dread, that I was the only person that wasn’t a member of the New York Police Department who wasn’t handcuffed face down in the gravel.

“SIT DOWN, NOW”

Shit.

“I’m press! I’m a freelance photojournalist.”

“DO YOU HAVE CREDENTIALS?”

By this, he doesn’t mean from my agency or from my paper, he means the official New York City Press Credentials issued by the New York City Police Department.

Yes, the NYPD, the boys in blue that are currently in the process of arresting me are the ones that decide whether I am a recognized member of the media. They will not of course take in account my years of work for The Guardian, the dozen or so pieces I’ve produced for BBC TV, or any number of other works of journalism that I have done.

I don’t have NYC NYPD Press credentials.

Shit.

So, I sat the fuck down. The officers went on to deal with other people – so, I continued to take photos, from my seated position. Once I had taken everything I could from this angle I called my boss (day job) Greg Palast.

Me: “Greg, I think I’m arrested, they told me to sit down, but they haven’t cuffed me yet. I won’t be making it into work later today.”

Greg: [Chuckles] “Ok Zach, we’ll get the word out. Keep me updated.”

Realizing that this whole arrest and day would be for naught if something happened to my memory cards – I (slyly as I could) removed the card from my camera and shoved it in my wrist brace.

Blanking on anything else that could be done I just sat there for a moment somewhat dazed as an old Phil Ochs song starts to run through my head…

There’s nothing as cold as the freeze in your soul
At the moment when you are arrested.
There’s nothing as real as the iron and steel
On the handcuffs when you protested.

The zip cuffs weren’t that cold, and certainly weren’t made of out steel, just heavy duty plastic that would need to be cut using utility shears. The officer that put on my cuffs was nice enough to ask about my wrist brace and put them somewhat loosely around that wrist, but made up for it on the other. I got off easy. The kid sitting next to me didn’t; very quickly his cuffs started cutting off the circulation to his hands and the cold didn’t help much either. After being helped up from the ground by the police he begged for his hat and sunglasses that had been knocked off in his takedown by the officer. Sunglasses and snowcap pulled over his head he looked like a reject from a Cheech and Chong audition. His banner and prop mannequin arm was to be left behind (I didn’t ask).

Lining us up by the exit of the park, we were taken off in threes to our respective wagons. I was with Cheech and a bearded protester from Canada who had a sad looking guitar case – he later confided with me that it wasn’t a guitar, but an axe (again, I didn’t ask).

It was now our turn to make the perp walk from the gated confines of the park to the paddy wagon.

Surrounded by about 40 police officers holding back protesters and photographers on both sides of us, we quickly walked to the awaiting wagon. I heard my name being yelled from both sides, on one Brian and on the other CS. Trying to give them both good shots I turned to one, held the look for a moment and then to the other doing the same. I tried to look serious, but not angry – honestly I was just dazed and somewhat confused – still convinced at some point the police would wise up and release me, allowing me to get back to my job as a photographer.

That didn’t happen of course.

Have I ever told you the one where the Bishop, the pastor and the photographer get into a paddy wagon together?

Yeah, I think not.

Bishop Packard is a tall man; dressed in purple robes, he commands attention just by his presence. Sitting beside him is a pastor, across him, luckily enough, is someone who worked out of her cuffs. Which is why we have this video. In it the Bishop breaks down why the Occupiers decided to take Duarte Square.

Even churches have a 1% and a 99%. The good Bishop is in the 99% – Trinity Church…well, I think you got it.

The ride to One Police Plaza is a long one and seemingly the bumpiest ride in all of Manhattan. But we’ve got the time – based on John Knefel’s reporting we have a long night ahead of us. The only problem is with each bump all of our cuffs get tighter and tighter. Cheech sitting next to me is in excruciating pain – the Bishop tries to see what we can do, but none of us can reach his cuffs to try to help.

When we finally make it to “The Yard,” as the police call it, it takes them another 40 minutes to process us and remove the cuffs. Paul Bunyan, the guy with the axe and beard, seems to have it the worst – the officers can’t find a place to get the scissors between the cuffs and his skin.

Moving from the yard, finally inside I realize that they never took my cell phone – so I quickly tweet out a couple of photos before they notice.

Inside the cell I noticed that I’m one of the first in my wagon to be processed – though there is a priest, a minister of some kind, and about 12 other occupiers.

I decide to make an entrance by announcing loudly, “My goodness is that a Priest on the Group W bench!?!?!” (doing my best Arlo Guthrie voice). Everyone over 30 in the holding cell starts laughing. Then one of the younger priests starts…

And I, I walked over to the, to the bench there, and there is, Group W’s where they put you if you may not be moral enough to join the army after committing your special crime, and there was all kinds of mean nasty ugly looking people on the bench there.

Then with gusto – anyone who got the original joke starts singing…

You can get anything you want at Alice’s Restaurant,
You can get anything you want at Alice’s Restaurant,
Walk right in it’s around the back,
Just a half a mile from the railroad track,
You can get anything you want at Alice’s Restaurant.

I think Arlo would be proud. We went on to have a good old time swapping war stories. The Bishop joined us 20 minutes later and we all cheered. About a dozen other guys followed over the next couple of hours as we learned about the night’s continued actions. We held stack, talked about the future of the movement – I held a small working group trying to explain how to get better media coverage, and prep people for questions and so on.

I wouldn’t say the time flew by, but it moved. My arresting officer processed me out in about 8 hours – no iris scan – just fingerprints. I was lucky – some of the protesters coming in had some battle wounds. One 19-year-old kid had a shiner from what he said was getting punched in the face by a cop. Another, a main OWS organizer of #D17, was talking to us, reporting on the night’s activities and blood started streaming from under his winter hat. He calmly patted it with toilet paper and continued his report.

It’s surreal – 11 years I’ve been doing this shit. Years of anti-war protests, hanging with black bloc, shooting in Wasilla, Bed Stuy, and the reservations of the Southwest – and jumping over a ladder is the thing that gets me busted.

As I stepped out into the cold, a free man, the dry cheese sandwiches that they gave us to eat still festering in my stomach – I thought back to something that the Bishop had said. “There’s a reason we’re all here in this cell together; this is a moment and we need to keep it going.” I agree.

Fuck, this is beginning to sound like some odd redemption story – there’s no magical black man who can “acquire things” for me, and I’m not standing in the rain, covered in shit finally free…just the realization that none of us are safe – press, protester or priest.

Welcome to Bloomberg’s New York.

**Yes, pre-arrested – we’re talking Minority Report shit here. The police arrested an #OWS organizer for crimes that they assumed that he was going to commit later in the day.

-Zach Roberts-

New York, NY-I’ve never been much of a church-goer myself, but today’s protest in support of Jack Boyle, an occupier currently on hunger and medication strike in protest against a possible 3-6 months jail sentence for trying to pitch a tent on an empty plot of land owned by Trinity Church, did bring me out bright and early on Trinity Sunday. Many were arrested that day in December in an intense standoff with NYPD, amongst them a retired Bishop and other clerics, along with several OWS medics and almost 50 occupiers. My pictures from that day can be found here.

Since then, many of the arrestees were offered so-called ACD summonses, where they can get the charges dropped if they stay out of trouble, i.e. don’t get arrested, for a six months period. For many occupiers that requires them to lay low from the movement, a tactic many believe is used to discourage participation in occupy by NYPD and the local judiciary. However, I have met Jack and also Mark, one of the OWS medics arrested that day, on a number of occasions. Both are very dedicated members of the movement and decided to take a stand against both the eviction of OWS from a permanent encampment and also against the District Attorney’s office and Trinity Church, who keep pressing charges. On many other large actions, arrest charges get dropped very quickly, but not for December 17th. Mark also believes that he needs to take a stand for all medics. He was arrested as he came to the aid of an arrested protester who needed assistance and feels that medics should not have to fear arrest for providing medical assistance during protests.

As I arrived I found members from the Interfaith Group and other Occupiers picketing St. Paul’s Chapel’s front entrance facing Wall Street with signs referencing the Bible, reminding Trinity Church of their moral obligations and challenging their heavy-handed tactics by the real estate group. It should be noted that Trinity Church is one of largest real estate owners in New York City. It formed as a small Episcopalian Church in the 17th century and was bequeathed vast areas of land by Queen Elizabeth I in 1705. Much of that land is still in the Church’s possession, making it one of the richest congregations in the world.

The protest was high spirited (in more ways than one) and peaceful, as occupiers handed out flyers to church goers and passing tourists, maintained a picket-line singing slightly altered versions of church songs that demanded the dropping of the charges, and talked to anyone who wanted to know more about our protest . Nobody was prevented from entering or leaving the church, but the group clearly wanted to make them think about their church elders and what they were doing to occupiers.

Press came out, too. Both the New York Times and the Village Voice sent a reporter. After all, word of Jack’s hunger strike was getting around, and both journalists have been covering the movement long enough to know him and the circumstances of events on December 17th. Also, should Jack or Mark be convicted, this would be the first actual conviction of an occupier in New York courts since the movement began. One of the lawyers present told me it is highly unusual for the act of trespassing to actually garner a jail sentence.

We even saw a counter protest that went off without major incident. Two Wall Street employees showed up in full office attire handing out flyers, calling on bankers to unite against Occupy. It’s quite an entertaining read …

After talking to the cops and even OWS medic Captain, they quickly disappeared again.

NYPD for the most part ignored our protest, leaving us under supervision of one white shirt cop who clearly didn’t want to be there, and a couple of beat cops on stand-by should support be needed. Officer Konstantinidis laid low for the most part, with a few short interludes to remind us of his presence and a minor stand-off with OWS medic Captain, who at first refused to get up from the curb he was sitting on when asked to. Ultimately only a few words and stares were exchanged and no arrest ensued.

One occupier, one of the livestreamers who’s name I didn’t get, had managed to enter the church service and suddenly came out back out shouting that she had just been kicked out. Apparently, Reverend Matthew Heyd during his Sunday sermon informed the congregation of why we were protesting and told his flock that the church was not pressing charges and protesters would not be facing any consequences from their December arrests. Since that is clearly not true (certainly as far as the not facing consequences goes, the DA’s office and Trinity clergy are contradicting themselves as to the pressing of charges), she spoke out during the sermon and corrected the chaplain, telling the congregation about Jack and Mark, the hunger strike, and the possible jail sentence. After apologizing to everyone for disrupting their spiritual moment, she was escorted out by church staff. However, one church staffer followed her out and told her that he was trying to get the chaplain to come out afterwards to speak to her.

Lo and behold, after mass ended, the chaplain and several staffers came out to offer communion to the occupiers and to talk to the group. The livestreamer, Jack and Mark each got to say their piece, both to Reverend Heyd and even to Church Rector James Cooper, who followed out later. The conversations were intense but civilized and went on for quite some time. Heyd and Cooper insisted that the church was not pressing charges, even though the District Attorney’s office had told so to the protesters’ attorneys. Jack and Mark both demanded that they go back to the DA’s office and request the charges be dropped, even if they, as they said, had already done so.

Whether there will be actual action or changes in the DA’s stance remains to be seen, but at least the conversation was had and Trinity Church clergy and their congregants now know undoubtedly what the occupiers are facing. Several congregants came up to speak to protesters afterwards. Some seemed in denial (“It can’t be that they would do such a thing”) or surprised (“why would they tell us otherwise”) but at least some seemed to start thinking and ask questions. All in all, a well-spent afternoon.

- Julia Reinhart -