I just wanted to post a quick note that I have not been selected for a stay at Gitmo or fallen victim to any other ill fate. I am taking a short hiatus from the outside world as I have suffered a personal loss that is tampering with my inspiration and connection to all things external to my family. I appreciate your patience and readership, and I will be posting again next Wednesday.
Thank you. See you next week.
Every year around this time, people start thinking about newness and promise. We spend time cramming the holiday acquisitions into our lives, vowing to clean out that closet or the basement where the gifts of yesteryear seem to lay in eternal waiting for a repeat journey out of our domestic recesses. We squeeze into our favorite jeans, promising to lay off the egg nog and cookies in these final festive days and make it to the gym more often next year. We shiver in the blistering cold outside of malls and offices, catching a smoke while we revisit the idea of really making this the absolute last winter we’ll be fondling our impending doom in trembling, frigid fingers. This is The Year, right?
How often we reinvest ourselves in personal goals that seem so important at the upstart, and how appropriate of us to embrace these undertakings at a time of reflection, projection, and transition. The coming of a new year does this to us over and over again. It makes the impossible seem possible, the daunting seem conquerable, and the overdue seem timely. But how often do we keep these promises? How many New Years have you spent looking back on a year of progress and a resolution met rather than swearing for the umpteenth time that “this is going to be The Year?”
In the moment, we have the best intentions so we buy into the hokey tradition of developing these “resolutions” for ourselves, empty promises made while half-lit and wearing some form of embarrassment on our head: oversized funny glasses with flashing lights or a cardboard and fake feather tiara that is digging staples into our scalp. Rarely, however, do we stop to think about what a resolution really is, what it really means to have resolve, and what it takes to carry out said resolution to successful completion.
In the literal sense, we understand the word resolution as a state in which we are resolved or determined. It is a point of firmness in our character that will give us the strength and focus we need to accomplish something that we have deemed important. In cases in which our goals are earnest and dignified, resolve is a fine friend and a necessary ally. It is something that we, those committed to changing the crash course of our nation, must have in preponderance. It is one of the two most important things we can have. The other is patience.
Resolve will hold us to our goal, keep our mission close to our hearts and in the forefront of our minds, but without patience we will grow weary and weak prematurely. Like a marathon runner who is focused on finishing during the first 15 minutes, our excitement and foresight will carry our head far out in front of our feet and leave us crippled in fatigue and frustration before we reach mile marker eleven. We cannot forget that Occupy is in its infancy and that progress takes considerable time.
Americans distinctly identify the date of our independence from the British Empire as July 4th, 1776, but few realize the true length of our revolutionary history. Rumblings of “colonial alliance” started as early as the Albany Congress in June of 1754, an assembly intended to align Iroquois and Colonial forces to win the French and Indian War and to establish a newer, more independent form of government (designed by Benjamin Franklin). Even the Boston Tea Party and the birth of the “intolerable acts” ideology that fueled our independence happened more than two and a half years before the signing of our most famous and formative document. After the signing of the Declaration, it was not until September of 1783 that the Treaty of Paris was signed, and it was another four plus years before our Constitution was ratified by Delaware, the first state of a new nation.
We are, as the colonists were, being controlled by an empire that cares nothing for our human freedoms and personal well-beings. The free market has become a vile life-form comprised of spooling numbers and hypothetical wealth. Its far-reaching tentacles have wriggled and wormed their way into the deepest recesses of our government and our lives. It feeds on money and breathes in the human souls of those it corrupts. It sees us as exploitable resources prime for consumption. Like the “medicine” it sells us, we became addicted to its products, misty-eyed and glazed over as we stared at the next big thing, silently and unwittingly pledging our servitude to its low-price, high-cost hijinks. We allowed our lives to become cogs in its machine, only waking to its oppressive weight and control when the pressure of the system itself began to break our backs and our society.
Like the colonists, we face a daunting foe, pervasive, powerful, and bent on world domination. Like the colonists, we understand that great reconstruction will follow our hard-fought battle for freedom. Like the colonists, we will succeed through our concrete resolve and with unwavering patience.
So when someone in a plastic hat with a mini-lightshow glued to its brim leans over, with the momentary lack of balance characteristic of people planet-wide on this particular night, and asks you what your New Year’s Resolution is, take a moment to answer. Remind yourself that this year is no different from any other year. It isn’t The Year because it is only one of the many years it will take to solidify lasting change. Remind yourself that resolve in not a yearly promise. It is a lifetime of dedication. It is fundamental change in our very way of being. When you truly understand your answer, tell him that this year you are only resolving to be far more patient in your resolve, and then suggest that he pay closer attention to his drink which he is pouring all over the shoes your Aunt Tilly gave you last week.
Happy New Year, everyone.
With the holiday season in full swing, I thought it would be nice to reflect with gratitude on the gifts of Occupy. Fluffy, right? I know, but ‘tis the season so let’s fluff it up this letter. Consider this your holiday card from me. I’ve even included a picture of my adorable kid, just to make it warm and cozy.
As we move toward the new year, a winter in which to hunker down indoors and get some real work done, and the spring of promise which most Occupations are busy planning for already, it is important to pause and make thankful acknowledgements of the things that we – as a movement – are undoubtedly blessed to have, gifts that warm us with the same excitement and delight as a warm mug of hot cocoa after a day of snow fun.
Each Other: The people who have stood with Occupy, in body or in spirit, in words or in action, are our most fundamental gift. As with each strand of thread, red, white, and blue, that holds fast together, woven in intricate detail, and waves proudly over our nation, we are the fabric of Occupy. We hail from all walks of life, with all types of histories, and all kinds of motivators. We each wear (or one day will wear) the map of our personal journey on our aging faces; our hearts both heavy and light with the many stories of our lives. We all began somewhere individually unique, and we will all end the same way, but we find ourselves sharing the here and now.
In this moment, we are writing the same story at the same time in history. We walk together on this path, giving ourselves and allowing others to give themselves to us, stripped of all the barriers that previously separated us, and pledging our strength and loyalty to one another – out of nothing more than a shared ideal, a vision of freedom and equality that trumps all other ideologies, so much so that we employ all our talents, resources, and courage to secure it. We are the single brushstrokes, and the resulting image is that which bring us together.
Our Vision: Though our ideas are not original to us, instead handed down on parchment in ink, they are the single lens through which we view the necessity for what we do. The simple ideas of freedom and equality, etched more than two centuries ago our hearts and minds, are rights that are entitled to all people, regardless of any categorically defining characteristic. There is nothing, anywhere that stands as a reasonable excuse to deny any person any such bestowment. The right to live, the right to work, the right to be treated fairly, the chance to fulfill your potential, the chance to chase your dream, and the chance to write your own story.
We know we cannot guarantee everyone success. We know that we cannot create a society that rewards the lazy and apathetic. We also know, however, that when the diligent, the determined, the focused, and the dedicated are applying themselves earnestly and is still managing to lose everything, something has gone awry. We see the road to success has somehow become a hamster wheel of debt and market servitude.
We see ourselves and our world as a place where people have the choice, the opportunity, to succeed or to fail. We believe that one’s success or failure should be a direct result of their application of self, and that their labors should not be made more or less arduous or rewarding by any predetermined circumstance. We believe that ethic and effort should yield positive results and that those who manipulate the fates of others and capitalize on the deck they stack should be penalized for their exploitation. What’s more, we believe that this world is possible. It is in this belief, so deep and so true, that we find the resolve to push forward.
Our Resolve: Together with one another, and with our vision so clear in its motive, we know beyond a shadow of any doubt, that we can win this. We can change our world. We have seen it time and time again in our human history. From defeating the cold of an ice age to surviving the winter of a Cold War, we have seen the best of mankind rise up and triumph over tremendous odds and powerful adversity. We do not, even for a moment, perceive this cause as lost or this task as insurmountable. We can see the future. Though we may not yet know how we will meet this victory, our tactical maneuvers improvised daily, we know that if we just keep putting one foot in front of the other, we will arrive at our destiny.
In the mayhem of the moment, the intensity of the fight, the filtering of emails, and the general hustle and bustle of the revolution, let us not overlook the real treasures of the season, the season of change and unity. We should take a moment to cherish each other and the inspiration and drive we offer one another, to stand in awe of the vision drafted by our forefathers and still glistening in our grasp, and to bow our heads in reverence of the human spirit, its unfaltering propensity toward goodness and hope, and its unstoppable pursuit of justice. Carry these appreciations with you, and let them adorn your spirit throughout the holidays and the entire revolution.
Critics and naysayers love to ask the “tough questions” about Occupy, striving to stump or embarrass us. What they fail to realize, and what was incredibly apparent during this past weekend’s Northeast Regional Meeting, is that no one is asking tougher questions about Occupy than the Occupiers.
Walking into the meeting, I saw surprised at the incredible mix of people there. I’ve marched with Occupy in Philadelphia, seen GAs via live stream and countless photos of occupations nationwide. I’ve noted the diversity before, but nothing is quite so intimate and surprising as walking into a 20’x20’ room and shaking hands with 80 year olds and teenagers, hippies and bikers, long haired guys and buzz cut women, professors and janitors, residents of Society Hill, and people who sleep on benches all before finding a seat. In fact, the only thing that most of these people had in common was their shared belief that our system has gone insane and needs to be 302ed.
After a long introduction and some fun and introspective group exercises, we moved on to do the work of the day. Our mission was to discuss, in small groups, topics we think are important to the movement. First, we had to determine what those topics would be, so we were asked to make suggestions. The numerous proposals revealed a variety of powerful issues. Everything from “what do we do with the farm this guy gave us?” to “where are we taking this movement?” and “how do we get there?” to “how do we confront agitators?” came to the table.
With incredible patience and an unbelievable amount of respect, we managed to whittle the intimidating list down to several groups by folding similar ideas together and relating our individual focuses to broader spectrums. The process was a bit long and tedious, but we sighed with pride and relief when it was over. We took a breather, ate some lunch, networked and chatted, shared amazing stories and ideas, and returned to meet our groups with clear heads and full tummies.
The group I worked with was focused on the national goals and the organization required to accomplish them. People raised questions and ideas that centered on things like improving communications between camps, honing a unified message, coordinating localized efforts, creating powerful political change at all levels of government, and developing regional and national working groups. Some people spoke from logical stand points in calm and down-to-business voices as they suggested improvements to our networks, websites, and conference calls. Others spoke in voices teeming with passion and threw around expressive hands, talking about things like “guerrilla gardening” and street art. Still others pointed out necessities like controlling our narrative and avoiding media coopting, reaching greater numbers of people, and creating meaningful statements and documents.
The array of insights and visions was awe-inspiring and simultaneously daunting. We realize that we have some serious work to be done. Not just work on our government, but work on our movement. If we are going to get inside this beast and make the changes we understand to be critical for the future of our nation, we have to be more than loud. We have to do more than march. We have to build more than an idea. We have to plan, inspire, educate, and coordinate. We have to broader our vision while narrowing our focus. And we have to keep returning to meetings like this one.
Our time to work in our topic groups was limited, and the process that got us there was trying, but we are learning. In every action and every GA, at this regional meeting and at the many that we know must follow, we are finding our way through the complexities of direct democracy to become a living, breathing reality of change. We realize that we don’t have to have all the answers today. Just sitting together and sharing our thoughts is a revelation, but we also know that it isn’t enough. We do have to find those answers, and we have to do it sooner than later.
As I try now to compile my thoughts, reach out to new contacts, and take advantage of new opportunities for involvement, I find myself feeling similar to how I felt looking at the mammoth list of pressing issues raised at the regional meeting. The feeling is nothing short of overwhelming. Tackling the task and backing it down to a manageable undertaking is not as daunting as it seems. The key to success lies in the simplest lessons: take one step at a time; listen to others; take advice in earnest; learn from past experience; and above all remember that this is a work in progress.
Any artist, any writer, anyone who creates something for a living (or just for the sheer pleasure in it) will tell you that our greatest work is never done. There are always things that can be done, visions to be intensified, thoughts to be clarified, systems to be perfected. This is especially true in the case of our democracy. Believing that the work was done, that we could sit back and let the cogs turn, is what got us into this mess. So, we are as our nation is: a work in progress – always growing, always changing, always improving, and always searching for the answers to the tough questions.
With many of our camps packed up, at least for the winter, our reduced visibility is an issue for contention. However, with regional and national coordination on the rise, we can start to hone in on what we need to accomplish and how. Pressure from the outside to “boil it down” into a short list of statements is routinely rejected, and with good cause, but can we be all-encompassing and still generate distinguishable outgrowth?
The idea of creating a set of focused goals seems contradictory when working within a grassroots movement. Moreover, an inventory of demands, not matter how thorough, could become a checklist for appeasement from our current political leaders, who would pass legislation only to repeal it after the “uprising” is disbanded. Conversely, avoiding a list of solid messages and concrete objectives could translate as political ineptitude, stunted maturation, or just plain wishy-washy.
The trick is to move forward simply and become the organized extension of the people’s voice. By participating in local politics, – backing or rejecting local and state legislation, becoming a consistent presence at meetings (from school boards to state committees), working with charities and social projects, and so forth – we can start to make ourselves a admissible political force. We can be direct democracy in direct action with a representative Republic which has lately tuned its ear to the loudest voices in the room: the lobbyists. In order to combat the forces in power (the corporations), we must infiltrate the system and create recognizable political change.
Occupations in urban (or town) areas must make a point to reach out into the suburbs (and rural communities). We must bring our messages to those who don’t follow us on Twitter and who haven’t liked us on Facebook. We must make our intentions known to them and hear their voices as well. We must understand that connecting to everyone is essential to our mission.
By involving ourselves in local politics, we can push for the changes that we need within our communities and claim substantial victories for our movement. We can reach out to the people who misunderstand or simply don’t connect with Occupy and increase our numbers, support, and strength. We can begin to list the accomplishments of our movement in places where the world can see it: in legislation. We can begin the hard work of changing our government by changing our approach to politics, raising awareness where there was illiteracy and involvement where there was absenteeism.
It is easy for those who man the battlements and protect the aristocracy with smug indignation to discredit us for our lack of order, our missing spokespersons, and our cries for justice scribbled on fragments of former refrigerator boxes. What isn’t so easy is to contend with an organized movement that is forging real bonds with people in every nook and cranny of the country, that is uniting communities and marrying local people to the idea that they “can, too” make a difference, and that brings forth a sudden outpouring of consciousness and participation from their previously comatose constituents.
Apathy put us here. We, as a nation, sipped the Kool-Aid and went numb on the couch; and sometime between Mork and Paris Hilton, bandits made off with the nation. We were warned repeatedly by our leaders over two centuries about these types of criminal enterprises and how they would loosen the democracy, but we stopped teaching history with the depth it deserves to make time to practice for the standardized tests – something else that was lobbied into existence while we snored through our artificial-cheese powdered lips.
Marches build our solidarity and visibility. Occupations symbolize our idyllic society. Civil disobedience and our constant entanglement in their red tape can bankrupt the system which attempted to bankrupt us. But it is through sincere and direct local political action that we will build the strength, character, experience, and support that we need to take this movement “to the house” (…of Representatives).
In time, we will amass the things we need to ready ourselves for our active restoration of this nation. We will have rooted leadership, widespread support, and deep understanding of our local needs and national issues. We will add these things to the treasure trove of strengths we already possess. Combining our assets with profound and impacting accomplishments, we can move forward toward the ultimate goal: a truly free America in which we stand together as a citizenry fully conscious and taking responsibility for our democracy, our neighborhoods, and our future.
As a child, my mother always reminded me that I was a “pebble in a pool,” my actions rippling across the whole of my life and family. I employ this fitting metaphor here. We are the pebble, and our local actions are the first of many circles flowing outward to impact greater and greater space. No matter how small it appears, even when compared to the vastness of the water it breaks, that one pebble can affect everything… even a nation.
I live just outside Philadelphia, and while I draw inspiration each week from occupations across the nation, I have participated in actions and general assemblies (via streaming video) with the Occupy Philly group. This weekend was a big one for OP. After months of peaceful occupation and tenuous cooperation with the city, the camp was issued an eviction notice at the end of last week. The notice itself came as no surprise to the occupants, as construction was scheduled for Dilworth Plaza (the location of their camp). With the group acting in direct defiance of the eviction order and staging a huge show of solidarity which was supported by hundreds of OP friendlies, surviving Sunday night completely unthreatened by the police forces surrounding the plaza was a bit more unexpected. What was most amazing, however, was the internal struggle of the group’s conflicting political opinions and how they turned this conflict into palpable resolve.
There is a mix of facts and rumors still to be sorted into a full account of what actually happened to create the friction that plagued the group and culminated in a screaming match of a generally assembled debacle on Friday night. The long and short of it is that a group called Reasonable Solutions, which spoke with the city on the group’s behalf in an attempt to negotiate the messy business that is urban occupation, began making decisions that didn’t accurately represent that consensus of the larger group. Reasonable Solutions was able to procure an agreement from the city to move operations to a plaza across the street. Significantly smaller in size, the plaza would support only what the permit allowed: three collapsible canopies to be assembled and removed – along with all persons and operations – in accordance with permitted hours (9 am to 7 pm). Now, I have not been close enough to the situation to pass on any reliable details of it, nor would I speculate as I believe speculation is akin to gossip. What the intentions of the individuals who comprised Reasonable Solutions were, are being debated by many. Be they agitators from the upstart or those who paved the road to hell with their good intentions, I know not, and I presume nothing. The end result, however, involved a permit the majority of occupants did not want, a megaphoned hijacking of an important general assembly, and a public statement by OP severing ties to the Reasonable Solutions subset.
While I marveled from my living room, watching the chaos unfold via live stream on Friday night with a repeat performance circumvented with relative dignity on Saturday evening, I couldn’t help but ask myself what the justification was for not leaving the plaza. The construction would, after all, create lots of (short-term) employment for the union workers; it would beautify the city, create a space for concerts which raises local revenue, and create (though extremely limited in number) some employment for those maintaining and managing the space. The cost was extraordinary but it was mostly grants that had to be spent a certain way, and it was being paid into the local groups building the space. Blocking the project seemed short-sighted. I sat back, however, and refrained from passing judgment until I had more perspective. I followed closely during Saturday’s GA and tried to find the reasoning behind this campaign to resist eviction. The meeting, however, was business as usual. They made plans for the eviction and discussed and voted on several other items, none of which gave me any insight into the reason for the stand or the split. Then the time came for the campers to pack their tents and move out.
On Sunday, the camp was prepared for eviction, and so were the campers. With a backdrop that seemed naked compared to the previously colorful, packed, and bustling center of democratic fervor, the occupants of Philadelphia’s camp and their supporters sat down on the steps of Dilworth Plaza and awaited their eviction… and waited… and waited… and waited. They waited all night. They filled the time and space with voices, some expressing themselves in the echoes of comrades during an “open mic” and others cheered and sang through vibrant drumming that lasted well into the night. People in camp visited the people outside of camp via the video stream, answering questions and chatting. In the morning, the camp was quiet. Not because it was empty, as so many thought it would be, but because it was sleeping – piled in greater concentration than ever before in the few remaining tents.
Somewhere between the locking of the arms moments before the scheduled eviction and the sound of post-midnight jubilance, I realized why these people chose to make this stand, to sacrifice a relatively peaceful experience, to throw away months of positive relations with the local police, and to risk bodily harm. The answer was simple: the deal was not acceptable.
The city issued its original permit for a 24-hour occupation, permitted camping, portable toilets, electricity, and even reduced police presence to ensure that those wanting to approach the camp would feel comfortable doing so. Suddenly, now that the city had to commence a $50 million dollar project, that only stands to create 20 full-time jobs and promises to disrupt the lives of hundreds of homeless citizens, a restriction was being put on the functions of the Occupy movement. With so many locations in the city to choose from, many with the space and features necessary to support the camp, the city wanted to force the camp – which is the movement itself, symbolically – into a smaller space with limiting ordinances. What happened in the signing of the construction contract that made it legal to limit the first amendment rights of the people using the space? What clause was there that gave Mayor Nutter the power to vote free assembly? Was it somewhere between who will lay the concrete and who will plant the shrubs? Of course, not. So, they stayed – dividing themselves from a unit which, regardless of their intentions, was willing to bargain away their first amendment for reasons unknown to me but speculated by many.
Philadelphia, which literally means “brotherly love,” has never been a place renowned for its charm. We are city of working class people, strong on culture and rich in pride, opinionated and close-knit, critical of our leaders (and sports teams), and fabulous at applying more swear words to a sentence than words comprising the actual thought. We are sarcastic and sharp at the tongue. We are as tough as we are loud, and we are equally unapologetic. It is this character, read through our snickers and jeers, that often leaves the nation asking “where is the love?” I try to help others understand us by asking them recall how their brother loved them. He poked; he pinched; he knocked you around; but he loved you unconditionally, taught you to stand up for yourself, and never let you down when you really needed him. We are the birthplace of the freedoms this nation has taken from granted and this movement is determined to put to work. We are great in a debate, but even better in a fight. And, we are really, really good when push comes to shove.
Occupy Philly demonstrated all things bold and beautiful about the history and character of this city. They were uncompromising in their stance and unrelenting in their stand. They saw an element that endeavored to sway them toward a compromise that left them holding all the short straws, regarding their camp and regarding their rights. They withstood, with peace and dignity, the chaos that ensued when this now annexed portion of the project attempted to divide and harass them. They made clear their objective and their ideology with their rejection of an insufficient negotiation that tried to limit their rights and their reach into the community.
This movement is not about compromise. This movement cannot rely on those in power to do what is right for the people. This movement cannot take leave of the rights written right here in my city so that mayors can be credited with a keeping on the peace sown by our commitment to non-violence. And above all, this movement cannot be negotiated into smaller space and smaller time at so critical a moment in our American history, especially for the continuance of the same type of progress that has been pushing our nation backwards for half a century. If the leaders of our cities want us to move, they are just going to have to give us the space they call their office – because that is what we are after: change in leadership. Not by name, not by party, but by thinking, by conduct, and by construct itself.
It was a beautiful moment for Occupy Philadelphia. It was a moment of epiphany for me. And somewhere between the locking of the arms and the drums that celebrated long into the night, I’m sure the fathers of nation who lived and walked on these very streets, who rallied the servants of an empirical British doctrine designed for the profit of kings, who wrote the words on which we all stand now, did their own mic check. We might not have heard it, but it was loud and clear to those who were paying attention, and it started off something like, “We, the people…”
While the week since my last post has provided us with countless powerful images that will surely be included in the pictorial journals to chronicle this time in our American history, the most moving things this week came to me in decibels, not pixels. There are rare and beautiful occasions in which closing your eyes is the best way to see something. At times, experiencing a slow, meditative listen reveals more about a moment than any number of whirling, glittering, or profound optical accounts.
The first thing to strike me this week was a deafening silence in California. In an incident instantly famous and propelled by its pictorial images, the pepper-spraying of University of California at Davis students earned national (and probably international) attention, and it prompted Chancellor Linda Katehi to hold a press conference that she attempted to keep secret from the student body. Her attempts failed, and chanting students surrounded the building. After refusing to leave the building for several hours, she finally emerged to hundreds of students assembled in a seated corridor that followed her path from the building to her vehicle and reached the edge of the parking lot. As Katehi walked, the students sent a message more powerful than anything they ever could have vocalized. They said nothing. The only sounds that could be heard for the entire length of the Chancellor’s walk were clicks, some from the Chancellor’s shoes and the rest of camera shutters. The tapping of high heels, something I adored hearing as a child (who later blossomed into a women with 12 too many pairs of shoes), registered in my ears as a penetrating reminder of Katehi’s failure to protect her students, and of the feelings of disappointment and anger those students certainly felt mounting with each noisy step. The subtle snaps of permanent images documenting the shame at Davis seemed the flitter across the soundscape, snippy flicks of tattle-tail pictures noting Katehi’s miserable expression and the stern looks on the young adults she was entrusted with. But as I closed my eyes to listen more closely, it became the hum that gave me goose bumps. Like the common chord sung by a busy casino, silence has – when recorded – its own pervasive tone that can rattle the ears as thoroughly as any crash of thunder or clash of armies. This blast of soundlessness present at a blaring volume at UC Davis spoke volumes about the dignity and resolve of the students and the failures of a misguided and politically inept woman charged with responsibilities greater than her skill.
On the other side of the nation, the very next day, protest and patriotism was expressed in an opposite decibel and with danceable rhythm as Occupy activists and supporters came out en masse to serenade one of the movement’s greatest heroes: the beautifully blundering Mayor Michael Bloomberg. In the most delightful form of harassment a true dub-head like me could ever imagine, Occupy Wall Street organized a 24 hour drum circle across the street from the mayor’s house. People from all walks of life brought instruments from all genres of music. Everything from bongos and tubas to whistles and pot lids played in ever-changing, flawlessly improvised musical chant hour after hour. As I listened, closing my eyes to the distracting temptation of examining the expressions of passing pedestrians or my desire to read every sign to be carried through these historical days, I heard the variations of patterns, the changes in tempo and design, the accents of higher pitched instruments, and the reverberations of bass pounding like the feet of these determined marchers who have only just begun. What I felt, aside the urge to romp barefoot around my living room in honor of those drummers (and tubists and whistlers and pot lid-ists), was optimism, peace, spirit, determination, and at times even a little jazz interpretation of subtle rage. It was beautiful and brave and abounding with the type of energy that will propel us forward into our mission and into our future which seemed to me, with eyes closed, far brighter than it had just a couple short months ago.
The sound of chaos and ignorance rose up in a clatter in Manchester, New Hampshire on Tuesday, less than a day after the day long symphony in New York. President Barack Obama, who has remained unbelievably silent about the police brutality and inter-city conspiracies carried out against the movement, spoke at a high school there. Just a few lines into his speech, a group of Occupy activists began a “mic check” which called the president out on the number of peaceful protesters who have been jailed while the white-collar criminals of America’s financial elite remain at large. The president who appeared to have gracious intent regarding the interruption never got a chance to hear what he was willing to hear because the cheerleaders began to out shout the activists. In pathetic irony, symbolic of the obliviousness that holds back the misinformed and unguided, the cheerleaders were shouting, “Let’s get fired up!” The crowd, confused at the growing volume of these synonymous but somehow conflicting messages, or perhaps just feeling left out, threw their empty hats into the circle and begin chanting, “Obama! Obama!” Finally, after a few moments of what sounded like a choral round gone berserk, the room erupted into a cheer and slowly grew silent again so the president could speak. While I can understand the frustration of those who do not understand or agree with the movement having their school’s honored guest interrupted by the irritating fly-buzz of a pressing political crisis which has given rise to the oppression of constitutional rights and brutalization of unarmed American citizens, what I find striking about this event was the mindlessness of the crowd’s response. I could, with my eyes closed, almost see the chubby, pink-blazered coach leaning over and prompting the cheerleaders. I could feel the shaky excitement in the chests and throats of the cheerleaders as they emboldened themselves, the burning pride that filled them, taking them by surprise, and giving them a giggly feeling that needed to be suppressed to continue their roars. Sadly, however, this pride, this liberation, this feeling of doing something important falls short of offering them any real vision and direction, and in fact probably worked counter to that which would’ve benefitted them most: listening. Those girls would likely giggle in the locker room, preparing to return to class, and through the entire rest of the day about how they “showed those stupid protesters.” The cheerleaders, perhaps, are only following in suit as the community that is rearing these young ladies also failed to make the mental adjustment between their moment and this moment. As the adults in the room erupted into their own chanting, all I could think, “What an awful clamor of unharmonious dissent from freedom into hospitable ignorance.”
That very evening, I moved from reflecting on this stew of sound, all mixed up in stark representation of the debacle that has become American society, I heard a single sound that pierced my conscious with shocking realization. I recently spent some time reading over the Violent Radicalization and Homegrown Terrorism Prevention Act during the weekend. In case you are not familiar with it, the bill – which I am dubbing the McCarthy Act – was voted down in 2007, but rumors are that the bill might be revived in the near future. It would allow Congress to form a Commission of 10 individuals appointed by various members of government (some of them appointees themselves) with what appears to be unlimited staff, budget, access, and reach to investigate the “adopting or promoting an extremist belief system for the… use, planned use, or threatened use, of force or violence… by a group or individual to promote the group or individual’s political, religious, or social beliefs.” The first startling thing about this bill is the incredible ambiguity of words like “force” and “extremist,” which are never defined in the bill. The next thing that disturbs me is that the bill basically designs and legalizes a witch hunt to find, investigate, and incarcerate people that could be deemed dangerous to the current power of government without any concrete justification for their guilt beyond what they believe. Finally, it perturbed me that “violence” is set apart from “force” in all definitions throughout the bill, which would indicate that non-violent provocateurs would be criminalized unilaterally with violent ones. This got me thinking, “Am I a non-violent provocateur who could be criminalized by this bill or one similar to it? Me? A former teacher turned stay-at-home mom who literally spends most of her day baking cookies and crafting with my toddler?” Knowing that this bill is out there, waiting to be resuscitated by some corporate owned politician who feels compelled to quell the revolution, had me on the edge of my proverbial seat all weekend. Then came the sound that shook me. As I tried to unwind after a typical toddler day, my young son and I ventured out into yard to hear our neighbor practice the bagpipes. As we stepped carefully across the damp lawn, drawn to the piper like the mice of an old tale, my mind slowly relaxing to the aching beauty of Amazing Grace, I heard in the not-so-far-away distance a police siren. For a split second, I panicked, clenching my fist closed and squeezing my eyes shut. The thought occurred to me that at some point the screaming of a siren, which I just got comfortable with after years of healing from the trauma of September 11th, might be directed at me, and not for something horrible which I am frankly incapable of doing but for what I am doing at this very moment. As a writer, the clicking of the keyboard is my version of singing. It is my release, my breath, the outpouring of all that keeps me awake at night – the thundering, rapturous chords of relentless thought. However, with the passing of one piece of legislation, the desperation act of a federal government quivering at the thought of a future in which their power is limited by the people they represent and their financial wellspring is choked off from the open floodgate it is today to a reasonable dribble, that welcomed clicking could turn into the slamming of a closing cell door. I could become a criminal simply for what I believe and what I want for my country and my son. I shuttered, snuggled my son closer to me, and let myself drift from the thought.
There has been so much noise this week. There have been so many messages, some conveyed in voice, some in music, and some in total silence. It brings me to a place the Occupy movement seems to lead me to over and over, a place in which I feel inspired and emboldened, courageous despite my fear, hopeful despite my concern. I reflect on all that this movement has given me – me, the stay-at-home mom who bakes and crafts and taps away on her keyboard in the hope that I might make some noise of my own. For now, I settle in and melt away to the awkward, droning lullaby of the Battle Hymn of the Republic as played by my neighbor who stands in the middle of his yard, the porch light spilling over him – a beautiful visual but a moment I chose to experience with eyes closed.
As Occupy camps across the nation are swept up and out, we find ourselves in a puzzling and contradictory state of both expulsion and exaltation. While we may have been dealt a technical blow, suffering the loss of space and materials, we have gained significant ground. A revived zeal, cheers of ironic victory, and a hell of a lot of media coverage garnish the beautiful affirmation that we are winning. Amid the noise of political banter, police actions, and even the underlying hum of counter-Constitutional conspiracy from our nation’s highest office, we tune our senses to the subtle yet resounding message: we are getting to them. Though public statements made by directed (not independently reasoning) local officials outline reasons to break up the camps that range from public safety to impeding on the picnic spaces of area employees, there are a few very real reasons the powers that be want the movement dismantled, and all of them are odious, not odorous – as they would have us believe.
The obvious reason to break up Occupy camps is our edging closer and closer to our first inevitable victory, one we must win over our most visible adversary: the police. To do this, the movement needs only to continue to show up. Peaceful assembly in large numbers, arrests resulting from civil disobedience, and the tactical maneuvers and discharging of weapons by police add up to more than public failure and embarrassment for city officials. The simple fact is that our cities, fiscally crumbling beneath the economic pillage of the higher-ups, cannot sustain the expense of continued police action against the movement. The obvious question is then raised, why carry out said action?
Any logical, logistical thinking person would deduce that it would be easier, cheaper, and more pleasant to let the camps stand, cooperating with internal working groups to keep occupations clean, safe, and free of unwanted elements. Instead, the cities leave occupations to fend for themselves, blaming occupants for problems only reconcilable through cooperation from local officials then wasting city resources in unsuccessful attempts to unseat the movement, citing problems stemming from the city’s systematic failure and political ineptitude in dealing with the camps. While the cities struggle to pay for actions against Occupy and the public relations necessary to recuperate both the city’s reputation and the personal political careers of those in office, the bottom of the shilling purse fast approaches. Meanwhile, the only thing these actions succeed in doing is strengthening our resolve and exposing the corrupt ringers of a much larger, far more crooked game – an expense of a different kind, equally unaffordable for the city, but with pressure from the top to dispense the movement, local officials find themselves the scapegoats and puppets of multi-millionaires and are left holding the checking and the smoking gun.
Given the cost and blatant unconstitutionality of these relentless assaults, the indication becomes clearer that those in power are in fact struggling to protect something they feel is worth the increasing social and financial costs. What they stand in firm defense of is not, however, the things they were sworn to protect: our national sovereignty, our freedom, our people, peace, and prosperity – nationally speaking. It is to protect the illusion of democracy which serves as a façade for political pirates and their network of corporate accomplices who, with focused intent and great efficiency, have managed to turn our government into a well-oiled wealth machine for an American criminal elite so devoid of ethics that they conduct their business at the cost of human life and liberty, and from behind the protective cover of titles and privilege we unwittingly bestowed upon them in good faith.
Though we, those who comprise and support the Occupy movement, relay our messages to the public in terms more common and understandable terms – buzz words like “income disparity,” “bank bailouts,” and “corporate welfare” – it is essential that we understand our mission will not be completed with the passing of meager legislation that will be torn down and reconstructed to the benefit of these American traitors and capitalistic mutineers. We must change the structure of our government so that it is no longer possible for the public servants we elect to govern themselves as they are clearly ill-suited for a task of such great moral obligation, having proven themselves unscrupulous manipulators of legality and hoarders of wealth. We must change the checks and balances of an old system that relied on the goodness of man and was constructed before the design of the economic system that is now our undoing.
This brings us around to the battle of Antietam, something I mentioned in a previous letter. At the birth of the American Civil War, Confederate and Union soldiers fought in one of the bloodiest wars the world has ever known. At the time, the goals of President Lincoln were solely to preserve the nation, keeping the North and South united. However, it was in the wake of this battle that Lincoln realized that the hardships already faced and those to come amounted to a war that would not be worth the end prize of a rejoined but unimproved Republic. It was necessary to make the nation greater, stronger, and more just that it ever was before the secession of the South. It was through this effort, this weighing the ferocity of the fight against the victory to be won, that the abolishment of slavery was decided upon, an act Lincoln believed would create the better society he so desired for us and justify the critical path that our nation was forced to forge by other circumstances. From this we learn that it is not enough for us to simply correct tax law and imprison a few stuffed suits from various financial institutions. Doing so would only mop up the puddle created by the leak in our roof. It in no way corrects the real problem or secures our ability to weather future storms.
Those who have risen to power, occupying offices won in backhanded games of democratic manipulations and shadow deals by mystery men, now sit atop the world’s most dangerous con. They peddle propaganda about the merits of capitalism and publicize dramatic political epitaphs laden with invented terminology and imaginary economic science, all the while stuffing down our throats values of materialism and servitude to the market. They sit in secret meetings, gathering insider information that translates into stock market trading tips. At the end of the day, the rearrange their personal portfolios, using privileged information to amass obscene personal wealth, something any citizen would be locked up for, but they do legally, protected by laws and exemptions they have created for themselves. This is why Willy went to Washington. This is why they clamor to serve, clawing their way through mudslinging elections (an insight into their true, frayed moral fiber), to grasp in the mêlée public offices that pay less than $200,000 annually. Not because they feel an earnest sense of duty to their nation; not because they hear a calling to serve their neighbors and community; not because they could not make this much or more money working for the companies that own them, but because it permits them access to money making opportunities far beyond anything they could ever tap into on their own or take advantage of legally. In exchange for access to the money machine and their resulting personal fortunes, American politicians repay the people and corporations who funded such opportunity by placing them and their private agendas into positions of power and priority, creating business networks and removing legal barriers so their financial backers can bulk their own treasuries without limit, at any cost, and at our expense.
To stand up and say that we want our grievances with these outside industries addressed by the people we have entrusted with our political process is like telling the wolf that the fox ate our chickens. He simply doesn’t care, but he’ll lick his chops of his portion crumbs and promise you anything to keep the henhouse guarded as is. We, as a movement, do not want our government to hear our grievances. We want it to hear our wrath. We want these criminals to scamper futilely under their fancy oak desks, pulling in those big leather chairs behind them in helpless panic, as we storm the capital, cuffing every profiteer who has abused our trust and capitalized on our former ignorance.
We must organize in greater forms and with loftier goals, fueled by the apparent desperation of our cities as they tip of their hand, revealing their struggle to contain our movement and our message. This is not a plea to be heard. This is a change in ownership. Remember this in the days ahead. We are not a protest to be stifled or stymied by the confiscation of books and tents. We are here to overthrow the criminal hijackers of Washington as well as Wall Street. Change will not – cannot – come from within. It can only come from us. It starts in our streets and ends on the hill. Aim high, think big, and keep your feet on the ground… marching, park or no park, tent or no tent. Ours is a critical path.
I’m sure most of us have had that moment in which you said the thing that had to be said, rather than the thing that someone wanted to hear, and suffered for your honesty. Perhaps it was a friend who really loved someone who was just all wrong, or a person you once recognized who was fading to drugs or alcohol, or maybe it was even someone who loved you that you loved, too – just not the same way. At one time or another, we’ve all had to say something that was as difficult for us to vocalize as it was for someone else to hear. Even if you can’t recall or somehow managed to dodge the bashed-for-caring bullet up until now, let me assure you: If you’re sitting in occupation (or promoting it from the outside), you’re officially hated. Don’t despair, though. It isn’t your fault. This is not one of those times where things would be better left unsaid.
There are many, maybe millions, who feel that the Occupy movement is a waste, a joke, or some insane scheme at Socialism or worse. Being vocal about the movement, I am often headed off by feisty young Republicans, grumpy old men, or the flatly uninformed with all kinds of reasons why Occupy is the ugliest concoction of the most un-American things they can conjure. My rebuttal is typically kicked off with a hardy and involuntary laugh, the kind that could send coffee out your nose if you were mid-swallow. It isn’t funny, I know, but there is a level of humor in it for me that I can’t explain. Perhaps it’s the “laugh or you’ll cry” mentality. In my conversations on the matter, I’ve been told everything from Occupy being a movement to make the US, Canada, and Mexico one country to how the marchers only want their student loans forgiven because they are too lazy to work and apply their degrees. I’ve been told Occupy should be shut down because we are wasting the precious resources of cities too broke to handle all the arrests (as though not arresting occupants is a situational alternative too mind-boggling to consider), but at no point does anyone ask themselves why our cities are all verging on bankruptcy. These are just to name a few punch lines in the cascade of ridiculousness that falls from the mouths of those who are among the 99% but are so far incapable of getting behind the movement even though it is clearly behooves them, personally and nationally.
Understanding why these citizens would cling to foolish and shortsighted explanations, spouting them out in instant frustration then ramming their heads safely into the sand, rather than calmly addressing the problems of society may be critical to the movement consoling and recruiting those who tremble in the face of social change. In my search for insight into this bizarre and counterproductive behavior, I read an amazing article written by Jim Sleeper, a political science lecturer from Yale University. The article talks about the irony of those who discredit a movement poised to improve their lives and why he believes they do it. His eloquence is masterful, and his vocabulary will make you smarter even though you’ll feel dumb while you’re forging through it. I strongly recommend reading it as my discussion of it is no substitute for this primary source (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jim-sleeper/behind-the-snarking-about_b_1065830.html?ref=politics&ir=Politics). Reading it, however, is not a prerequisite to understanding my related message.
Sleeper sees the response as being related to “a public psychopathology” referred to with the French term Ressentiment, which is essentially when those too fearful to face the real offenders and oppressors seek smaller targets (typically those courageous enough to take on those same enemies) on which to focus their anxiety and insecurity resulting in misplaced anger and hostile disagreement. The resentment grows as private trash-talk by like-minded cowards becomes increasingly public, fueled by the attacks of those who propagate the fear and lies inherent to the condition itself for the purposes of agenda progress and propped up by the false security of an invented reality, one in which the problem is not the inflictors of oppressive societal conditions but instead the courageous individuals who stand defiantly before these powerful forces and point out problems the cowards are too intimidated by to address. Basically, they don’t like you because you won’t allow them to live blindly.
By standing up for what is right, by shouting truths counter to the popular belief, and by fighting so vehemently against forces that govern the lives of Americans, you are proclaiming that something is wrong – seriously wrong. Believing you, hearing you, and opening their eyes to see what you see is falling down the rabbit hole. It means they have to accept that things are have gone astray and, worse yet, to discover the truth behind the lies that painted their existence. As when Dorothy drew back the curtain or as in the case of any child who ever yanked off a holiday beard, the truth can be heartbreaking. What would they have, what hope, what aspirations, what new responsibilities if they come to face the fact that their American dream has been just that – a dream?
Bringing the masses into the fold requires us, the revolutionists, to offer more than just political rebuttals for their misguided resentment. (Granted, not laughing in their faces would probably also help, and I promise to try.) We must remember that those who take to the frontlines in any battle are those who are cut out for fighting, which is something most people are not. Those who quiver in the back or who plant their feet firmly in resistance to truth are still valuable members of our society and our movement, and we must do whatever we can to help them adjust to world the way it is if there is going to be any hope for achieving the world the way it should be. We need to be able to give them something more than a laundry list of grievances and a heap of facts proving how far we, as a nation, have fallen from grace. We need to meet them with hope and with wisdom; and while answers might be on short supply just yet, though I have considerable faith in those behind this movement, we can share with them our vision and our ideas.
In the weeks to come, I’m going to write to you about the Civil War and a story my father told me about the Battle of Antietam. The relevance of this story will cue us for a honing of our movement that is both natural and essential. In the meantime, we must find ways to stir the pot, but not in the bubbling, boiling, swishing fashion of the raucous revolutions of old. We need to smooth and cox and simmer as we would a delicate pudding, patiently awaiting the melding and rendering required of all great visions. We must take the time to listen and find the fear behind their words, to reason with those who seem unreasonable, to answer with possibility instead of counterpoint, and to find the common ground. And if that moment comes when you realize you are out of time, out of patience, and out of answers, you can always do what I did after being trapped in a flea market stale with a raging Republican (a man peddling discount toys on a picnic table for a living – a man clearly of the 99%) and a toddler in full meltdown. When he asked forcibly and with great vocal snicker, “then who do you vote for?”
I shrugged and smiled sweetly with a batting of the eyes, and yelled “OCCUPY!”
Then I grabbed my kid and ran.
Hey, you can’t win them all.
The cover article of the NY Post’s November 3rd issue drew my attention and a bit of hostility as well. I wrote the following letter to the Editor. Whether they publish it or not remains to be seen.
Dear Editor,
I couldn’t help but notice a front page article on the Post’s November 3rd issue. I was confused by the title and subheading, proclaiming that the “other 99%” (as though there could be two 99% portions of a 100% whole, but basic mathematics aside…) is fed up with the OWS presence in Zuccotti Park and how the movement has been “hijacked by criminals.” I should start by reminding readers that if being hijacked by criminals was reasonable enough cause to shut down well-intentioned political movements then the doors on Capitol Hill should’ve been closed decades ago. However, somehow, of the three journalists who cooperated to assemble this piece, not one is complaining about that stench.
Another thing that reeks is the language used to describe the OWS occupants and their camp. Words like “chaos,” “filth,” “thuggish,” “motley,” and “mob” all litter this article; words with negative connotations used explicitly to paint a bias and unfair portrait of the occupants and – in turn – their cause.
While the movement, I’m sure, apologizes to small businesses in the area surrounding Zuccotti Park and all camps worldwide, there are a few things that should be understood to give a little depth to the situation; not the least of which is that the OWS occupants have been thus far unable to build a positive rapport with local officials largely because of repeated attacks and incidences of police brutality against them. This problem is hindering their ability to acquire the things they need and curtail the problems mentioned in the article. Things as simple as portable toilets and generators to those as dynamic as police cooperation to help them rid themselves of bad elements within the group would help support the encampment and make the situation more livable for all, both inside and out.
Moreover, had any of the collaborating writers of this piece done any research into the countless examples of similar movements in American history or even into the psychology of a setting such as the OWS camp, they would have discovered that there is nothing unusual about the problems OWS faces at this early stage of their occupancy. All movements, especially those that have brought such large numbers of people into such close quarters, have had problems like this at the outset. It takes time for activist leaders and the group population to develop the courage, understanding, and systems required to forge safer environments and better community relations. This type of work is coming into focus for the movement, but it is unfortunately stalled by the time and resources occupancies all over the country are expending on resisting the countless attempts to remove them and deny them their first amendment rights, which in most cities means withstanding unnecessary brutality from the police – a group that should be working with them to defend their rights and ensure their safety. Instead the camps are forced to face these problems alone and while fighting an uphill battle.
If anyone can be blamed for the “filth, stench,” and safety issues surrounding these camps, it is the city officials who have failed these occupants. Rather than call for dramatic action to evict this camp, which I can guarantee you will not only create violence but fail in its mission to discourage or relocate the movement, I would implore the city to cooperate with OWS to increase a sense of security for residents, tourists, and occupants alike, and to reduce problems like filth and crime around the camp. After all, reduced tavern traffic and offensive odors aside, the people of OWS are just as entitled to their presence, sanitation, and security as everyone existing outside of the barricades.
Jill-Arcangela M. Kopp
Author of “Letters to the Occupants” (blog @ WordPress.com)
Jenkintown, PA
Jill-Arcangela Mancuso 
You must be logged in to post a comment.