Chpt. 1: from what I can remember

Introduction

Images are blurry. You can see figures, but you can't identify them. Well, not all of them, and occasionally the parking meters look like people too. You can't read street signs, and never know which subway stop you're at. At night, you see light and darkness. And that's about it.

But I'v seen a lot these past few days, even in what is termed 'legal blindness' by so-called experts. I've seen masses of people, spirits of revolt, creative resistance and unity in strength. I've seen a community, a consciousness, something real.

This has been the major element of my life for perhaps eight weeks now, and it had been a major focal point for many months. This is the RNC or, more specifically, the resistance against it, the burning ring of fire that surrounds it. Madison Square Garden saw some 5,000 delegates and guests, thousands of volunteers, and some ten thousand reporters, but the streets saw 750,000 insurgents, dissidents and dissenters. I don't want to talk too much about the preparations before the days of action. I just want to give some snippets of the excitement, the wonder that swelled within during these days of resistance. Maybe the longer story can appear another day (although, knowing me, it may never have a chance).

But here I sit, with hopes of some quick recuperation before my trip to Boston for a courtdate, and then my return to Chicago after a long absence (please make me feel welcome upon my return). My bones are out of place, muscles ache, eyes don't work, throat is sore, right arm is throbbing, and mind is warped. And my emotions are drained. But most of all, I'm eager to look to the future, what is to be done, where we go from here. But I know if I don't start some serious reflection on my role and experiences in the recent past, I might never fully accomplish this task. And all would be for naught. So bare with me as I delve into a possibly self-indulgent, confused, time-warped narrative of a shining week of hope, a culmination of thousands' of shared dreams, a climax in an important battle.

Democracy Uprising

The first major protest that I partcipated in during the week of resistance, to my memory, was the arrival of the DNC2RNC Democracy Uprising march through Central Park and then down to Union Square Park on August 26th. This was the final day of a month where some seventy activists had marched from Boston during the Democratic National Convention protests, all the way to New York City. I passed CNN trucks, where an outside interview with a Democratic senator. There were lots of cops, no surprise, including no fewer than five cars and SUVs from the US Capitol Police and their K-9 unit, all the way from the District of Columbia.

There were a few dozen of us waiting near Colombus Circle at the South Western edge of Central Park. Crowds gathered near some street performers, including two man-bots, the men who paint their skin and dress in metallic colors and then perform movements a la the robot. The police walked up to each of them, and told them that 50,000 protesters were coming, and that because of possible violence, the performers would have to move so that their adolescent viewers would not get caught up in a bad situation. These lies prompted one of the performers to angrily spite the incoming march, until he was calmed with the sound of the truth.

The march arriced, preceeded by police vans, with much media and public fanfare, and a large Seeds of Peace provided meal commenced. There were also a great many plain clothes law enforcement agents (re: agents of repression), but they were paid no mention as we celebrated the completion of an action that, I must admit, I had somewhat disregarded when it was first proposed back in February. A special moment: a three year old New York girl, who was there with her mother, shouted for quite sometime at a police car to "go away!" As her mother pushed her past in a stroller, the girl caught the smiling eye of the officer in the car, and responded with her refrain "Go Away!"

With much merriment and relief, people rested their legs for the last few miles in the march down to Union Square Park, one of the grandest monuments to the expression and community of the masses of New York's downtrodden. The march was wonderous, and the police surprisingly allowed us a couple of intercetions down Broadway, even past Times Square, without trouble. Dozens of pedestrians joined the crowd. I marched for a time with just such a Latina family from Virgnia compromised of a single mother and her six children. The mother proclaimed that her kids had demanded they join the march.