The night before at 2AM I had come straight from a gig to be in solidarity with the protesters who were now occupying the steps of Federal Hall after being evicted from across the street at the corner of Nassau and Wall St. As far as I can tell, it was another chapter in a long book of the NYPD arbitrarily enforcing laws as they see fit in that moment. I guess after a week of being perplexed by the 2000 New York State court ruling on Metropolitan Council Inc. vs. Safir, which said that sleeping on sidewalks was constitutionally-protected form of protest, the police decided the law only had a one-week shelf life.
I sat on the steps next to a blue-eyed blonde protester who had sleeping bag clutched under her arm and a black guy I had noticed at Union Sq who carried a sign that read “Rosa Parks was arrested 91 times.” They informed me that just before I got there, which was around 2AM, the NYPD was about 100 strong, outnumbering protesters 4 to 1. Sounds familiar. At least I got to see something that probably happened for the first time ever on Wall St: a game of frisbee between a tall Sahara Desert-looking black dude in a red headdress, a young pierced anarchist in black baggie pants with a rebel handkerchief around his neck and a young All-American redhead in gym shorts and a t-shirt with the name of a high school on it.
The afternoon of the 17th, seven months after Occupy Wall St came into existence, started off uneventful enough. I was kind of disappointed to see only a couple of dozen hardcore protesters, most of whom I hadn’t seen before. However, it did seem strange that all were congregated to only one side of the statue, which also remained cleared of anyone sitting on its platform which was the case just the previous night. Occasionally though it seemed a tourist was permitted to stand next to the George Washington statue and have his photo taken by those below. I took it to mean I could stand there too, in my dress shirt opened to reveal a black “Wall St Pirates” t-shirt w/ skull and cross bones.
After a few moments, I sat down amongst the protesters and found myself sitting next to the Sahara guy and we struck up a conversation. He spoke of the Masons and the imagery around the area, pointing toward the sculptured engraving above the NYSE that he said was an interpretation of America’s endorsement of slavery. I mentioned I had a friend who was working hard with City council members and historians to get plaques placed in about a dozen locations downtown commemorating slave auction sites, of which he said he’d be interested in helping with.
At the very moment I was writing down his information, a person down lower said “it looks like they’re mobilizing for something.” We noticed the familiar movements of various types of cops moving toward and to the side of us and up in back of us. Assembled in front of us were United States Park Police, NYPD, SWAT personnel and (we had heard) FBI. A green clad Parks officer on a megaphone began to say we were not permitted to sleep there, and metal gates began clanking all around, corralling us in. No one was sleeping, so what was this all about? A few of us, including me and the guy I was talking to, made our way off the steps and onto the street, while most remained.
A crowd began gathering, lots of tourists and people getting off work. The usual ruddy-faced, graying cops in their 40’s in all manner of official wear from blue jackets, the ever-present TARU guys, regular cops and white shirts, smugly condescending as they’ve been know to do to anyone who asked questions, including a news reporter. One protester began lightheartedly making an announcement, “Everybody please remain calm. We’re here to protect you from the 1st Amendment.” Moments of levity are the standard for OWS to be sure, and it was most welcomed at that moment. But it wasn’t enough this time to keep me from getting really pissed off.
The evil irony of these cops protecting their puppet master’s interests, and the bewildered crowds struggling to understand what was going on – it demanded someone to speak. I was overcome with the fucking injustice of the thing and the continuing overreach of these boneheaded thugs arbitrarily enforcing their own ever-changing rules. “High above us in these buildings all around here are white-collar criminals who destroyed the world’s economy and not one of them has gone to jail. Yet the police harass and arrest peaceful protesters just sitting here,” I shouted, cupping my hand to my mouth recalling the advice of a veteran activist to use the city walls to help amplify your voice by directing it up against, in this instance, the most towering monuments to avarice in the world. And then another moment of inspiration hit, “Everyone standing here today in this country called America is only here but for the efforts of the people who participated in non-violent civil disobedience that preceded the American Revolution. Learn your history.”
The faces of tourists, who are down in those parts in the droves these days, had been a mixture of bewilderment and curiosity. In those cases, the reflexive reaction is to side with the authorities, who ostensibly are there for your protection, and this sentiment would probably have prevailed had a few of us not spoken up. But we did and their faces seemed to reflect it – the wheels began turning, you could see it in their eyes. And just like that you could just imagine their views of America shattering, whether it was the marketing concept of the United States being the “land of the free” malarkey, or on the other side of things, that the American populace were just a pacified xenophobic culture of consumerists. They were not expecting to have both notions tested right in front of their very eyes, with their 9/11 Museum gift shop bags in tow, and seemed clearly miffed that such a display of force was necessary - essentially caging in the behind metal barricades protesters who were sitting peacefully on steps of a grand historical building of American history as if they were on animals on display in a zoo. People this day, just as they had during the OWS protests of last year, were going to go back to their countries having seen the NYPD use overarching intimidation to deal with peaceful protesters and at the same time having glimpsed a new American spirit of protest perhaps missing from the world stage.
After a while, one invariably adjusts to the new situation and settles in, which in this case meant there didn’t seem to be an imminent arrest situation, but rather plainly just more inconvenience for everyone involved. I made my way around to talk to random people, observe the police in their conversations and gauge the crowd’s reaction.
I met an older low-key guy in a baseball hat who said he had been coming down everyday since the protest moved to Wall St. He spoke of how the previous night some residents from across the street degraded themselves screaming in front of their kids at the protesters to get jobs because they couldn’t get any sleep, adding that he would have taken his kids over to meet the protesters rather than carry on like that. Prior in the day he said he had heard incredible speeches given from the steps of Occupiers about the financial system and economic inequality.
That is a refrain I keep hearing from people, something like, “this guy walked up looking like a total anarchist hippie but began given a dissertation on the economy or healthcare or credit-default swaps and I was blown away.” I guess one plus of not being in an office all day is being able to read what you want to read. Upon further consideration it seemed quite likely that once again this next heavy-handedness could serve as yet another in a long line of unwitting moves by the NYPD that may just result in favorable press, inquisitiveness from tourists and who knows, sympathy from workers and residents in the area.
What I witnessed next was probably the most moving thing I’ve seen yet. I was standing maybe 20 ft off to side of the only entryway to the barricaded area with two others who I had just met. Earlier I had noticed in the crowd a woman who had Occupy Catholics band draped around over her shoulders that hung down on either side of her. We had suggested to a Spanish woman who appeared lost on the sidewalk saying she was looking for Occupy Faith that she might be able to find out something from her. The Occupy Catholics woman and another woman were holding signs referencing Bible scripture. They were standing near the entryway when a slightly disheveled-looking but buoyant fellow came up remarking how different the place looked at that moment and walked inside where he was greeted by others. The person I was standing with thought he had just been released from jail, and smiled that he probably came right back to join the protesters.
“Would you like your feet washed?” asked another protester. The gateway area was generally where people were congregating; things were left around there, nearby food had been brought in to feed people. It wasn’t a visible spot and you couldn’t really make out what was happening unless you were right there, yet here was one of the most humbling, compassionate and graceful acts I’d ever seen in public. Up the twenty or so steps and all around inside the barricaded area were lots of colorful people, and the crowds had begun to thin and pass by. This submissive act of abasement, a manifestation of Christ performing the slave-like duty of washing the master’s feet as a gesture of love toward his disciples and a reminder they were in service to each other, wasn’t witnessed by many in the streets there. It struck me like a thunderbolt. I immediately thought of Thomas Merton, the poetic Trappist Monk who authored one of my favorite books “Seven Storey Mountain,” and how reflective it was of his writing. I thought to myself, at that very same moment that there was a very good chance right around the block a businessman in suit and tie was having his shoes shined. A metaphor escapes me now. Much in the same way a broker getting his shoes shined could never imagine degrading himself thusly, or show any kind of weakness or humility, in the same way many on the sidelines avoid OWS because it is a direct challenge to their conscience.
Food was being served for the protesters, organic hemp hats had arrived and were distributed. A rare sense of community, sharing and taking care of one another, which is at the core of this movement, was ever more present.
The amount of support OWS gets from religious leaders doesn’t get much reported in the media. Yet there have been signs of it everywhere since the very beginning. I can think of many instances of having seen and talked with priests, ministers, rabbis and monks, finding stacks of the Catholic Worker (with a front page endorsement) at Zuccotti Park. I remember a Long Island priest holding a protest sign who remarked that he was wearing his collar because he was indeed doing ministry work standing with the protesters. The many churches who have donated to the Occupy movement, most prominently Riverside providing tents for the protesters, and Judson Memorial opening its doors to offer sanctuary to the displaced right after the eviction, remind us of the true mission of those institutions. And according to a symposium called “Occupy the Mind: Progressive Moral Agenda for the 21st Century” with by Cornel West, Union Theological Seminary President Rev. Dr. Serene Jones, Editor of Tikkun Rabbi Michael Lerner, and Senior Riverside Church Minister Rev. Stephen H. Phelp, the Occupy movement represents the “true revolution of values” King sought.
Perhaps no one has used biblical terms to put the moment clearer and more pressingly than Chris Hedges, former seminarian, author and ex-NY Times Pulitzer Prize-winning war correspondent and journalist, who in a speech to Trinity Church laid gravely at their feet the responsibility of their institution to recognize this moment in history, or ignore it at the peril, literally, of the planet. I like that Hedges pulls no punches, what else would you expect from a guy who as a young, undersized boy learned how to box. His speech to Trinity Church was part of the #D17 action attempting to take Duarte Plaza, which is owned by Trinity Church Properties, as a new home for OWS, was after Bishop Packard spoke. Packard was the first over the fence that day, in full purple robe, a sight no one will forget who was there.
Even the Archbishop of Canterbury came forth to say Jesus would be out with the OWS protesters. The Council of Elders, a group of former Civil Rights-era leaders, convened to endorse Occupy in November of last year have led OWS marches, including one to a MLK memorial hosted by OWS at the Riverside Church where King made his famous speech in defense of the Vietnamese people, for whom he made the case the United States was committing horrendous injustice against. Present were Rev. Benjamin Chavis, an assistant to King; a Buddhist monk. It’s amazing to me that this narrative hasn’t gotten more traction.
After a few hours at Federal Hall, I decided to make my way over to other spots around the City, but not before I made sure to collect the contact information of people I had met and spoke with. I’ve recognized over the months how important it is to be able to stay in touch with people you meet at events, especially after the eviction of Zuccotti Park. So much information gets exchanged and synergistic energy flows at the actual protest sites that one invariably comes away more informed and better prepared for continued involvement, not to mention always being inspired, nay awed, by the sacrifice of others.
I made my way down the block west and up Broadway to have a look at the place that changed the world. It may look like Zuccotti Park again, whatever the fuck that looked like, but it will always be Liberty Sq for everyone who had spent some time there. But when it actually came into focus for me this day I was unprepared for just how pristine and adorned it was, with red and yellow tulips in the flower beds. To any eye it would have been quite a nice sight; I was repulsed. To me it was akin to a state burying it’s history, the Khemer Rogue setting the clocks back to Year Zero in an effort to align with its brutal obliteration of its own past. “This park is forever transformed.” I said to the management lackey overseeing the parks guy wielding a high-powered water-gun to clean the giant red structure. “Try as you might you’ll never be able to wash away the public square democracy that took place here. Ever.” I walked to the corner where a couple of OWS guys were talking about the General Assembly meetings and saw a Hispanic or black woman and her son and said aloud that they’ll never be able to wash away the history. They lit up and said “Do you know where the protest is?” Stunned for a second, I smiled and pointed them down the street to Wall St.
I learned another lesson right there again: put yourself out there and engage people, for chances are you might both be thinking the same thing. And wear the buttons and t-shirts as a way of inviting conversation. That was also proven to me the last time I was there a month ago talking to a friend on the corner, when a group of Finnish school kids came walking by on their way to the obligatory class trip to the 911 Memorial and two of them excitedly approached me to ask about the “Occupy Astoria” button. They excitedly remarked that OWS is “very famous in our country,” mentioning also that they had heard about the police beating people on the 6th month anniversary and hoped to meet some of the protesters. They stayed behind to talk more but were being called away so I took up to walk with them across the street so I could give them my email address. A couple of days later I found a friend request on Facebook from the tall redheaded exchange student.
It’s good to be reminded of that sort of validation, especially in a city where the cops treat OWS like diseased animals and smug NY Post readers regularly hurl insults at you. The reaction is just the opposite from tourists, who speak with respect about it. Yet, the paradox still remains.
When you speak one on one with the vast majority of people here, you find there is huge support for the issues raised by OWS of income inequality, campaign finance reform, financial and banking regulation, investigations into Wall St criminality, taxing the wealthy, healthcare for all, a demand for alternative energy, food and health resources, etc. The disconnect is driven by a confluence of things: overwhelming feelings of helplessness which lead to inertia, an avoidance of involvement due to fear of losing job or of being arrested and an inability to recognize the basic historical truism that all meaningful social reform, whether the 5 day work week, the 8 hour work day, voting rights, civil rights, have come to pass only as a result of uprisings from the ground up.
Abetting these factors of course was the mostly negative propaganda, and at present an unresponsive media not following the movement into its next phase. Throw in the flat-out ignoring of the continual breeching of constitutional rights and civil liberties, which have shown stunning overreaches by police departments all over the country, particularly the NYPD's brazen arbitrary enforcement of their ever-changing rules and indiscriminate beatings of protesters, coupled with people substituting FB time for real social interaction and apathy breeds aplenty.
The good news is that as the local Occupy movements continue to spring up and gain traction in their own neighborhoods people are coming face to face with Occupy right outside their doors. Some career politician once said, all politics are local; maybe he was right. All we had to do in Astoria, Queens was to show up and say hey we’re here, Occupy Astoria LIC is. A few months later we have 120 people on our FB page and weekly GA’s attended by people of all walks of life across our neighborhoods who are showing up regularly. The worldwide awakening in 2011 isn’t going to be stopped by the NYPD, Congress or Wall St.
As dusk began nudging its way in I walked over to my motorcycle parked underneath the FDR by what used to be the Fulton St fish market and made my way up to Union Sq for the final stop of the day. Again an unusually light turnout on this mid-April early evening. But steadfast in their profile was the front table of OWS with the iconic giant yellow and black banner. Reliably lots of literature across the board with May Day leaflets in prominence, and something called the Metro Occupied, a takeoff on the free daily Metro.
A guy named Ian, a former Wall St broker who impressively broke down banking and finance for me, was manning the front desk and he broke down alternative banking and food system solutions for me. A Hispanic diabetic woman from Brooklyn chimed in, at first annoyingly asking Ian to boil it down to one issue, which he handled with aplomb. Soon enough though she was talking about the debacle of dealing with health insurance, half of which she qualifies for from the State and the other she has to buy, how expensive insulin was and her problem of getting others to care at all. Welcome to Occupy, I thought. It felt like the quiet before the storm, as the notable park looks primed again to ready its pen to record another chapter in its long history as hotbed for fomenting real change in America.
With the May Day General Strike just around the corner, I turned my attention to building awareness for the national action. It took a couple of days to finally nail down a time that one of the Occuprint could be available to pick up the excellent Srike Occupy newspaper they had printed, but when I got the email saying someone would be there Friday I took off from Queens to Brooklyn right away. A few blocks from my house I ran into a fellow OALIC member and told her the news, asking if she would round up a group to meet at the Ditmars subway stop to distribute them for rush hour. Her son, a precocious 2nd grader who often comes with his mother to OWS-related events, begged his her to be allowed to come along for the trip. She looked at me, and though we only know each other mostly from our interactions at our General Assmeblies, she asked if I wouldn’t mind taking him along. “Of course he could come,” I said. I was moved that she would entrust me with her son, but such is the strong connection within the Occupy family.
With my girlfriend’s small Saturn packed to the gills with newspapers and stickers we were on our way back to Astoria. But not before we had distributed some materials to people out on the streets of Bklyn on the warm Spring day. We drove down Atlantic Ave, a thriving Middle Eastern stretch of cafes and shops which is one of my favorite in the City, and handed papers to people. While stuck in traffic we called out to a group of young men nearby and gave them newspapers, telling them of the May Day General Strike. One fellow leaned in and said “Are you with Occupy Wall St?” I said yes. He said “I’m a cop.” Ok, I thought, what now? He began saying that he agreed with much of what we were saying about the 99% and a lot of his colleagues did too, but that he heard about the assaults on cops and that wasn’t good. I agreed, even though there are so few if any and almost all the violence exclusively emanates from the police, but said “it’s not fair to paint a movement around the actions of a few, just as it would be unfair for me to say all cops stick their batons up people’s (I refrained in front of the child) like the guys who did so to Abner Louima.” As he nodded, his friend jokingly said “don’t listen to him” and asked for a paper, and we shook hands after introductions and wished each other well.
The next day was Saturday morning and members of Occupy Astoria LIC gathered outside of United States Congresswoman Maloney’s office for a meeting we called with her to discuss the NDAA bill, and our specific request for her to sponsor a bill to repeal it. Maloney has a fairly progressive voting record and voted against the bill, but she also sits on the House Committee of Financial Services as well as Financial Institutions and Consumer Credit. As the 17th wealthiest person on Congress and the representative for a constituency that includes the super wealthy Upper East Side of Manhattan the 20 year legislator was about to meet. It was the first time most of us had ever formally met, let alone sat down with for a private meeting, a member of Congress.
One of our members prepared a brilliant speech that introduced the diversity of our group, covered the ravages of economic inequality, called out specific legislative abuses to our civil liberties, and expressed eloquently the lack of faith most Americans feel about government. Though Maloney mostly kept to election year platitudes and couched much of her stances in Dem vs. Rep language, she did engage in some lively back on forth on NDAA, Wall St criminality, Ciitzens United. The meeting was scheduled for a half hour; we walked out over 70 minutes later. Politicians are politicians, so when she remarked a few times during the meeting how she was “very impressed” with our group we took it with a grain of salt, however good we felt about our showing. We’ll be following up with her office on the Adam Smith bill to repeal NDAA already in the House.
Monday night I spent the wee hours after a gig postering around town, and the same all day Tuesday. Yesterday I picked up 1500 of The Occupied Wall Street Journal to help distribute around the City, and a few of us from Occupy Astoria passed them out at local subway stops, which we will do all week.
It feels like it’s been non-stop in the run up to May Day, really since OWS began. And today I still feel dazed, but even more inspired, after watching the stunning Frontline documentary “Money, Power and Wall St” last night. It’s one of the best cases I’ve seen made for Occupy Wall Street.
The first of a two-part, two-hour series ended with this, "The real story of this financial crisis is probably not so much whether the bailout was the right or wrong thing to do. The real question is 'how did it come to be, that this nation found itself with two stark painful choices?' One of which was to wade in, and commit trillions of dollars to save the financial system, where we still end up losing millions of jobs, millions of people lose their homes, trillions of dollars of wealth is wiped away. And the other choice is to face the risk of total collapse.
That's the real story. How did policy makers, our government leaders, the financial sector, maneuver this country into that kind of corner?"
And that’s pretty much the question that has motivated me most these past few years. It's the same question Occupy Wall St heard many of us thinking aloud.
Is Eric Schneiderman hearing it too?
We are the People.
We are United.
This Occupation
Is Not Leaving.