It’s freezing here this morning at Occupy WDC! My fingers hurt from the cold as I type this. Somehow, somewhere, I lost my gloves when I came down south. They are probably in the camper that now sits, destroyed, in a salvage yard along with so much of our gear. I am hurting for that now.
It was bitter cold yesterday for the Forward on Climate Rally, also. Lauren lent me a couple of thick socks which worked out well as mittens. I ran the march with our camera instead of wearing red duct tape crosses — my first attempt at being an indy photog. There were plenty of street medics there. The best I have ever worked with were there, including the one whose call I answered to come to Liberty Park and Occupy Wall Street — Shon. Little did I realize at the time that his call for help would resonate so deeply within me that my whole reason for living would finally become clear to me. Little did I realize that Mother Earth was calling to me through Shon. Little did I realize that there was no turning back — there is nothing to go back to, everything is in front of me now.
The first words said to me at Liberty Park, October 1, 2011, were in the form of a question — and my answer, so quick to be said, reverberates throughout my soul every day since then. The question was: “How long are you here for?” My answer: “For the duration, yo.” For the duration, indeed! Definitely in deed, because words are nothing without works to back them up. Here I am, and here I stand. I am not going home. I have no home until this is over. This Land is my Home. My Home is being destroyed. My place is with the People of the Land, not with the sheeple of Society.
Hypothermia was the primary problem for the medics — and one the organizers did not think about because they were never thinking about us except as numbers. If I thought it would help I would have knocked that silly grin off of Bill McKibben’s face as he led the parade. No, the thoughts of the Sierra Club and 350.org were on their own gratification. Sure, the organizers had event buttons and rave hats for everybody, and yellow caps for the so-called March Marshalls who swooped around trying to impose orderliness — and almost getting their collective block knocked off a couple times by the real protesters. The March Marshalls were doing the job of the police, even so far as kettling us behind yellow caution tape. Where were the police? Not here at the parade — yes, parade. This was not a demonstration or a civil disobedience. This was a silly, old parade without spectators.
Where were the people we wanted to reach? Where were the people who live and work here? Where were all the Congresspeople and Senators? Where was Obama and Biden? Well, Obama was back where the Occupy Bus Tour had just come from in Florida playing golf. Perhaps we should have stayed there and have interrupted his liesure time. The others? Who knows? They were nowhere to be found. Even the damn White House guards were barely visible. We had more police watching us sleep at Occupy Trinity Wall Street than we did here at this parade for nobody. That tells me a lot. Nobody saw us, damn it! No TV coverage, no newspaper coverage, no coverage at all except for the indy media that is itself part of the march, part of the protest, part of the story. We paraded about in a big circle jerk, is all. Masturbation marches like this don’t bring about change — they are just momentary feel-good, instant self-gratification parties that mean nothing and do nothing. At least in front of Trinity Wall Street Church, at the head of Wall Street, thousands of people saw us every day. Thousands — the people who work there and all the many tourists from around the world — saw and heard us. Some even told us they realized that we were suffering on the streets, occupying public space, for them.
OK, maybe, just maybe, that is too rough a stand to take about the parade. We did all get together and hear some inspiring words from the women of the First Nations. I was ever so glad to see and hear them. They talked of standing up for Mother Earth, of putting their lives on the line for the Land, of putting their bodies down on the Earth to block the bulldozers and heavy machinery that is invading their homes. That, comrades, is where we need to be — not here in the political morass of Foggy Bottom. If you want to stop the Tar Sands and the many arms of the KXL Pipeline you have to go where the corporations are waging war against us. Marching around the empty buildings of the puppet politicos serves nobody any good except the corporate puppet-masters. While we all were down in D.C. more work was done at the Tar Sands, and more work was done on all the pipelines that make up the Keystone XL. We lost ground while we jerked off in front of the empty White House. Are you happy now, Billy-boy?
I was glad to see many of my Occu-family here. For that I can say this event was a success. It was very good to see some of the people I have slept next to on the streets of New York City this past year and a half. It was good to talk to some of the people I have marched with through the streets of the world’s Financial District. It was good to hug the people I have fought the police with while trying to exercise our basic human rights. It was good to see the hard-grounders who have been holding down Occupied Space for the last year and a half smiling and happy, celebrating being around like-minded people — Idle No More and Occupiers from other encampments. It did my heart good to see the black Occupy flag flying high and defiant. It got my blood flowing to see the ragged and worn black anarchist flags flying alongside the proud flags of The First Nations, the pristine ecology flag, the stars & stripes peace flag, the beautiful blue Earth flag and the liberty-for-all flag of these United States.
Yes, I am proud to see the flag of these United States because I believe in the Grand Experiment that is the reason for existence of this country. This country is supposed to be for the People, not for the Money. The 1%, the corporate puppet-masters and all their many puppets, military and political, are all traitors — they are the enemy murdering the Land and the People. Their colonization of the world has come ’round to home, and we the privileged are finally beginning to see what we have inflicted upon the rest of the world’s peoples. The terror we have inflicted upon indigenous peoples on every continent in order to steal the resources of their Lands has finally come home. The Tar Sands is our version of the Belo Monte Dam. The ruthless military evicting and killing the native peoples in the path of the Belo Monte Dam will soon be turned against us. For we are no different in the eyes of the 1% than any of the indigenous peoples we have put in mass graves, or let rot above ground, all over this planet — and right here on Turtle Island. I am old enough to remember Wounded Knee — and the synchronicity of it all is that I have my own permanently injured knee thanks to the NYPD. My wounded knee reminds me all day, every day, who the enemy is. The 1% have mass graves for us also. Believe it, yo. Karma waits to welcome us to the hell we have created. Next time let’s meet in front of the bulldozers not a fucking empty White House.
Now that you have read my rant, enjoy my photos of the parade.
Sorry, folks — WordPress is acting up, messing with the photo size (fixed) and not allowing me to post more photos. It’s late so I’ll put the rest of the photos in a blog post tomorrow. Until then, peace, love and never surrender!