I arrived to the Guerrilla Potluck late—had to wait for the
pumpkin bread to cool—but nobody seemed to mind and many were really excited to
get some hot food on such a chilly night. I like it when I am surrounded by
people who are smiling at me.
Unfortunately, since I was late I missed the early police-negotiation
stage. We weren’t allowed anywhere near the Waldorf Astoria, where HRC was
honoring Goldman Sachs. (Imagine every time I type “Goldman Sachs” a Greek
chorus hisses and spits.) The protest milled around on the traffic island for a bit, but a cop told us we needed to cross the street and none of us felt like arguing much.
The police had cordoned off a space for us to protest on the
opposite side of Park Avenue. Because I’m sure the folks we were trying to get
to hear us could totally do that over the traffic noise. Really. Ha ha.
That was frustrating. Not that I wanted to shove posters in stretch limo-riding people's faces. But what’s the good of a protest if they can’t
hear us? It’s the sound of one hand clapping.
So what I experienced, after the pumpkin bread distribution,
was:
Many chants. The ones I remember are: “Feed the needy, not
the greedy” “Who’s in bed with Goldman
Sachs? HRC!” “Hey hey HRC, Where is the equality?” “HRC your time is near/ Fake
inclusion won’t work here” “Everybody pays their tax/ Everyone but Goldman
Sachs”
…I was there because of the Goldman Sachs connection, but
had no other reason not to support HRC before I went. Got chatting with a
Radical Fairy (a group of activists I had never heard of, but I looked them up
and there they are), and he told me that HRC removed “transgender” from
legislation they were trying to get passed.
Dude, you don’t throw some of your marginalized constituents
under the bus just so your slightly less marginalized people get a bone thrown
to them. Where’s the solidarity?
As I said to that guy, that’s the nice thing about Occupy,
it’s really streamlining my budget. So many non-profits who won’t be getting my
$10 any more.
I handed out a couple of tiny tents, which were also greeted
with smiles. How can you not love a tiny tent? One person suggested I put a tent on a car, and I stopped and thought about it, but after my tongue caught up with my gut instinct I said, "No. I'm just an ally..." What I tried to get across was that I didn't want my message to get privileged over people whose lives are negatively affected by HRC and what it does and doesn't do. But I don't think that's what came out of my mouth. Frustrating not to be able to articulate my gut into nuanced language. This is why I prefer to be a human mic in these situations. Tell me your words and I will shout them, but please don't expect me to be able to speak my own. That's what writing is for.
Because we were on the sidewalk, there were also a line of
parked cars between us and the traffic. Being short, I often had difficulty
seeing over the cars so I wandered towards one side to see and be seen more clearly.
I have understood that we aren’t to block the sidewalk during peaceful/non-aggressive
protests, so I positioned myself on 6 inches of curb, my back to a huge potted
plant, and on the other side of the plant was a good 6 to 8 feet of open space.
I was really surprised to have a cop approach me (Me!) and
ask me (nicely) to move. I was genuinely confused. There was a gentleman (er,
dressed like a big baby with a plastic doll) to my immediate right, so it wasn’t
like I was drifting away to foment dissent elsewhere. Apparently, he wanted us
to stay in the area of sidewalk that the metal barricades had delineated. Since
there was no metal barricade at my back, I was not in the area that we were
allowed to protest in.
Just as I was about to possibly escalate the situation,
someone behind me started chatting about the bread and I was complimented right
out of that conversation. When I was done, the cop had drifted away and was
talking with other cops who I hope were saying that it wasn’t worth it, let the
crazy loud people shout themselves hoarse. Clearly we weren’t going to stop the
dinner from happening.
Later, I tried to cross Park Avenue to get to where the
post-protest/chill-out area was. Specifically, I chose that moment because
someone else was going, and I’m shy. Besides, there were a lot of cops and y’know,
solidarity and shit. Another guy decided to come with us, so the three of us went
to the corner and proceeded to cross. Third person had long legs and strode out
in front of us. I didn’t have anything with me but my pink floral backpack, but
the first person had some white balloons and other protest paraphernalia.
Third person made it to the traffic island in the middle of
the avenue before the light started to change; a cop approached the two of us
and honestly without thinking I just headed for behind him. New Yorker instinct
took over, get out of the way of the cop. But then he turned to include both of us and told
both of us to cross the street on the other side.
The light was changing, so I would have to either sprint past him (baaad idea, said New Yorker instinct) or stop traffic if I really wanted to argue the point. I don't want to cause that kind of scene, and the first person who I was supposed to be walking in solidarity with was saying, "Come on," and encouraging me to cross the way the cop wanted. In the end, I followed her because she was the one who wanted to cross and if my goal really was solidarity, then I should stick with her.
However, I can’t get over that interaction with the police. It’s a public street, a public
sidewalk, and we were headed for the “privately owned public space” that was on
the corner diagonally from where we started. Two streets had to be crossed, and
technically it didn’t matter which street we crossed first.
But… I felt quite upset about it. I was kind of brittle and
high-pitched the rest of the evening, and when I got home I cried. I hate
confrontation. I hate it when the cops make it clear that if I wasn’t in obvious
solidarity with protestors (like the first guy with the long legs who got
passed without raising the cop’s attention and later apologized for not waiting for
us—he didn’t “look” like he was a protestor, so he got through), my freedom of
movement would not have been curtailed.
I don’t have a snappy ending for this post. I’m sorry. I’m
upset. I don’t like that the cops are getting in the way of me protesting the vampire
squid that it is Goldman Sachs. I don’t like that I’m interacting with cops,
not representatives. Not anyone who will listen who has any power to stop injustice and selfishness.
Banks got bailed out, we got sold out, and the main stream
media keeps claiming that Occupy is over. You know what? It’s cold, we have
jobs, we have to spend time finding new places to meet and talk and learn from
each other. Why should we spend hours outside the Waldorf Astoria when they can’t
and won't and shan't hear us?
One gentleman made it into the building with a livestreamer and did speak briefly, but I'm not sure who heard him or what he said.
The only time they heard me was when three of
us left the protest for the subway together. We walked east to Lexington, and then north—and
suddenly we were behind the Waldorf Astoria, and there was a small group of
smokers huddling for velvet and sequined warmth and no police separating us from each
other.
Then the three of us shouted.
I know the shivering smokers heard us, because the woman in
the sparkly dress curled her lip.
I wish I had a radical fairy to out-sequin her at that
moment, but all we had were our lungs. We danced away and underground, though,
and no cops stopped us. And hey, I made some new friends who will cross streets
with me. I think that’s a win.
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