On June 8, the day we had planned to “shut down BIO,” only a few hundred protestors showed up, and we were never able to take more than one intersection at a time. Although there were some incredible (desperate?) heroic acts, such as the people who held out under the bus, for the most part, the day was a let down. I remember arriving late in the day at 4th and Howard, the only intersection still being held by the protestors, when the cops, apparently after being tipped off that the black bloc was arriving, charged the totally peaceful crowd, batons waving. Some of us tried to pull a barricade out into the street, but couldn’t even manage that in the mass hysteria, panic, and fear.

By this time, everyone’s hopes were riding on the RTS dance party at 5:00 PM. When that time finally arrived, spirits were high at UN plaza as party-goers participated in street theatre and sidewalk-chalk art-making. Then, with the sound system leading the way, the street party took off down Market Street. People were dancing and singing and having a good time until unexpectedly (or expectedly, depending on your viewpoint), the cops closed us in at 5th and Market.

I never heard a dispersal order, and neither did pretty much anybody else. What I did hear was the cops telling us that we were all arrested; when some of us tried to or asked to leave, we were repelled and/or refused. Talk of jail solidarity started up. A sizable crowd, including myself, raised their hands in commitment that they would not give their names to the cops.

Meanwhile, my mom and some extended family from out of town arrived on the scene. My mom was worried sick so she sent in my aunt to get me released. It was a difficult decision, but I had to tell my aunt that I wasn’t leaving because it violated my solidarity with the other people in the crowd. After that, I had to wait approximately four more hours until I was finally called out of the crowd, handcuffed with plastic banding, photographed, and loaded into the paddywagon as a “John Doe.”

During all that time, a strong spirit of solidarity was already developing both within the arrest circle and without. Several protestors outside waved red and black flags and yelled cheers, including “Viva, viva anarquista!” Food Not Bombs arrived and threw food and water over the police line so that we who were inside could have something to eat and drink. (This is the source of the SF Chronicle lie that we threw bottles and “rotting food” at the cops.) Still, the experience wasn’t pleasant, with people being forced to urinate on the ground in a large crowd of people.

That may very well be a human rights violation under international law (someone else who actually cares about laws should look into it), but it was nothing compared to what we were about to experience in jail.

I was amongst the last group of “Johns” to arrive in the holding tank where I would spend the next 24 or so hours. Immediately, I could feel the spirit of solidarity in the room. The twenty of us got to work promptly on formulating our demands and strategies for jail solidarity, making all decisions by consensus. Our central demands were as follows: (1) that we be unconditionally and immediately released, including those protestors with felony charges who were separate from us; (2) that we stay together at all times; and (3) that we be treated equally at all times.

That night, we were prepared for anything, including having to defend ourselves from being separated, so we were relieved when the lieutenant came in and announced to us that we would be staying in the holding tank together for the night.

This was probably the sheriff’s department’s biggest mistake, letting us remain together that night, because in those hours, we laid the foundations of solidarity that would carry us through the next two days with indomitable strength, courage, and determination.

During our hours in the tank, we stayed in contact with the women in the cell next-door by yelling and singing, and were in constant communication with legal support via telephone. We supported each other with words of encouragement and love, and lots of hugs. Despite the physical, emotional, and mental abuse we experienced at the hands of the cops, we refused to be broken. We were a powerful force to be reckoned with.

The next day, those of us who managed to sleep on the cold, hard floor of the holding tank (the guards refused to meet our demands for blankets, by the way) were awakened by the “breakfast” patrol. This was our first taste (dinner had been withheld from us the previous night) of the awful peanut butter and jelly and processed cheese-food sandwiches we were given throughout our stay in jail. We ate, for the most part, reluctantly.

For the rest of the morning and afternoon, we caught up on sleep; planned and strategized about how to deal with the cops; sang songs, yelled cheers, banged on the walls; gave back rubs; and had the most awesome theory break-out sessions I’ve ever participated in! Such a beautiful and wide diversity of opinions and viewpoints! - I learned so much from all the Johns. It was amazing.

Then came what was truly the most horrific and brutal evening of my life. It began with screams, screams of pain, agony, and fear from the cell next door: the cops were extracting the women one-by-one from their lockdown. We yelled to them in support: “We love you!” and we yelled at the cops: “Stop hurting them!” and “Shame! Shame! Shame!” Never had that old chant felt so urgent.

It took several more hours to extract the women, fierce fighters all, from their cell. Their courage inspired us for our own ordeal, which came soon after. Each time, it would begin with the guards opening the door, and asking one of us to step forward. Each time, we would remain in lockdown. Then they would rush in, a SWAT team essentially, but without weapons, and forcibly extract the person from the lockdown. They used two big padded shields to crush the two people next to the targeted individual, and they employed a variety of pain holds and other tactics to try to break us both mentally and physically. I should mention that through all of this, we were unable to contact legal; the cops had turned off our phone hours earlier, while we were in the middle of reporting what was happening to the women. Also, the cops’ cameras were turned off during some of the more brutal events.

The first time I was “in the action” I was trying to prevent the person next to me from being removed. I felt like I was in a war with the cops. I held on for dear life. Adrenaline was pulsing through my veins; as I felt the the pad against my back and the cops’ hands on my arms and legs and neck, I was amazed at my ability to withstand the pain. I screamed and yelled, and resisted as best I could. Every time the cops pulled my hands apart, I would slide them out of the cops’ grip and back together again. The cops were angered by this so they pulled on my ears and my jaw and my hair. They stuck gloved fingers into my right eye, causing excruciating pain and leaving my eyelid flipped-up once they finally let go. Against overwhelming force, we must have held the targeted individual for at least 2-3 minutes, maybe more, but finally, we were defeated. Afterwards, I remember getting up and running around wildly, crying and screaming in pain, sadness, and anger. I spit on the window at the cops on the other side.

The next time, we defeated the cops (so to speak), as they were unable to remove the person they had originally targeted and were forced to remove some other people instead. It was an intense struggle to achieve this small victory, however, and was by far the most traumatic part of the experience for me. I was totally crushed by the pad this time, so much so that my neck is still sore as I write this. With my glasses knocked off and my face pressed down in between my legs, I was unable to see, but I can still recall smelling the blood as it poured out of my friend’s ear beside me. They had tried to extract him from the lockdown literally by his ears, but they had still failed. He never gave up, never let go, and they were forced to retreat from the room without him, taking two others in his place.

Despite our efforts at resistance, the group was eventually whittled down to just three, including myself. Our last act was to sing “A Las Barricadas,” the old Spanish Civil War-era anarcho-syndicalist hymn. As we sang “Alza la bandera revolucionaria (raise the revolutionary banner),” the cops stormed in and carried us away. All of us went limp, just as we had previously agreed to do. The cops were forced to put us in leg shackles and to move us using wheelchairs.

Different individuals put up varying levels of resistance during processing. Earlier, some had even scratched the skin off their thumbs to make finger printing harder. I stayed limp for as long as I could, but ultimately, the pain of having my wrists completely twisted was too much. I agreed to stand up on my own for the rest of processing. After another hour or so, they finally got me up to the actual jail, “the Pod,” where I was given a wristband and another disgusting bagged lunch and placed in a cell with one other John.

I actually slept pretty well that night; when I woke up, it was the afternoon. Down the hall, I could hear one John singing the Wobbly version of “Rockaby Baby.” I joined my comrades in singing “Solidarity Forever” and yelling, “Free us now! Free us all!”

Eventually, the guards came around and let us all out of our cells. They shackled us in groups of six and took us to the “Hall of Justice” to await our arraignment. First we were in a long hallway overlooking the freeway. Then they moved my group of six into a small holding cell, where we were finally allowed to meet with a lawyer. He informed us that the judge was likely to dismiss all our charges, but that even after that, the sheriff was going to hold us, based on some obscure law that supposedly prevents him from releasing people on John or Jane Doe status. The real reason, of course, that they didn’t want to release us without identifying us first was that doing so would defeat the very purpose of the mass arrest, that is, identifying and getting on record anarchists and other political dissidents.

In one last consensus decision, based on the advice we got from the outstanding people at the National Lawyers Guild, the Johns and Janes decided the best thing for everyone, including those with “funny situations,” would be to take the deal and give our names, especially once we were able to ensure that the two juveniles which included myself, be released first, into the custody of our attorney, as opposed to our parents.

Walking out of that jail into a crowd of loved ones, friends, and supporters was the best feeling ever. Thanks to everyone on the outside who supported us in solidarity throughout our ordeal!

Hopefully, our jail solidarity action was able to bring about attention to police brutality and abuse as well as to the issues being addressed on the street as part of the Reclaim the Commons mobilization, while also throwing a wrench into the perverse and evil American injustice system.

All I can say now is it’s good to be free! And once again to all the Johns: I love you guys! Solidarity forever!

The interests of the workers and those of the capitalist class are diametrically opposed. Victory in the class struggle will come only when the workers realize this and decide to fight for their true interests. Strikes, including the SBC workers' strike, are an integral part of this fight; according to anarcho-syndicalist theory, each one constitutes a skirmish in preparation for the "great battle" to come, the General Strike. A successful strike, I think, is one placed within the context of a larger class struggle.

Strikes should be seen as opportunities for workers to put into practice concepts such as self-management and direct democracy; in the SBC strike, more direct control needs to be exercised by the workers themselves, as opposed to by cowardly, reformist-minded union "leaders." Instead of calling a hopelessly futile, four-day strike as a symbolic "show of strength," the workers should set their demands and take effective action to actually secure them. Meanwhile, the entire community of the working class should support them in solidarity.

Regardless of the critcisms I have made here of union leaders, I support the SBC workers and their strike, and so should you. For more info on the strike, see http://indybay.org/archives/archive_by_id.php?id=2060&category_id=19.

Sunday, May 16, 2004

You can't liberate people by dropping bombs on them. [jump to page]

Saturday, May 15, 2004

Approximately one year ago, at an anti-war protest in San Francisco, a friend and I, reacting to what we saw as the disgusting authoritarian behavior of the ANSWER coalition, formed a new organization (well, sorta - at the time it was merely a joke) called International QUESTION, or, Quickly Uniting Extreme Statist Tyrants In Our Name.

Within the anarchist/anti-authoritarian community of today, one can find a considerable amount of disdain for mass, non-violent protest demonstrations. Things were not always so. During the late-1800s, in Chicago and other places, anarchists were at the forefront of the struggle for the 8-hour day, and were among the most prominent organizers of large strikes and protests. I suspect that a lot of today's negative opinions toward anti-war protest rallies are based more on what they have become (tabling orgies for authoritarian, leftist "vangaurd" groups) rather than on what they could be: authentic gatherings for the majority against war to express their grief and outrage.

What protest rallies need is a change in organizers. If anarchists/anti-authoritarians were willing to organize major, inclusive, ANSWER-size rallies, we could revitalize them as part of a strategy of genuine resistance to war and empire. We could radicalize them, making them more effective and direct action-oriented. And I'm totally convinced we could make them a hell of a lot more fun.

I had an interesting experience organizing the "March Through Main Street" action in Burlingame on April 30th of this year. We only started advertising the event about a week before it occurred, so only 20-30 people showed up. The group was about 50-50 anarchists and liberals. At the outset, I was worried what kind of results this mix might produce; I was even apprehensive about employing any "radical" or "anarchist" chants because of fear of alienating the liberal protestors. But a funny thing happened as we marched up Burlingame Avenue: the anarchists started chanting "No war but the class war!" and the liberals joined in! I had the pleasure of witnessing a 40-something, liberal, suburban single-mom with two kids yelling at the top of her lungs, "NO WAR BUT THE CLASS WAR!" It warmed my heart.

My experience with the last big breakaway march was similar. Not everyone in that crowd was an anarchist or even a socialist/communist. There were numerous greens, liberals, Kucinichistas, etc. Seeing these people yell anti-capitalist chants while while marching and dancing through the streets, I couldn't help but notice that they seemed to be really enjoying a chance to break free from authoritarian paradigms. The breakaway march was organized (as far as it was organized) by anarchists. The non-anarchists in the crowd knew this, and respected the anarchists for their commitment and their radicalism.

I believe that, if we take the time and effort to organize them, we anarchists/anti-authoritarians can bring meaning and purpose back to mass protest demonstrations. No, we cannot limit the anti-war movement to such demonstrations, but neither can we deny that there is a place for them.

Isn't anybody else sick of complaining about ANSWER? We should replace it! If we are the ones printing the signs, we won't have to complain about them anymore. If we are the ones carrying the huge banners, we won't have to laugh at them anymore. If we are the ones yelling the chants over loudspeakers, we won't have to mock them anymore. A new International QUESTION organization, by usurping ANSWER's role as the organizer-in-chief of mass protest rallies, could (hopefully) lead to ANSWER's demise and its replacement with a more authentic, powerful, visible, and appealing anti-war movement based upon anti-authoritarian principles.

In DC, there is (or at least was) another group formed with a similar purpose: International R.E.S.P.O.N.S.E. - Radicals Eager to See Peace on Earth Not Sectarian.

Body Pleasure and the Origins of Violence
by James W. Prescott

"As a developmental neuropsychologist I have devoted a great deal of study to the peculiar relationship between violence and pleasure. I am now convinced that the deprivation of physical sensory pleasure is the principal root cause of violence...." [read more]

Monday, May 3, 2004

Earlier today, as the Coalition on Homelessness' rally was finishing up, 11 of us casually walked into Mayor Gavin Newsom's office, sat down, locked arms, and began chanting...

Approximately 5 minutes into the action, a man working at the office asked, "How long are you guys going to be here?" 

"Until our demands are met," responded a protestor.

Within a half-hour, sheriff's department agents appeared in the room, carrying lots of plastic restraining device thingies. We huddled closer together, keeping our arms firmly locked, and continued chanting as loud as possible. One of the agents announced a dispersal order over a megaphone. We just kept chanting. "Care Not Cash can kiss our ass!" "Homes not jails, food not bombs!" "Stop the war on the poor!" 

Then the agents started arresting people, one by one. They twisted our arms, they jabbed us and did various little things to annoy and hurt us. They used a pain grip on at least two protestors, grabbing under their jaws, squeezing their arteries. One protestor screamed in agony as the police dragged her away from the group. Throughout all of this, we continued our chants, now including the classic, "Shame!" I was worked up into an emotional frenzy. Here we were, the 11 of us, speaking out for justice and truth, for the rights of the poor and homeless to the most basic necessities of life. Arresting people for that is inexcusable. To be honest, I wanted to cry. 

We were nonviolent, we did not resist arrest, and yet the police had so much aggression. They seemed to want to hurt us. An agent grabbed my arm and twisted it behind my back. I said, matter-of-factly, "Sir, there's no need to be so aggressive." I was one of the last three to be arrested. Once I was handcuffed, I laid down on the ground. Just behind me was a cardboard sign I had made before I left home earlier today: "STOP THE WAR ON THE POOR." Even though I was handcuffed, I grabbed it and began waving it as best I could, yelling, "Stop the war on the poor!" Within a few seconds a police officer came up and grabbed the sign out of my hand. 

Next, they started taking us to the elevator. I let my body go limp, as I had seen people do before. The officer had to drag me to the elevator. He said angrily, "Stop being such a little asshole!" 

"You're calling ME an asshole?" I asked incredulously. 

We were taken down to a room on street level. The officer made me face against the wall. Although I could not see much in this position, I continued to hear the cops abusing the 5 girls, possibly even sexually harassing them. One of the officers, Caramucci, said to another, "If she makes any more noise, make her get on her knees." 

Fed up, I yelled "Shut up!" to his face. He looked at me with a cruel grin and said, "Watch it or you'll be on your knees next." 

They loaded us into the arrest wagon, girls (the cops call them "X"s) first, and then drove us to the jail next to the hall of injustice on Bryant Street. They marched us in, single file, and placed us in a holding tank, still with plastic bindings on. Finally, they came to remove our bindings and made us take off our shoes, which they then checked. Everybody got a mug shot and fingerprints taken. They also checked everyone with a metal detector and padded everyone down before moving us to a different holding tank. (All of this was done segregated by gender.) 

It was only after I had been in the last holding tank for about 15 or so minutes that the cops realized I was a minor. A female officer moved me to a different cell, all by myself, where I was left to wait to be transferred to the "Youth Guidance Center" (who makes this shit up?). Luckily, I didn't have to go there because, feeling bad that they had not realized I was a minor, the cops called my mom and got her to pick me up. So I got out earlier than the rest, who I assume are still in jail right now, waiting to be cited and released. One part of me wishes I could still be with the others, but I am definitely happy to be free once again. 

The cops acted a lot differently toward me when they found out I was seventeen. They tried to act all buddy-buddy, especially in front of my mom. Caramucci was one of the three that escorted me out. He tried to act like he was a nice guy, but even my mom said she could tell he had an attitude.

Later, when I got home, I watched the our civil disobedience being reported on by the losers at the local ABC News affiliate. The anchor man said something to the effect of, "11 protestors were arrested after they tried to storm the mayor's office." First off, we didn't try anything. We succeeded. Second, there was absolutely no "storming" taking place at all. We walked peacefully into the mayor's office (which itself is not hard to do) and were arrested with what I would describe as very little resistance. Don't ever trust the corporate media. They lie.

So that's my little report on my first arrest for civil disobedience. See also http://indybay.org/archives/archive_by_id.php?id=2064&category_id=16 and http://www.autonomi.net/ac.
 

Saturday, May 1, 2004

Overall the action went well.

Friday, April 30, 2004

Isolation, ignorance, complacency…Smash them! 

SF COVERGENCE TIME/PLACE: Come from the city to invade Burlingame! To ride Caltrain from SF to Burlingame, be at the SF station (4th and King) by (at latest) 3:30 pm in order to take the 3:37 pm train and arrive in Burlingame circa 4:07 pm.

DASW is planning a "Days of Mourning and Resistance" on April 31-May 1. This post concerns the "March through Main Street" action that will take place on Friday, April 30. 

What... 

The action itself will entail people boarding mass transit (Caltrain) at once, and then disembarking at the Burlingame train depot. We'll meet up there and then march up Burlingame Avenue and through Burlingame and Hillsborough (one of the 5 richest towns in the nation) to our final destination, the Burlingame Country Club. The action will take place on Friday, April 30th, during DASW's "Days of Mourning and Resistance." It will be up to the participants as to how radical the march will be and what kinds of actions we will take. 

Why... 

The idea behind this action is to bring the reality of the people's discontent with the war to the suburbs, which usually are allowed to go along their merry, complacent way while we march through places like the Mission district where, for the most part, we're "preaching to the converted." Oftentimes, suburbanites live in near total isolation and alienation from the rest of the world. And they do so because they are allowed to do so. It is time the anti-war movement bring the philosophy of "no business as usual while the war goes on" to the wealthy oasis of Burlingame. 

Help is definitely still needed on this action. If you are at all interested, contact James by e-mail at splee2000@aol.com, or by phone at (650) 504-7848.

For more info on DASW's "Days of Mourning and Resistance," see http://actagainstwar.org/article.php?list=type&type=51 , http://indybay.org/news/2004/04/1677743.php, and http://www.smdailyjournal.org/article.cfm?issue=04-30-04&storyID=30385.