Occupy Oakland Strike Yesterday

This is an unedited version.


When I lived in Palm Springs, people would refer to seniors as Q-tips as they drove around town with only their white hair visible. Now, I live in Northern California and have joined the league of Q-tips.

It has been many years since I was at a protest. I remember protesting for Civil Rights, against the Vietnam War and defending pro-choice. I have protested in Washington D.C., New York and California to voice my beliefs.

Recently I have been following Occupy Wall Street. I’ve watched it in the main street media and on the Internet. In the early weeks of this protest conflicting reports emerged. Main Street media referred to this movement as a bunch of crazies and a group of people who had no direction. The alternate press was reporting the various reasons for the movement and the grievances of the protesting groups. As Occupy Wall Street grew and groups started all over this nation, main street media could no longer ignore this uprising and started to study and report what this movement is about.

I have been sitting on the sidelines of this movement. Time to pass the baton. Then yesterday I decided to join in the strike of Occupy Oakland. I was at the gathering from 11 in the morning to after 8 in the evening. I walked around the tent encampment at
Oscar Grant Park seeing the sleeping arrangement of tents crowded together. I viewed the different groups who set up around the perimeter of the park handing out literature of the ills of our present society, each emphasizing their own beliefs of what has to be changed, from more money for schools, jobs, no decreases in Social Security, Medicare, and Health Care. Included groups represented the Socialist party and Communist party, some radical beliefs and an area for meditation groups to sit and peacefully meditate asking for peaceful change. The Number 99 was seen everywhere and 99% tags were given out to stick on one's clothing. My camera out I kept clicking away at the encampment and at the visual signs with clever expressions.

What stuck out was that the majority of protest signs were drawn on paper and cut up cardboard boxes. Most people walked around the area holding these signs by hand or else they devised poles out of broom handles, crutches, and tripods. There were very few professionally printed signs. The occupation area in the Park although crowded with tents was surprisingly clean. No debris. Areas were set up for donated food and people lined up waiting being served. All used paper plates and plastic utensils were discarded in the waste containers around the park.

As the day continued, I found myself marching with a large group of people heading to close the local BOA and Citibank and Wells Fargo. I stopped at Citibank, when I saw a handful of people sitting in front of the bank’s doors. 6”x6” signs scotch taped from inside the glass door by the bank saying the doors were locked and if you wanted to enter you had to swipe your bank card. Facing us from inside the bank stood a lone guard. During the time I stood there, no one tried to pass our small group of people blocking the doors. I was told the same scenario was going on at the local Bank of America, Chase, Wells Fargo and Citi banks. As I continued to walk around I would return to Oscar Grant Park where two staging areas were set up. One, in front of City Hall and the other on the corner of 14th street. Speakers and entertainers spoke all through the day as the groups crowded around to listen.

When we joined the marchers to various building, the “Mike Check” process was used. It was the first time I had ever heard this at a gathering. And it works so well for so many reasons. There is no one leader in these groups. Everything is decided on a group vote.
Anyone can speak, make a point of order to be heard, whether they have a loud speaker or not. When someone does take the lead to speak or ask a question, a wave of repetition ripples though the crowd as each sentence is repeated in unison by the crowd in order to be heard by the gathered people. This seems to serve two purposes. A chance for the speaker to arrange what they say succinctly and a true sense of participation of a group without feeling talk to, but a part of what is being said and keeping their attention sharp.

When I looked around these thousands of people I did not see one uniformed policeman and the crowd was peaceful.

A little later in the day I went on a march with a group of people protesting cuts in Health Care and Disability. I walked along many people riding in their wheelchairs, the blind with their canes, and those struggling with crutches and with walkers. This group marched to the State Building. We wanted to take over the building. The doors where locked on our side of the building and California State Highway Patrol officers stood behind the locked glass doors directing workers to go to the opposite side of the building to enter or leave. A vote was taken. (1) Do We Stay here, (2)all leave to go to the other side of the building or (3) Do we break up onto two groups one staying at this entrance and the other walking to the other side. The vote was for us to break up into two groups with one group going to the other side of the building to try to get it closed and if we couldn’t do that, to hand literature to those people entering or leaving the building explaining why we were protesting. I walked with a group to the other side of the building and there too, stood the highway patrol behind locked glass doors and opening them only to state employees entering or leaving. We were able to hand out flyers educating why we were there. As some state workers left for the day, they joined in and stood with our group. Some of the state troopers guarding the building gave us the high sign.

Again, as I walked back to the park preparing to walk in the parade of people willing to walk the 1-mile to the docks to close the docks down. Again, no uniformed police in sight as the group march without incidence. This rally was unbelievably friendly and peaceful. At 4:45 our gathering of thousands started the parade to the docks. Another group had left earlier at 4:00 so that the groups would not congest the intersections for a long time, antagonizing drivers.
I don’t think anyone anticipated such a huge crowd of paraders. As we walked we chanted.

The first view I saw of policemen that whole day was a group of motorcycle cops directing traffic away from the exits and entrances to the highway. They were of good cheer and friendly as we walked by. As we reached the bridge to the docks, we had to trudge up an incline. Reaching the top I turned around to look at the crowd behind me. I couldn’t believe how many people were behind me. They formed a mass as far as my eye could see. When we got to the docks, with aching feet and fatigue we stood around and made new friends with our fellow protestors. When we were informed that we had successfully locked down the docks and all the longshoremen had gone home and the next shift did no show up, a group of us decided to leave. We headed to the nearest BART station in West Oakland. A few of us were leery of safe walking in West Oakland, but that feeling was quickly replaced with a feeling of camaraderie. As we past a group of motorcycle policemen we asked directions to the nearest BART. After telling us how to get there, I asked them for a ride on their cycles. I was politely turned down by one of them saying I could only ride if I had a helmet. Smiling and of good cheer we wished each other a goodnight. We walked to West Oakland Bart. The only incident was when a car brushed against some people and a group shouted and chased the car for a short distance. When we got to Bart the platforms were crowded, but again everyone was polite As we squeezed into the packed cars of the train, I remembered my days of riding the subway during rush hour in New York. What a good day we had. It was so peaceful.

Arriving home, I took off my shoes and found my big toe blistered. I was too tired to transfer my photos and videos to my computer, but I felt so please, mostly because of the huge crowd of thousands of peaceful demonstrators. I went to bed looking forward to looking over my photos and putting them in a concise order with a narrative to post on You Tube.

I awoke this morning hoping for news reports of a wonderful day and evening but no, the headlines showed this protest degrading into chaos late last night. I can’t help but wonder, what happened? How did this peaceful movement turn into such a mess? Where did this crowd of creating violence come from? Was the day too peaceful and getting such positive supports and growing, that this was a planned response to quell this movement?
I consider myself a rational paranoid and I’m looking for the answer as to
“what happened?”

Arizona Shooting

The Snow Man by Wallace Stevens

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs 

Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;
And have been cold a long time 

To behold the junipers shagged with ice, 

The spruces rough in the distant glitter
Of the January sun;
and not to think 

Of any misery in the sound of the wind, 

In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the land 

Full of the same wind 

That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow, 

And, nothing himself, beholds 

Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

Robert Frost wrote, “Poetry is for grief, Politics is for grievance.”
My mind today is cold-winter cold. I try not to think of any misery, but there is a loud roar of the wind—blowing through our land. I shift from grief to grievance. I listen but only hear rhetoric.
A minute of silence at 8AM this morning was not enough. Our reflections need deep meditation. We have to be transformed to a higher plane.
Loss, horror, anger, venting, quietude, paralysis, inertia, depression will be with us for a short while before we once again inhale and move on, remembering or forgetting, learning or dismissing life’s lessons. Becoming wiser or even less tolerant, bearing our scars or covering them.
When will we ever learn? Is the answer really blowing in the wind? Can we only try to grab at answers like reaching for a brass ring as we travel this merry-go-round of life?
I try to fill my mind with the poetry of lyrics. Songs full of words rendering hope, but the white of the Snow Man is smeared with blood. How do we determine what is not there and what is?

New Year and new commitment to blogging

It has been a while since I last posted to my blog.  I will try to post more often.

All Revelation –and perceptions.

The other day I was at the New Year Day celebration with my family, the Japanese celebration osechi-ryōri, a day of eating traditional Japanese fare.

I had told my son earlier on the phone that I had bought a external hard drive for my computer, but was having trouble setting it up.  I kept getting an “error” message.

In an exasperated tone, he said “Bring it down with the computer to the New Year Day celebration and I will set it up. “ In this techie world of younger people, I find that they are condescending to their elders, non-techie parents.

Personally, I am proud of my techie abilities and the fact that I can accomplish most technical problems that are impossible for most of my peers.

In the past, my daughter-in-law, who is not a techie expert; my son, his brother-in-law and sister-in-law have worked in the field of computers are often impatient with their elders unable to grasp the concept of the new technologies and usually treat us in a dismissive manner.

Often, when I have a tech problem and take it to my son asking for help, it turns out that it isn’t me who doesn’t “Get it”, but the problem stems from a defective piece of machinery.

So, once again I took my problem to my son on New Year’s Day and he wasn’t able to resolve it.  I told him I get a sense of schadenfreude when this happens, making me smile and feel less of a non techie and that I am capable of understanding, to a greater degree than originally given credit.

I don’t think he appreciates my feeling this way.  It only dawned on me the next day that my perceptions about feeling good about my ability might be perceived differently. What message is he hearing?  Is it that his mother is besting him or that she doesn’t want him to be successful?

I realize that I was feeling “true” schandenfreude: feeling good at his expense.

This was a revelation to me.  Never considering how he might be reacting to my pleasure.  I realize it is time for me to change.

The other revelations I had recently occurred within a few minutes of each other.  On Friday, my phone rang early in the morning.  I answered and the person on the other end inquired, “Is Dave there?”  My response was “I’m afraid you have the wrong number.”  The caller’s response, “Oh, that’s all right.”

Right after that I was watching Good Morning America.  They were reporting a story of a 6’5”, 28 year old man who stood on a flight from, I believe, New Jersey to Florida because he couldn’t fit into his seat.  He bought an economy ticket on Spirit Airline and Spirit Airline seat separation is 28” from the seat in front.  All other airlines have a separation of 31”.  The young man’s knees were crushed by the seat in front of him and for safety reasons he wasn’t able to sit sideways, keeping his feet in the aisle.  No one in the bulkhead seats would change seats with him, so he was allowed to stand the whole flight except for takeoff and landing.

In the reportage of their story, the reporter asked people on the flight and people in the street what they thought of this.  Each one said, “He should have bought a First Class Ticket.”  No one was sympathetic to his plight, or angry at the airline.  The GMA commentators joined in without anyone commenting on the fact that air travel has become equivalent to being transported in a cattle car.  They did however, report that the FAA was looking into what rules might have been broken by permitting him to stand all the way.

Revelation:  The victim in our society has now become the perpetrator of his own problems.

When did one feel it is “All right” to intrude on someone?   What has happened to “I’m sorry for dialing the wrong number and disturbing you”?

Although we have made strides with equal rights, women’s rights, gay rights, our basic human rights seem to be eroding.  To listen to the radio and hear call-in callers state that those people on unemployment should go out and get a job and that getting unemployment checks stops them from finding work.  Hearing bright people repeat these falsehoods being pandered by the media powers to be, I stop and wonder if it is different now than during the depression of ’29?  Did man’s lack the compassion for his fellowman the same as now?  Have we lost our sense of community?

Often it is said that the times set the media and that books are written about society and media reflects society.  One of today’s revelation is that media is creating our society, no longer reflecting it.

My late friend, Jack Danahy starred in a short film, A Table is a Table directed by my friend Diego Quemada-Diez.  In it a lonely man who lives by himself decides to occupy himself by renaming things he knows, thus creating a new language.  He calls his table a painting, the painting a chair, the chair a pencil.  After a while he has created his own language and when on a rare occasion he goes out into the world he no longer understands language nor could he be understood—thus becoming further isolated.  As time goes by, I understand this film more and more.