We were back in NY yet again. Cesar, Erika, Eddie, Carlos and Celso were there, in addition to Jade. I hadn’t seen Jade since the morning after her friend’s 21st birthday party: she drove us down a one-way the wrong way for half of Dallas.
Yajaira arrived a bit later than I did. She was the founder and policy director of the Dream Scholars. The organization had turned up a few times to help with demonstrations, and last time I saw her was outside of the Sheraton during Lucy’s video with Mitt Romney inside, her face painted green in a Lady Liberty costume. She had come to discuss logistics for an event we had been planning, as well as coordinating a meeting with Occupy. She warned that not every section of Occupy was immigrant-friendly, but most were. I would be representing DRM when I hit up a meeting of the General Assembly.
Occupy has been one of the only constant opposition groups to the Republican establishment besides Ron Paul’s followers during the primaries so far. Gingrich may try to delude his followers, but his biography reads like the definition of a political insider career, bouncing back and forth between the halls of power and K Street. I had a minor connection to Occupy: I helped put up tents, brought food and had been teargassed in Oakland and donated my photos of the experience to a few organizations which were trying to help with the logistics of Occupy, but at times it’s still difficult to wrap your head around these guys. Largely this is because of the appeal: 99% means that it’s a big tent, one which accommodates what are competing interests in most other settings, as well as some people who can’t fit anywhere else. If I were to put any label on them, I’d say they’re a group who are frustrated with a system where the rich get to tilt the table in government in previously unthought of ways, expanding an income gap that had already been naturally growing. Do you have any idea how common a feeling that is?
This election cycle has played out much to the paranoia of many of the Occupy hardcore, talking to themselves, tinfoil hat-wearing crazies who were already in the parks before Occupy started pitching tents: every Republican candidate has at least one creepy billionaire keeping their campaign alive when it should have died already. Because the candidates no longer need to inspire confidence to keep going, in this year’s clusterfuck all Santorum and Gingrich have to do is pander very strongly to one or two rich guys, and then put on a show for the rest of us. Romney can’t close the deal even after he’s bought a primary voting public that is desperate to go home with anyone every drink on the menu.
I arrived at 60 Wall Street, the Atrium of the Deutsche Bank. Due to the obscure wizardry that is NY zoning laws and the sketchy backroom deals made to get highrises into areas that were supposed to be open to the public, places like the Atrium and Zucotti Park are required to be open to the public at certain times. There were a few homeless stoners, “freaks” or “heads” of some variety or stripe, passed out at tables or near some of the palm trees. I wondered how the hell were palm trees kept alive here.
When I sat down at a table labeled “OWS”, I quickly found myself talking to a guy who told me his friends call him “Raven.” He looked a bit like generic nerd convention filler: morbidly obese, long, black, greasy hair, dressed all in black with a chain wallet. He had led one of the working groups, and had an easy smile and charm with strangers. The working groups were, unfortunately, running out of money. They had been receiving donations from a central organization accepting donations, in addition to what they got in their own individual cups.
Donations for Occupy were able to keep a few people heading working groups fed, but, after an initial surge in donations following a crackdown around in November, the donations were drying up and Occupy was slipping further away from the public conscious. As we spoke, a guy in bright green jeans riding a bike around the atrium announcing that people could crash at his place if need be declared “Fuck Ben & Jerry!!!!” Ben & Jerries had evidently pledged a few million dollars to Occupy, but there were stipulations, such as that the money could only be used for food, housing and Metrocards for Occupiers to get by in the city.
Raven told me his own story, how he had been sleeping on top of his stuff, but his laptop, phone and camera were all jacked anyway. He spoke about how he’d be content with a job that would get him a regular roof, and an attractive wife to occasionally nail. Looking around the room, it felt that those were indeed lofty goals, considering how a few of these guys looked like they might never escape life on the street. He also told me about how the cops were encouraging homeless people over, and how rough that made the camps. Back in Oakland I’d seen more than one fistfight between schitzophrenic homeless people broken up by people who were just there to talk politics and felt in over their heads.
Raven also told me about the different working groups he was a part of. These working groups were running out of cash since the donations were drying up. Raven himself was part of the fundraising hub, which raises money for other working groups, the black knights, who are “de-escalation” (hippy security), fiber arts, a knitting group, and something called “alternative currencies” we didn’t quite delve into. He seemed pretty hardcore, and honestly I had no clue how the guy kept the show going for what sounded to be at least a good 6 months in NYC, but he did.
Back at Zucotti Park, there were maybe two dozen Occupiers still out around 5:30. Things were winding down, and now it was mostly the sort of street kids that you’d expect to find selling pot and ‘shrooms along Haight st. Some of them had been staying at a farm on and off on a project called Occupy Farms, where the occupiers worked for food and a roof. I found myself talking with an older hippy in a white t-shirt with different slogans written across it that were peace-oriented, waving the same “Veterans for Peace” flag that I saw at the front of Oakland’s teargassed crowd. We walked down the steps and into the park talking about what projects we were working on, when out of nowhere Erika popped up.
Erika was a somewhat intense transgendered person: on some days I’d be seeing her in hotpants and high heels, however, today she was looking a little bit more like he, with roughly 4 other transgendered people in the park more passable/convincing. She asked who I was with, but refused my card when offered. I told her that I was here to talk about an action planned out the next day that was pro-union and pro-immigrant, and she instantly snapped hard enough to make me and my new flag-waving hippy friend take a step back. “NO! You can’t just fucking push your own shit in the general assembly! THIS IS ABOUT OCCUPY ONLY!!!! Not about everyone’s fucking little pet project!!!” This continued for a few minutes, during which I took a step back and she took a step forward. I could tell my hippy friend was thinking of beating her with his “Veterans for Peace” flag at least momentarily out of pure shock and fear. I couldn’t blame him, she frightened the bejesus out of me.
The general assembly meeting took place after a bit more noise: they consistently brought a bit of a carnival atmosphere to whichever city Occupy was in. If you just arrived there, the first thing you noticed was a man yelling how he had lost his Ray Band sunglasses while people gave spirit fingers indications for whether or not they supported the facilitators. Ray Band was drowning out other people’s conversations and roaming about a modest crowd forming at the steps of Zucotti. As they tried to to get things underway, the man yelling about his Ray Bands became louder and angrier. The crowd made an announcement about his glasses, but it wasn’t enough. He started frantically talking about how people are dying in Syria, getting within an inch of everyone’s face and screaming in a way that looked like he was about to take a swing.
The Occupiers tried the “dance party” to dissuade the wingnut, where everyone dances around him to diffuse him, but he was too determined. He chased a young woman with a camera around until she screamed for help, and snatched a few hats off of the guys’ heads and put them on his own. Finally, a few of the guys (perhaps the “Dark Knights” that Raven talked about) had decided that it was time for him to go. They formed a human wall, and didn’t quite push him, but strongly encouraged him to move backward as the meat phalanx slowly moved forward.
The meeting got underway, and things were brought up one after the next, ranging from feeding people to the Occupy Farms situation and why some Occupiers were against it. There was a number of transgendered people in the crowd who brought up several issues, and there were several announcements about the queer Occupiers needing more solidarity from Occupy in general. Someone from the Legal working group talked about how Anthony (a.k.a. “Hello Kitty”) got arrested earlier today for lying down in Zucotti. Since this had been happening so much, there was a protocol: find out what precinct he’s been taken to, get his docket number if he’s being processed and then give all the information to someone at the National Lawyers Guild since they were the only guys willing to help their broke, arrested asses. When he was released, he’d find a group waiting for him with food and hugs.
Wandering through the crowd, I met Tony. Tony was a somewhat round, furry guy with salt and pepper hair that seemed to sprout from everywhere on his face around his glasses. Tony was there to make an announcement that Romney was in town and there would be several Occupy groups there to demonstrate. Ironically, it’s the same demonstration that Erika nearly had an aneurism and gave me a healthy dose of fear-induced adrenalin over. As we talked, there was an intense argument with someone claiming that someone else had been secretly using funds. Tony told me that he really preferred it when people gave materials instead of money: someone had donated 14 bikes and they were divvied up equitably, however, if someone gave enough money to buy 14 bikes, everyone would fight over how to use it. If there’s one thing that I’ve noticed that’s different about the hard core of Occupy that keeps things running (i.e. by getting arrested, getting bailed out and going straight back to the park) it’s that they tend to be very loud and stubborn.
“That’s Finn. Finn gets arrested a lot” Tony said. Finn was the guy in bright green jeans who had been riding the bike around the Atrium. I saw him screaming in a community cop’s face whom most of the Occupiers didn’t seem to mind. He grabbed the police barricades, which were stacked against the wall and ready to shut down the park if the cops felt it needed. He then rattled them back and forth in full body rocking motions that made it half look like he was madly fucking the wall.
When the cops came to him, he started egging them on, giving them the action movie “come here” signal with his hands. One of them obliged, broke from the group and chased him. Finn sprinted with the cops tailing him, a small group of occupiers trailing behind. I followed for a few blocks, but he was in a dead sprint, and I sure as hell wasn’t leaving all my camera and laptop behind to get swiped. Ten minutes later, the cops drove by with Finn, handcuffed and licking the window. The Occupiers roared with laughter, trying to exaggerate how funny they thought it was as they had to deal with yet another friend in handcuffs for a bit of jackassery.
The next day at the event, I was pleasantly surprised how many people there were. Unfortunately Occupy had died down during the cold weather, to the point where I wasn’t sure if it would fully rebound, however, the weather was now warming. With the warm weather, many of the part-time Occupiers came out again.
When Eddie, Cesar, Yajaira and Erika arrived, they quickly started handing out “Veto Romney” posters. As this was happening, Occupiers dressed up for the usual bit of low-budget community theater. Some dressed as Grim Reapers with Romney’s face and a sickle that said “Job Cutter” next to another group of Grim Romneys carrying a casket with a dollar sign and an urn with Job Ashes written on it. Another group had dressed as rich people, parodying the rich that Romney caters to with well-worn suits and plastic pearls. “Would you like to hear a joke Fifi?” one would ask. “Oh, why yes” another would reply, with the punchline being “Workers rights” and a chorus of laughter.
The group gathered to take a few photos. In addition to DRM and our “VETO ROMNEY” signs, another immigration group pushing the NY State DREAM Act, UnitedNY.org, showed up. There were several other working groups from Occupy which had made it, and around 300 or so people were able to make it. There was one Occupier in particular whom I was already familiar with that made it: Jesse LeGreca.
Jesse is an interesting guy: he became a viral video when he mercilessly ripped a FOX News producer a new asshole publicly for being a tool with a camera and microphone at Zucotti early in the movement, so much so that FOX tried its damnedest to bury the footage. Unfortunately for them we live in an era of the democratization of filming, where any idiot can grab a video camera that’s YouTube-worthy, and any idiot did exactly that while LaGreca rained intellectual blows upon a FOX producer, Griff Jenkins, long after he had gone fetal, covered up and began crying: everyone at Occupy (myself included) all love this guy.
LaGreca told me how he’s going to be involved in a panel discussion with Bloomberg and my personal hero, Matt Taibbi. When we started talking politics, Joe the Plumber came up, and how he’s that quintessential Homer Simpson the Republicans keep banking on: he can be convinced that having an extra $40 in his paycheck every month and the ability to get super rich with his $40 investments is more important than healthcare for his children. He’s the guy that Marco Rubio was targeting when he said that we shouldn’t begrudge the rich and engage in class warfare being a nation of haves and have nots, rather, we should always be a nation of haves and soon to haves. He’s selling snake oil that tastes more like shit than snake oil, but a whole lot of guys are drinking that cool aid, believing that we can all fit into the 1% and be a nation of limo parties where nobody will ever have to be the driver.
“The fact that Dennis Kucinich can’t get past a primary but Joe the Plumber can is evidence that the primary system is irreparably broken” LaGreca continued. On the Homer comparison, he commented “The Democrats essentially have the Homer Simpson boxing strategy: let the Republicans land haymakers on their chin all day and then give them a little nudge when they’re exhausted.”
With any other candidate this would probably work considering how the Republican party was only landing haymakers on its own chin. Unfortunately, with Blacky McBlackerson at the helm, Southerners will find any excuse to hate the guy and vote against him. In fact, in a recent poll of GOP primary voters in Alabama and Mississippi, half of them still believe that Obama is a Muslim, 1/3 aren’t sure and the rest of them are still hung up on Jeremiah Right. Roughly 1/4 believe that his parents interracial marriage should have been illegal.
How the fuck do you fight against that? They’re a bunch of idiots, and alone all they are is the unreasonable Alabama family member that goes off about how creationism should be taught in grade school at the Christmas party as everyone rolls their eyes. As a block vote, however, there’s enough of them that they’ve become a mob of influential, dangerous idiots.
Republicans tapdance for these idiots, all the while trying to distance themselves from the fact that they’re appealing to the absolute worst element of humanity with a nod and a wink, like when they say “urban” as an understood code word to their constituency for “black.” In fact, in Alabama, Romney actually said “I can relate to black people very well indeed. My ancestors once owned slaves, and it is in my lineage to work closely with the black community. However, just because they were freed over a century ago doesn’t mean they can now be freeloaders. They need to be told to work hard, and the incentives just aren’t there for them anymore.” This stacks up nicely against Gingrich’s “language of the ghetto” quote when pushing English-only education. If you look closely, sometimes you can really tell they wish they could grow a pair, go off Strom Thurmond style about the “nigger race” and then somehow still have a chance to get into both elected office and heaven.