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CounterPunch
March 21,
2003
Fourth-Generation Protesting
Shutting Down
San Francisco's Downtown
By SCOTT HANDLEMAN
Thursday, the day after start of bombing, was
the long-anticipated day of direct-action protest in San Francisco.
For weeks, the flyers were circulating from Direct Action to
Stop the War, and weekly spokescouncil meetings were held, alternating
between San Francisco and Oakland. The de-centralized planning
paid off: Thursday morning seemed like Sunday morning in large
parts of San Francisco's financial district.
The most noteworthy thing about this
day of protest, I think, was the effectiveness of the new strategy
of protest by small, autonomous clusters. A little after midnight
yesterday, I got a call to report at 7am to 9th and Bryant for
legal observation. Arriving a few minutes late, I saw a freeway
off-ramp blocked by debris and large objects (old sofas, etc).
CHP officers were pushing back protesters and hauling the obstacles
aside, while rush-hour traffic honked in irritation. I understand
why some might question the nobility of blocking drivers from
getting to work, far from the seats of power that are the true
targets, but what was surprising was that, here in Police State
America, a group of 20-30 openly created a fairly serious (though
brief) disruption, and not a single one got arrested. As the
cops cleared the ramp and things started looking hot, the crowd
started shambling up 9th Street toward Market, taking the wide
street and chanting. This bunch, incidentally, was Queers Against
Capitalism, marching under a giant pink flag.
Upon reaching Market, the militant queers
took over the intersection, still unbothered by cops. Meanwhile,
a block away in the intersection of Van Ness and Fell, a small
group had occupied the intersection, linking arms in lock boxes.
Van Ness was silent as Market. A block further on, a similar
group had the intersection of Franklin and Fell occupied. I fed
a banana to a supine young woman in a lock box, and felt a stirring
in my subconscious. Upon returning to Market, the perambulating
homosexuals had somehow taken over the major intersection of
Van Ness and Market, and the cops had still made no move to arrest.
"Move aimlessly," a woman on bullhorn directed, and
the group moved on.
Bear in mind that there were small numbers
at each of these sites. The Queers had perhaps grown to 50 by
this point, and the lock-down sites, counting the surrounding
supporters, probably had less. Dispersal, and the simultaneity
of many happenings, meant the cops' resources were spread thin;
they were too busy clearing the sit-down intersections to deal
with the troublemakers on foot.
Riding my bike down Market Street, empty
of cars, I encountered similar scenes. A sparse crowd, around
20 people, had taken over 6th and Market. This was a guerilla-theater
group in costume, called Dead Against War. Scary horse cops approached,
and the group walked off.
At Montgomery and Sutter, in front of
the Schwab building, another tiny cluster had taken the intersection,
including a core group locked down. A couple of fellows sat in
lawn chairs in the middle of the street. This group included
a hippyish contingent, joined in a soothing hum. But argument
broke out between protesters and an angry driver, a scene that
I saw repeated several times today.
At Montgomery and Pine, a group of only
seven persons in lockboxes closed Pine on one side; on the other
side, protesters sat on overturned newspaper bins. At Montgomery
and California, another tiny group held the intersection. I waited
while 2 busloads of cops arrived. The cop's leader came and said,
"You are in violation of the traffic law. I am ordering
you to move to the sidewalk," etc etc. The mystery is why
this group did not take advantage of their warning and walk around
awhile to another intersection, in conformity with the emerging
principles of fourth-generation protest. This group sat there
and let themselves get arrested.
Montgomery and Clay, the corner of the
Transamerica Pyramid, saw another blockading group; some in lock-boxes.
Hay was mysteriously scattered in the street, a warm pastoral
touch. A firetruck showed up and menacingly took out its hose,
but only used it to fill plastic trench plates with water. They
drove away, protesters dry. I talked to two white-collar onlookers,
mildly sympathetic.
Back to Market, where a group was locked
down in boxes, surrounded by a fairly large crowd of protester-onlookers
(maybe 100). Sparks flew copiously as the firemen cut through
a lockbox. It was here that I first saw ugliness on both sides.
Someone threw a glass bottle which hit a cop square in the helmet.
(He didn't even flinch.) Protesters booed. A line of cops marched
briskly into the crowd, and looked around. From my perch high
in a tree, I saw the cops' body language. They walked around
for a while acting unconvincingly like they in pursuit of somebody,
then the victim-cop pointed at a fellow standing on a bench,
and the cops went and grabbed him. I did not see who threw the
bottle, but a legal observer later told me it was not the young
man who got arrested. It stands to reason that the fellow who
threw the thing would try to blend away and not stand in high
view. I think the cops just decided they had to punish and deter,
so better to arrest an innocent person and show eye-for-an-eye
retribution.
(As they were pulling away their unfortunate
victim, one of these cops backed into the misplaced bicycle of
yrs truly and fell over; another cop somehow fell with him. This
severely warped my back tire and broke three spokes. Safe in
my tree, I declined to request compensation.)
Meanwhile, the lockbox extractions had
been continuing-but the firemen did not break open the box linking
the last two protesters. The cops dragged them off, still linked
together. This was a piggish move on their part, for it was causing
those arrested visibly to shout out in pain, and looked like
the sort of thing that might do them lasting physical damage.
I continued down Market, where Christmas
trees in big cement planters had been dragged to the middle of
the street, and many newspaper vending boxes were overturned.
At this point, I stopped taking regular notes. It was probably
around 10 in the morning, and anarchy reigned downtown. Unwarping
my tire, I rode to the Federal Building; protesters had shut
it down. Red, white and blue vomit puddles all over the sidewalks.
Back downtown, Market remained in chaos;
I hooked up with a large and rowdy bunch on Mission St., around
a thousand or so rejoicing in their numbers, Spearhead blasting
from bike-ferried speakers. We went back to Market for more intersection
facedowns with riot-ready cops. It was 11:45 and I noticed, strangely,
that Old Navy was open for business. I went to Civic Center for
the noon rally; there was plenty of room and no one listened
to the speaker. Ready for home, I headed back down Market. At
around 5th Street was a confrontation noteworthy because the
cluster of perhaps 100 protesters consisted almost entirely of
youth of color (many of high school age).
From my observations today, I think that
small, mobile clusters are a good way to go to make numbers have
their maximum effect. The linger-then-escape method of blocking
intersections seems ideal in that it frustrates cops and minimizes
risk of arrest. It creates thrills and a sense of defiance that
a permit-obeying march does not. On the other hand, the cat-and-mouse
confrontations of the fourth generation lack a certain dignity
and moral high ground associated with the sit-downs. Hard to
picture Rosa Parks pull a sofa onto an off-ramp and scram.
I saw a lot of graffiti and overturned
newspaper racks, but no smashed windows; I had a feeling the
hard-core vandals were planning to let loose at another time,
perhaps after the 5 p.m. convergence at Powell and Market.
By 1:00 I had had enough of the noise
and chaos. Our government is still bombing Baghdad, and reflecting
on that, I wonder what it all means. None of this is going to
Stop the War. Of course, but what will? The day of protest didn't
have to stop the war to be a good in itself. Not freedom, but
defiance was in the air. People were starring in their own movies,
circumstances were revealing the blend of human nature: people
honorable and craven, among cops and protesters alike. People
got a chance to get together and blow off steam. Last but not
least, they sent a strong signal that business will not be tolerated,
not if that business is war.
Scott Handleman
is a law student at Berkeley. He can be reached at: scotthandle@yahoo.com
Yesterday's
Features
Jo Wilding
From
Waiting to War: a Day and a Night in Baghdad
Stephen Banko
I Was
a Soldier Once
Kevin Alexander Gray
How Did
We Become an Outlaw Nation?
Shane Claiborne
Nomadic
Solidarity: Glimpses of Life in Baghdad on the Eve of War
Kathy Kelly
Waiting on the Baghdad Skies to Crack
Anthony Gancarski
Michelle
Makin's "Liberty Shields"
Rahul Mahajan and Robert
Jensen
Myths
and Facts About the War on Iraq
Jason Leopold
Cheney's
Lies About Halliburton and Iraq
Ron Jacobs
If War is Business as Usual, There Should be No Business as Usual
Chuck O'Connell
Predictions About the Iraq War
Douglas Herman
US Air Force Veteran on the Coming Air Campaign
Ralph Nader
Come
On Democrats, Stand Up for Peace
William Hughes
War is Theft
Sima Saeedi
Dispatch
from Iran
Hammond Guthrie
John Philip Sousa
Website of the Day
Iraq
Body Count
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