Occupy LA, Opening Day

I parked on a street with no restrictions, a few blocks from the Echo Park basement I lived in at the beginning of the year. I hiked a mile downtown with my sleeping bag attached to my backpack. In front of the courthouse I pulled out the sign I wrote on the back of a cat food box. I could see the commotion ahead. Two women leaving the protest asked me to take a picture of their signs “we are the 99%.”

I watched people across the street surrounding City Hall chanting and holding signs. As we waited for the light to change, the woman next to me holding the “capitalism has failed us” sign said “I can’t believe we’re actually waiting for the light to change, so we can practice civil disobedience.”

I passed a demented Uncle Sam on stilts as I walked on to the grass. I surveyed the area. I walked to the steps and stood next to The Billionaires (formerly For Bush) they held a sign that echoed the Mitt Romney sentiment that “Corporations are People.” I held the sign I’d written behind them “corporations are not people (people are people.)” Photographers took our picture as I ‘berated’ the billionaire for believing that conglomerates are more important than individuals. As I walked away, I gave him a wink so he would know that I wasn’t completely stupid.

Across the grass someone was holding a sign that said “From the Arab Spring to the American Fall”. I watched a high school student talk about the inequalities that he faces at his school. “It feels like a factory! No one cares!”

I sat on the grass to watch the crowd. A guy in a “don’t bomb Iran” t-shirt handed me a tray of grapes. They made my hands sticky. He said “all politicians are corrupt, the only person worth voting for in 2012 is Ron Paul." He asked me what I thought about capitalism and “all of these communists here.” I said that I’m not a socialist, but I lean towards wanting the government to regulate the economy and create social safety nets to protect people in need. He said “cool” and started talking to the guy to his right.

I was surprised at all of the niche groups at the demonstration. Sure I expected red-and-black-flag waving anarchists and Bob Avakian book-hawking Revolutionary Communists, but I didn’t expect 9/11Truthers, ‘anti-Illuminati’ activists, or End the Fed-ers. Maybe I should have them, this is a movement that reflects a diversity of viewpoints. Most people occupying Los Angeles or Wall Street or Wichita aren’t affiliated with an organization or ideology, they’re just generally discontent with a society dominated by an aristocracy. This is a populist movement. Everyone is welcome.

I passed a “Cops are the 99% too” sign as I walked around City Hall. I saw a circle of people form on the ground. An animated man in a kilt was leading the group in an exercise that would help us “break away from language.” It looked like fun so I joined them. We echoed the gibberish that came out of peoples mouth by way of the human microphone.

“dooba dooba dooba” “skeeeee skeeee skeeee” “aruhuah aruhuah aruhuah.”
We meditated for peace and solidarity and sent good vibes to the 99% nationwide. The guru said this would enact lasting change on a metaphysical level. We continued repeating each other. Now people recited optimistic messages in English.

“We are the change” “Solidarity” “We are brothers and sisters.”

I shouted “This is fun.”

From outside the circle a man yelled at the group “are y’all against the Fed or what?” The group ignored him and continued the ritual. He flipped off the circle and said “you’re all crazy!”

The group chanted “we are peaceful, we are peaceful, we are peaceful.”

I tried finding my friends at the pirate-themed bar up the street. A man in a sleeveless orange jumpsuit and his friend in sweat pants followed closely behind. We’d seen each other at the protest. Where are you headed? We’re going to the pub to have a pint. The pirate bar was closed so we walked to the cantina around the corner. The man in orange bought me a Tecate. He was an English punk rocker who’d lived in the depths of the San Fernando Valley for the last twenty years. We all agreed that the world was fucked, the revolution had begun, that it was fun, and that it could really change things. We did not reach consensus on this patio being too hot. The man in sweats defected to air-conditioning.

I told the man in orange that I was on unemployment and that I call it my “arts grant from the state of California”. He smiled and said that early 80s Punk and New Wave in Britain is directly the result of Thatcher-era unemployment. “Everyone was on the dole and they used that time to work on their music.”

I meandered back to the demonstration and followed the protesters to the south side of City Hall, where earlier in the day I saw tons of cops eating catered Italian food at an afternoon picnic. The space was now occupied by people giving speeches and reading poems through tiny amps. Some of the poems were inspiring, others were not. I decided not to be critical, because I was at a protest not the 2011 National Poetry Slam.

The speakers were interrupted by a guy with a much louder megaphone. He was wearing an Anonymous t-shirt and babbled about the eugenics campaign being perpetrated by the New World Order. The organizer with the quiet soundsystem thanked him, and asked to borrow his megaphone. He acquiesced.

A teenage Latino Ron Paul supporter talked economics with a man wearing a wave cap. As they talked the kid looked decreasingly confident about his viewpoint. Afterwards I saw that he had put his sign away. He lost his ideology but was in the perfect setting to choose a new one.

I ran into my friend who was building a structure out of wood and cardboard. It was supposed to be a place for people to openly discuss their views in a salon-like setting -- but right now it was being used by people trying to discreetly smoke joints.

Someone noticed a news chopper in the sky. There was a collective move to the sidewalk so that the group would be visible for Fox 11’s 10pm broadcast. The group cheered as they raised their signs into the air. Someone yelled “let’s take back the streets.” A small contingent of people began walking back and forth in the cross-walk. An organizer tried to convince them to stop. “We can’t block traffic or the police will crackdown on us.” There were teenage sighs and murmurs of “who made her the boss?” But she gained the support of the majority and suggested that instead of taking this to the streets, everyone should march around City Hall. The group dissipated, leaving a dozen dissidents in the streets. They were mostly teenagers holding anti-Illuminati signs with the fervor of a Mountain Dew commercial. Intensity without substance.

A girl who looked equally confused at the situation started talking to me. We discussed our politics which did not include fears of a New World Order nor wanting to dismantle the state with the Revolutionary Communists. She came here because she knows that something is wrong, but isn’t quite sure what it is. “Maybe being here will help me figure out what exactly I believe.”

We sat on the grass next to a guy holding a box of bunnies that he found on the side of the road en route to the protest. The guy had put carrots in the box because his rabbit knowledge was based solely on cartoons. He’d successfully given away the meanest of the litter, and was trying to get rid of the white one with black spots by handing it to people and walking away. Maybe the rabbits will live with the protesters on the steps of City Hall they could become mascots for the cause.

I asked a girl wearing a sweatshirt with an anarchist symbol if she was an anarchist. She said “I wish, but I mean I use currency, pay rent, go to college, buy bus tickets -- you can’t really be an anarchist in America anymore -- this sweatshirt is for a band that I like.” She asked if I’d watch their stuff while she waited in line for Food Not Bombs. She brought me back a plate.

While she was gone a pizza delivery man came by and offered me “this medium mushroom and olive pizza and these Cokes.” He was equally confused about the transaction “yeah they just said find someone to give it to.” It was coincidental that someone had anonymously delivered a pizza to me, because a week prior, I anonymously ordered a pizza for the occupiers at Wall Street. That’s transcontinental karma, bro.

I gave out a slice to everybody that was around me. Including a high school slam poet and the man who’d been passing out water. He took two slices, which I felt okay about because he had been hydrating us all day.

At 7:30 we gathered at the steps of City Hall for General Assembly. This is the official meeting to discuss progress so far and to vote on decisions for the future. Making decisions in this environment takes time because they are based entirely on consensus. They went over hand signals. Hands in the air means you’re in agreement. Hands crossed over your head is a hard block in opposition.

Two people interrupted the speakers by screaming (without even doing the hard block hand signal.) The crowd repeatedly yelled back at the disruptors “Mic Check” which is the phrase used to call for order. Someone asked the woman to quiet down, and she screamed in his face “FUCK YOU DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO.” The security committee arrived and escorted her down the steps.

The General Assembly continued showcasing the various committees: food, media, logistics, security, empathy. I initially laughed when I heard “empathy committee” but I assure you that I am an avid supporter of empathy. After the committees were introduced they opened the floor to comments.

A queer latino addressed the group. He did not feel that enough people of color, women, or queers were adequately represented in the Occupy LA leadership. He also asked the group to recognize their privilege and to use it for good.

Someone proposed that the group not move to the sidewalk at 10:30 as suggested by the police. There was opposition by the organizers because that went against the plans. Another person suggested that some people stay on the sidewalk and others stay in the park. Someone else said that went against solidarity “we are a collective, not individuals”. “It’s too early for us to get arrested, we need to build the movement.”

They took a “rough temperature” and decided to move to the sidewalk. Consensus was not actually achieved. This continued to be an issue for dissenters. They stood in the park after the meeting arguing that organizers were not following the rules of a General Assembly, and that affinity groups were a better way to manager the protesters.

I met an organizer from International Workers of the World. I remember the Wobblies from my American history textbook. At the height of its popularity there were 100,000 members worldwide, today there are 12,000 members. They are working towards getting IWW shops in Los Angeles and Orange County.

A cumbia band played on the sidewalk as a shirtless man jogged by. He recruited a conga line of runners to circle the park. I had the strength to do two laps, he ran at least seventy.

I looked for a place to sleep on the sidewalk. I put my tarp down on the sidewalk between a lamp post and a palm tree. I laid diagonally with my feet on the curb. I was too tall for the space. I couldn’t decide if I wanted my feet in the street, which might become detached by a bus, or have my head in the sidewalk, which might lead to head trauma from one of these sprinters. I opted to get stepped on by a person.

It wasn’t very comfortable but I was able to fall asleep. At 5 AM the security detail woke us up and told us to move our things back into the park. I fell asleep on the grass. I woke up, a few hours later, and hiked back to my car. I left the occupation, but it’s not ending any time soon. I’ll be back.