Starhawk usually reports on Protests but because of prior commitments she was not able to be in Pittsburgh. Rebecca Sang took over and did an extrememly good job and painted a great Word Picture of what went on for those of us at home.
Her reporting style and skill through her writing really comes out in her posts.
Thank You So Much for putting your life on the line in defense of our Freedom. Charley
(At the end of Rebecca's report are some great links of a Slide Show and a You Tube Video.)
Rebecca Sang:
This is her Report from the Last Day of the Marches on Friday.
This whole week I¹ve been wondering, on and off again, about why I¹m here.
Today I finally found out the reason.
We left around 11AM for a unpermitted feeder march hosted by the CMU kids
about climate change. We¹d been hoping to do our theater piece downtown
earlier that morning, as a sort of distraction action for a banner drop, but
as many things are here, things did not go as planned. Flexibility. That¹s
one trait that you either have, or cultivate, as an activist. No banner
drop, no theater piece, but no worries. We decided to pack all of our props
into our backpacks and bring them with, just in case.
The Climate Change march was perfect ‹ there was a host of kids with
marching drums there, keeping the beat and enlivening the energy, and for
the nine zillionth time I found myself wishing desperately that I had
brought a lighter drum. Jason and I did bring a drum, but we kept it in the
tent, because its deceptively heavy for its small size. In fact, after all
of the running around in the streets from the police yesterday, we¹d
lightened our packs considerably for today. We didn¹t expect too much
trouble, even with the less-than-legal marches that we were doing here and
there, but even so it seemed like a good idea.
So, the kids kept beat with the drums while other students dressed up in
hazmat suits with signs that read things like ³Climate Change, FAIL² and
³There is no Planet B² on their chests and backs. I brought the canary in
his cage out again, and many of us dressed up in our finest banner-capes
that read things like ³community,² ³change,² ³power,² and ³grow² set against
brightly colored backdrops. Infused with this kind of creative, bright,
quirky energy, we set off from the campus towards downtown, where the larger
permitted march was to begin.
Although the Climate Change march held a much different energy than the
Black Bloc march the day before, it soon showed that it, too, had claws ‹
like the claws of some sort of brightly colored rainforest-living bird of
prey, stretching its wings as it clambered through the neighborhoods of
Pittsburgh. We started on the sidewalk, took one lane of traffic, then a
second, and eventually the whole street. This, of course, brought the cops.
They spent some time zooming up and down the farthest left lane of traffic
to clear it in their cars and vans, sirens going off, but other than that
seemed content to let us go where we were going. And so, we did. We
swelled through the poor neighborhood, where our chants were met with
enthusiasm and warnings (or blessings, depending on how you look at it),
³Don¹t let them stomp you!² We swelled up into downtown past the University
of Pittsburgh, where the cops had used tear-gas on the students the night
before in order to clear out the dark courtyards, and called for them to
join us. ³It¹s our future, it¹s your future, come out, come out.² ³Off the
sidewalks and into the streets! Off the sidewalks and into the streets!²
Most of them stared at us with confused, or even excited, looks on their
faces, but did not step off the curb.
No matter. We kept going, grooving to the drum beats, holding our ground
with our three lanes (which, even though one lane was open, pretty
effectively stopped traffic. Most of the drivers seemed good-natured enough
about it, although more than one expressed their angry frustration with loud
voices and lewd hand gestures). It felt so freeing, to be marching without
lines of riot cops everywhere, to take the streets with our voices and feet,
to truly manifest the ideal of freedom of expression in a menagerie of
creative ways. And that creativity, that abundance of diverse voices, grew
exponentially once we reached the rest of the march. It was astounding.
There were all kinds of people there: labor union people wearing hard-hats
and t-shirts; Code Pink ladies with their cute fuchsia dresses and gray
hair; a whole host of Tibetans with flags and traditional garb; hula hoopers
for peace; a motley group with a huge white dove puppet; you name it, it was
there. I saw quite a few signs about universal health care, specifically
single-payer health care, as well as ones about climate change, jobs, and
economic class issues. Seeds of Peace came, too, renewed and ready to serve
the thousands ‹ literally thousands ‹ of protestors who had come. It¹s hard
to say how many people were there, but most of the estimates that I heard
were about 8,000.
Once we stepped off, we filled the streets for blocks and blocks. At the
front of the march was a group (I never found out who they were) carrying
flags for hundreds of countries, all fluttering in the breeze that
occasionally graced us with relief from the hot humid day. Behind us was
the Black Bloc, huge and intense and powerful in a way that I¹ve never seen
them before ‹ all consolidated like that, I felt like I finally understood
them in a way I never have before. Their energy is proud and strong and
direct, like a lion shaking its main, uncowed. Sometimes they would shout
things like ³Basta aqui capitalista,² a short chant that gathered power very
quickly; other times, the traditional ³Who¹s streets? Our streets!²; or,
amusingly whenever the cops were around, ³You¹re sexy, you¹re cute, take off
your riot suit!²
As we made our way further into the downtown district, the police presence
doubled, tripled, quadrupled. I thought I¹d seen lots of police before, but
I have never seen anything like this. Obama recently ended the summit with
a speech that commended how ³tranquil² this meeting was, but with 6,000
armed police officers, one can only imagine that would be the case. One
fellow on the news said that the last time Pittsburgh had as many
on-the-ground troops present was when the President sent in the national
guard to suppress the Homestead Revolt in the late 1800¹s. They were four
and five rows thick down every block, armored heavily with rubber bullets,
pepper spray, tear gas, rifles, dogs, sound cannons, batons, the works.
Every bank had a line of national guard out in front of it, and as we
approached a new intersection we would encounter SWAT humvees, tanks, the
black LRAT vehicles with their sound cannons, platoons of bike cops and
mounted cops. Even saying this cannot convey to you what it was like ‹ how
can I possibly convey what 6,000 fully armed, armored police officers is
like? It feels like marching through a tunnel of hot, bubbling, bristling
imminent danger. Nah, too abstract. It feels like your insides are being
pressed in from the energy of it, as if the walls were closing in on you.
Nah. I guess its not something you can really get from reading about it.
Maybe some of these pictures
(http://www.pittsburghlive.
ogallery/) will help. At any rate, it was way more police than one would
have imagined for a permitted march, or really for anything short of an
invasion of extra-terrestrial beings.
At one point a couple of us decided it was time for a yummy espresso break,
and went off from the mid-point rally in seek of it. The only thing open
downtown ‹ quite literally, the only thing open in the most bustling part of
the city, in spite of whatever economic woes the g20 was there to address ‹
was a Dunken Donuts. This, in and of itself, is a sad sad thing.
Nonetheless, that¹s the way it was, so I was forced to put my inner
coffee-snob aside and just do it. On the way there, we saw a group of cops
motivating towards one part of the street, and decided to go take a look.
Coming towards us, solid and proud but in a totally different way than our
masked companions, marched a band of protestors from Africa. There were
about 20 of them, coming very intentionally and illegally up the street,
another feeder march for the big permitted march. Like the student feeder
march, the police were leaving them alone ‹ but in a much more potentially
volatile area, nearer to the convention center, and near all the centers of
finance that the powers that be were so determined to protect. I watched
them with quiet awe as they chanted and walked up towards us, some wrapped
in traditional garb, others holding flags. They chanted first in a language
I didn¹t understand, then in English, demanding attention for human rights
abuses. All the while, the police simply watched, even though I knew they
very much didn¹t want them to go up the street they were on ‹ I overheard
one say to another, ³If these people meet up with those other guys, the shit
is going to hit the fan.² Even so, they didn¹t do anything. The Africans
had a purpose and strength that was palpable. In that moment, I saw what
Civil Disobedience is at its best, at its heart. I saw the kind of power
that I hope that I can cultivate in myself, that I dream of for the Pagan
Cluster and the movement as a whole. It¹s the kind of power that cannot be
touched by violence, and so does not have to resort to it. It is as intense
as the weapons the police carry and the conditioned hardness of their hearts
and humanity.
We rejoined the big march (as did the Africans) and marched across the
river, coming as close to the Convention Center on the bridge as we would be
at any time before or after the G20 meetings. Looking out over the railing
at the glass-walled building, I realized that although we were still quite
far I was actually in eyeshot of some of the most influential, powerful
people in the world, and that they were right over there, making decisions
that would effect billions of people and animals and other beings. Somehow,
with all of the protests and planning and processing, I had forgotten that
was happening ‹ not that it ever truly went away, but it stopped meaning
anything emotionally to me. Standing on that bridge, looking out across the
water and to that fortress, I felt it for the first and only time. Those
people have the power to change things so that we either sink or swim, I
thought. There they are, using that power, totally sequestered and removed
from all of us. Even though my day had been wonderful and very meaningful,
and that I knew good work was happening, I couldn¹t say that what we¹d been
doing had been very meaningful to those people in that building, those
people who can enact legislation and policies that will keep our world from
tipping into ecological collapse or that can make healthcare available to
everyone. I was struck in that moment, stung into stillness, curiosity,
frustration, awe. I wanted to tap into my deep magic, to do something that
would make a difference energetically and carry to them. I said a prayer,
but couldn¹t think of anything beyond that. And then the march moved on,
and the moment was over.
I¹ve been thinking a lot about power today, seeing it manifest strongly in
many different ways: the creativity and quirkiness of the student march, the
uncowed rebellion of the black bloc kids, the violence and ugliness of the
police, the collected, unwavering purpose of the Africans, the communal of
the permitted march, and the piercing intensity of those at the G20. I¹m
not sure what it all means just yet, but I can feel how its impacted me and
helped me to question my own innate connection to power and the tribal power
of those I¹m running with right now. There¹s still a lot to be done with
all of this, to be unpacked and understood. But some of that will have to
wait for tomorrow. Tonight, I¹m interested in experiencing the power of
connection and love ‹ it¹s the last night we¹ll be here, because tomorrow
we¹re heading back home.
Lotsa love,
Riyana
Some Excellent links: Slide Show: http://www.pittsburghlive.com/
The Best You Tube Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?
Luke Rudowski, wearechange: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GGEa759EHzw
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