My Day In Court, Practicing Nonviolence

Too many names, outside the Alameda County Courthouse

“Appear in court on December 26,” they said. So I cut my family’s Christmas short to be back in Oakland, security-screened by 9:00 this morning. I try not to predict the future, but I was eager to hear the consequence of my peaceful protest. Dismissed? Fined? Charged?

The grumpus behind the glass pushed the words through her frown: “We haven’t received your paperwork yet. Go to the DA’s office to be rescheduled.” No resolution. My three guesses were all wrong. Instead, I have to call in every week for a year, to find out if they’ve charged me. I told the clerk I was going to be out of the country for the next couple weeks. “If we charge you and you do not appear, a warrant may be issued for your arrest,” and she went back to her desk.

Not an ideal arrangement for a traveler, especially one who plans to work abroad for weeks at a time. But also, I find myself reluctant to participate in any more demonstrations. They are pushing me away from the exercise of my Constitutional rights, and into...let’s call it trepidation. My government is engaging in Trepidationism against me.

Trepidationism for me, but make no mistake, the system engages in Terrorism against black people. Or perhaps people of color. Or perhaps the not-rich. When the police, George Zimmerman, and who knows who else, are allowed to kill black people with impunity? It’s time travel.

Because this is what Martin Luther King achieved. He took away the terror of being black in America, in a time when they could be charged with assault just for looking “recklessly” at a white person, or not taking off their hat. (Read this.) I’m reluctant to cite MLK, since I have lived with white privilege my whole life, and despite my best attempts at empathy, have never felt for myself the terror of living in a society that oppresses you this way, but when I see our country sinking backwards into a time of systemic terrorism, I am willing to reach for any heroes I can find.

The list of heroes includes all the civil rights leaders, from Dorothy Height to Claudette Colvin. Does it include Malcolm X? The man whose legacy is clear in our civil religion, the violent alternative to King’s nonviolence? Absolutely.

Some say King’s message only got as far as it did because the establishment looked at Malcolm X and saw the very real possibility of rage released in violence, so took the offered path of peace. I don’t know if that’s true (and though it’s inherently flawed to compare wildly different circumstances, I can’t help but notice that Gandhi had no violent counterpart...or did he? And Mandela?), but either way, the frustration and anger of those who have been too-long abused by this system are very real, and very strong. Undeniable.

The danger is that this possibility of violence, for all its rational origins, ends up being another face of the Terrorism that I denounce. When the system, through police or vigilantes, threatens violence, it’s Terrorism. But when they force those opposed to present the same threat..? That feels like a loss, understandable as it may be.

And then there’s the bloodsoaked example of the French Revolution punching us in the face. Violence to end oppression, that betrayed itself, consumed itself, and only led to another form of oppression.

So, I’ll spend the next year in trepidation, with the looming threat of a misdemeanor (oh my!) and people of color will live under the constant menace of assault, humiliation, exploitation, and outright murder. I don’t need any help with my vague discomfort, but the racial Terrorism in our system has to change. We just have to figure out how.

Protest Part Five: Weary, Wary, and Working Together

I was guilty of the thing I loathe: letting the misbehavior of a few drown out the positive actions of the many, but when I got home from another night of protest last week, with memories of fighting and looting in my head and anxiety in my bloodstream, I was close to giving up. Not giving up in my belief that America can do better, nor in my desire to see that happen, but giving up on getting off my ass and into the street to show it.

That night, when someone would throw a rock at a store window, a dozen voices would respond “This is a peaceful demonstration!” “Stay nonviolent!” “Keep it political!” But the scenes lodged in my mind’s eye were the three fights, the blood, and the police, riot gear out from the beginning, well worn now, barking orders and aggression. The “less lethal” guns in their hands that have been sending peaceful protesters to the hospital lately. And always, the helicopters thudding around overhead; as far as I can tell, it’s usually one police and three or four news agencies. Both focus only on the kernels of chaos. And despite my best efforts, so was I.

Then Saturday happened. The MillionsMarch demonstration downtown, 2:00 PM, the daylight bringing out the peaceful masses and burning away the murky chaos. Souls from every demographic particular came out to walk together, talk together, say together that something is wrong. It was among the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.

The news helicopters were up there again, orbiting, and I wanted to shout “Are you filming now? Are you seeing this? Are you witnessing the desire, of all of us, for justice? For safety? For accountability and trust? For progress? Are you reporting? Are you doing your part to show the world that the responsible, admirable voices of the many outnumber the rash violence of the few? Are you helping us make change?”

Unity all around me, I felt uplifted, reassured, and restored to my belief that we do care, and that we can speak. None of this is to say that it was perfect. These were still just people. Humans. With this much passion, this much anger and history, one cannot expect perfect calm.

On Saturday I saw words, love, mutual support, and cooperation. And patience wearing thin. I believe humans are peaceful. I am peaceful. But how many candlelit protests can one attend that are met with no response from the politicians but silence, from the media but misrepresentation, and from the police but rubber bullets, before one looks to other, more overt means of being heard?

Richmond's police chief is into something

Is it possible that the system will wake up and take sufficient steps, before the fires spread? Start with the no-brainers: end the militarization and impunity of police. Get back to a level where residents and officers see each other as humans, not potential (inevitable?) adversaries. THIS! This is what we need to see! Richmond is proving the obvious here, that when officers know they will be held accountable for their actions, and are placed in an environment of mutual respect with the community, these shootings will decrease.

Start there, then we can address the deeper issues. Obama is taking a first step. How are you going to help? How should I? Two thirds of you said everyone should protest, nobody said to smash shit, and no one said there was no need to do anything. If two-thirds of any town got out and marched? That would make the news. (And your participation will inject fresh hope and patience into a movement that is running a little low on both.)

I’m daydreaming again, but peaceful demonstrations like the one on Saturday have that effect on a person. Go out and feel that optimism, touch that participation, and hear your voice asking for a better world. And let me know how it feels.

Dear fellow Oakland protesters, and others.

The type of legitimate protesters I went to join

Dear fellow protesters in Oakland, thank you for coming. I know you’re angry, so to not waste your time I’ll get to it:

What is the point? Your point. Your purpose. Your goal. Why are you here?

Are you here to express your frustration with race and class relations in this country, advocate for justice and change, and oppose the militarization and impunity of a segment of the police?

Or do you just want to burn shit?

Because the two are mutually exclusive. Standing for the former entails NOT doing any of the latter, and doing the latter destroys the voice of the former.

Are you here to protest, or riot? They are fundamentally different. Is your enemy hate crime, or Starbucks? Do you want to build something better, or just smash what’s here? Do you want to oppose those responsible, or just harm your neighbors?

My opinion? This War on Trash Cans accomplishes nothing but toxic fumes. This aggression towards all police officers does nothing but further inhibit dialogue and progress. I see demonstrators and police pushing each other into simplified extremism, and it makes me sad. I’ve known good cops. Men and women who I was glad were there to back me up.

When will you learn that violence does not have the effect you wanted it to when you were an angry 16 year old? It’s time to grow the fuck up.

Just an excuse for their ugly little tags

As you may have guessed, angry violent “protester”, I am sick of your shit. You are not a protester. You are a hooligan. And I will not stand by you. So tonight, as the helicopters again drift overhead, despite my desire to finish what I’ve started and demonstrate my conscience, I am staying home. It’s not because I’m scared, not afraid of being arrested again, but because last night looked to me like a movement degraded, a legitimate grievance lost in petty vandalism, and I will not participate in that, even tacitly.

To those actual protesters, both previous night, and probably tonight too, I thank you for caring. Apathy is the great enabler of discord and abuse.

And to those who have come to Oakland to hide behind your coward’s mask and make trouble in someone else’s community… Violence breeds violence, so please don’t tempt me.

Oakland Protest Night 2; I wasn't expecting that.

Always with the fire, but it seemed lackluster

Helicopter buzzards hung above Oakland tonight, again. I barely slept last night, was dead on my feet at 5:00 this afternoon, was freezing, and still kind of hungry after finishing my leftovers. I didn’t really feel like going out to monitor the protest again tonight. But I believe something important is going on in America right now, a nation crying out for change, for hope, for progress, so I added a thicker layer and rode downtown.

Hipsters sipping cocktails where last night wafted clouds of tear gas, but those rotary buzzards drew me to Telegraph Ave, where crowds stood around, calmer than last night. It just felt like a lot of spectators. Fine with me, I wanted a short night.

Why did they need guns
like that out?

The police seemed edgier, with some rushing around with guns leveled at people, the way the military guys on TV said one should never do. But things seemed to calm down. The police cleared Telegraph, and I let them, moving to a cross street, 40th Ave.

Then I saw it. Some jackass had brought a circular saw blade. I’d been surreptitiously kicking chunks of asphalt into the bushes all night, lest some hothead be tempted to throw them through a cruiser’s window, or worse yet, at a cop. But this? Best case scenario: someone would blow out a tire tomorrow. Worst case scenario: someone lost in anger and mayhem might throw it at a cop. But if I picked it up, touched it, might they bust me for possession of a weapon? That quantity of police presence makes you think about such things.

I thought twice before picking it up.

I took of photo of it in situ, just in case, then picked it up, two steps, and tossed it into the burned-out wreckage of a dumpster. Phwew, that was as intense as the night was going to get.

The cops decided to move us further down 40th, and I complied, walking when they walked, then when they cried “double time!” I jogged ahead of them to stay out of the way. We reached a crosswalk and the order to “hold up” rang out. I crossed over to my side and slowed to a walk.

I was only a couple blocks from my most famous friend, a travel writer who inspired me to the craft. I considered texting to see if he wanted to come out, but was exhausted and wanted to go home, so was considering how to loop around to reclaim my bicycle.

That’s when they arrested me.

My last exposure, moments before my arrest

A deputy chief, scalp shiny as the skinheads of nightmare, charged towards me shouting “YOU! You’re under arrest! You are under arrest!” I thought he was talking about the teenager behind me, who had been sandbagging a bit when the cops pushed us down the street, which seemed unfair, but no, he was talking about me, charging at me. I was under arrest for being in the area of an unlawful assembly, penal code 409.

Two officers stepped forward and pinned my arms at my sides. Took me to a van, hands against it, thorough search, zip-corded my hands behind my back. I spoke with them respectfully, letting them know I was not going to cause any trouble, just as I had not all night. They marched me to a shattered bus stop where half a dozen kids sat with hands pinned behind their backs.

They were going to take us to the prisoner bus. Except no one knew where it was. They loaded us in a van at 10:28, and at 10:57 we had circled back to our original location. My shoulders were hurting, hands going numb, and, of course, I had to pee.

I didn't have a chance to ask his permission
to post his photo. In real life he has a face.

My comrades seemed like good guys. Former pacifists, conscientious objectors to facets of our culture, but I got the feeling that over the years, they’ve seen their protests ignored, brushed aside, and now arrested. The guy next to me had committed the same crime I had: walking. He’d gotten off BART, and was trying to figure out how to get to his house when the same deputy chief arrested him.

I’d spent the night, the day, the next night, defending the police, reminding people that they are not all the racist, violent, aggressive caricatures of pop lore. The assholes, basically. Sure, there are some among them who are inherent bullies, who were going to be on one side of a police altercation if not the other, bad seeds, just as there were bad seeds among the protesters. But all it takes is one…

Eventually they gave up on the bus and drove us to a processing station across Oakland. Took my photo against the van, and I signed my form on the hood of a cruiser. I am due to appear in court on December 26. Merry Christmas, America.

Thoughts are overflowing my brain, but the whole thing is buzzing like a fluorescent lightbulb, so I’m going to bed. I hope that’s still legal.