3/21/03

Imagine a piece of performance art where ten plus helicopters stretch in a perfect line over the downtown of a major metropolis. Occasionally another copter sweeps in from the west to add itself to the hovering row. Once in a while one breaks formation to zoom in a low circle over a few blocks before rising back into the rigid flock. This goes on for hours.

It would be considered an elegant ballet of paranoia, yes?

This was Friday in Chicago, courtesy of a massive police response to anti-war demonstrations. As the sun set, citizens carried out their business and leisure to the sound of chopper blades. Night fell, people turned to the weekend pursuit of pleasure, pausing frequently to look up at the sky. The message was clear. Stay indoors. We're watching you. Around 9p.m. the copters began to disperse. By 11 they were gone. Along with the drop in temperature, they had subdued the city.

***

Friday was a night of gallery openings, so I drove to work. While tooling down Lake Shore Drive, I was nearly hit by an SUV who started to change lanes without signaling (or looking). I gave a tap on my horn and it swerved back into its lane. A moment later, the SUV pulled in behind me and drove up on my ass, turning on the brights and blasting the horn. Let me emphasize LSD is four lanes wide and there was light traffic, so I was not in the way. The SUV followed so close I couldn't change lanes. This went on for miles. I tried slowing down, but the SUV wouldn't back off. When I got down to 15 mph, it finally pulled away.

Who was this psycho driver? Some blonde, pony-tailed trixie in a dress suit. I got a long good look at her. Her wholesome features were twisted in rage as she mouthed obscenities. She was at least 25. What the hell.

***

Last night I walked down the center of the Northbound lanes of Lake Shore Drive, in defiance of logic and traffic. The night was balmy. The evening view of the city and lakefront is beautiful when seen from the drive, and it was great to see it at a pedestrian speed. At moments I sauntered, reveling in the first indications of real spring. I was able to do this with impunity as I was accompanied by 10,000 other people.

The anti-war rally was a smashing success right up to the end. It began with a rally on Federal Plaza, with the usual near incoherent speeches and embarrassing attempt at a group folk song. Someone, who was either an exonerated death row inmate or was quoting exonerated death row inmates - who could tell with the megaphone distortion - brought the funk with a rant about the motherfucker in the whitehouse.

The crowd was extremely diverse, from little old ladies to Puerto Rican nationalists carrying a giant PR flag, to fashionable young punks with a sign saying "The Only Good Hawk Is A Mohawk" to executive types straight outta the office.

Eventually it was time to March. "Everyone head to Jackson," went the loudspeaker, "Head to Jackson! Y'know Jackson, a president for the people!"

I'll admit I sneered at this. As a general Andrew Jackson specialized in evicting and killing Indians. He also defied orders and invaded Spanish Florida to execute two English soldiers, causing an international incident which resulted in the US purchase of the territory, which Jackson ruled as a heavy handed military governor. Not the sort of person to invoke at a peace march.

The crowd grew as it proceeded through downtown. By the time it hit Michigan Avenue it was massive and organizers decided to keep going to the Drive.

I was not surprised by this choice. I have a somewhat unique perspective, as I took part in the protest at the start of the FIRST Gulf War. The 1991 protest was also massive had equal amounts of mainstream participants. The turnout was smaller back then, but was just as impressive because it occurred before the web or widely available cell phones. Organizers got about 8,000 people to come out through mere word of mouth and fliers - in January temperatures.

Okay, now I sound like a curmudgeon. The parallels are freaky, though. Bush in the White House, troops in the Gulf, huge unemployment lines, new Nirvana album - too retro, baby.

"I hope I don't have to do this again in 12 years," I said to the man next to me.

"Oh, I don't think President Jenna is going to allow protests, do you?" he replied.

A girl on my other side said, "You marched in '91? Wow, I was six."

In 1991 the march took the Drive heading South. We marched a few blocks before heading back downtown on Balbo and finishing with a cheer at Federal Plaza.

This time, the cops turned the crowd North. This was a far more spectacular route, but probably not the best idea, as the Drive becomes elevated at this point and there's no easy exit for walkers until Chicago Avenue. Of course, one can understand how cops got confused as marchers split onto two streets as they approached LSD.

Police closed the Northbound lanes for the marchers, but people soon took to the Southbound side as well, shutting down all traffic as they walked among the cars.

The action was amazingly peaceful; both cops and protesters were well behaved. Of course, the city council did pass a resolution against the war, so coming down hard on marchers would have seemed somewhat contradictory. Drivers trapped in the march were peaceful as well. Many honked their horns in support. One large group of teens got out of their car and started dancing to passing drummers - not hippy dancing either but full on freak and sex shimmy. It was that kind of vibe.

My favorite sign - "Bush Is A Wankster." My favorite standard chant - "This is what democracy looks like!"

I kept running across people I knew, by-product of being a gadfly I guess. Many were folk I get at gallery openings and parties; at times it felt like I was in the longest kegger line in the world. "Dude," I said, "are they gonna have enough cups?"

Twice I crossed paths with exes - both were out with Someone. It was a good date protest. At those awkward moments, even a mob of thousands seemed too small.

By Chicago Avenue the energy was starting to ebb, and here's where the police made a crucial mistake. They didn't allow the march to turn on the Chicago/LSD intersection. I'm not sure what the reasoning was. Had the march left the Drive, it would have gone back to the plaza or even dissolved as people stopped to go to the bathroom and eat.

So we kept walking on the drive. "Damn, are we going all the way to Evanston?" someone said, exasperated.

As the march rounded the curve at Oak Street Beach, a line of paddy wagons and patrol units blocked the Drive, forcing us back into the city. The only way out was to climb over guardrails and the cement barriers between lanes and cut across a small park. The park had a temporary fence protecting newly seeded lawn, but this was knocked down.

I do not get the strategy of this. The protest had shrunk, but around 7,000 people, including small children and seniors, were herded over these obstacles. The park was reduced to a pool of mud. Once on Oak Street, marchers found every route blocked by cops. People began to chant "let us through" and "peaceful march." Many were just tired and irritated and wanted to leave.

The only way out was a pedestrian tunnel with led to the beach and the opposite side of the Oak/Michigan intersection. Some friends of mine and I took the street branch, expecting it to be blocked, but it wasn't. We watched events develop from the other side of the police line.

The police were letting people out in small groups as long as they walks slowly on the sidewalk, but this was not communicated to the crowd. In fact the police gave no explanations or commands, just blocked the exits. Some marchers were told there was no way out.

The cops were damn lucky a riot didn't break out. Thousands of people were pressed into one narrow street, right up against the Drake Hotel (one of the richest in the city and a tempting target). As older, wiser marchers filtered out, those left behind were younger, inexperienced or stubborn or just confused.

More and more cops turned up, an army of riot gear carrying nightsticks and plastic handcuffs. Most of them were not wearing badges or name tags. A platoon in gas masks marched up Oak, carrying tanks of gas with spray nozzles. This was the scariest moment. The sprayers looked like flame throwers. Had the crowd been able to see them, it would have panicked. Luckily someone in charge had the sense to send them away again.

At this point I left. By the time I reach home, I got word the cops stopped letting people go and pushed the remainder of the march into smaller groups and started grabbing them one by one. Marchers were chanting "we want to go home" and "let us shop!" but the police trapped them. Between 800 and 500 people taken in. More than half were women. Numbers vary, because some don't count those who were merely held but released without charges.
The arrests were largely peaceful. A few people were roughed up, but haven't heard any accounts of beatings. Once again, the lack of violence, especially on behalf of the protesters, makes the necessity of arrests questionable. The majority of arrestees were young (and less likely to have resources to sue) but cops took some women with babies in strollers and elderly folks who could barely walk, let alone riot.

A reporter from NPR got his mic knocked out of his hand, and before he could pick it up cops picked him off the ground and forced him to leave the scene.

One protester reported, "I was arrested standing on the sidewalk, I had no sign, I hadn't been chanting, I wasn't doing anything but standing there, trapped in, waiting to go home. I was tied up with plastic zip ties, and then escorted to a line to board a Sherrif's Inmate Transport Bus ...Most of us were early 20 somethings, but there were a few older guys, and even some guys that weren't even a part of the protest - just wrong sidewalk at the wrong time type of deal."

This was a completely stupid and dangerous move by those in charge. The peaceful management was working and they nearly blew it. Had they bothered to consult their own past, they could have avoided pushing the march into a corner. Instead they pissed off the young, activist core, possibly inspiring more radical action in the future.

***

Cops are better than soldiers. Police authority comes from justice and peace. In theory, a cop prevents bad things from happening, even to those they arrest. Cops are responsible for their actions, and use force as a last resort. They fill out paperwork every time they fire their gun. Their power comes from trust and responsibility (which is why police brutality is such a betrayal).

Not so for soldiers; they are weapons in human form. In theory soldiers are not responsible for anything except following orders, just or not, as efficiently as possible. Violence, destruction and death are the main methods of carrying out these orders. Soldiers exist to fight like guns exist to shoot. A soldier who is not used to threaten or carry out combat is considered inactive.

So I'll take cops over soldiers any time. When it comes to running society, however, you don't want cops or soldiers in charge.

***

The police presence waxes and wanes over the day. The dog squad has returned to the subways. The K-9 patrol is provided by a private security company, and the rentals just don't look as schooled in the law as real cops. I often see a dog flip out over nothing and lunge at a passenger.

Exactly what freedoms are we fighting for?

***

The old Who tune "Won't Get Fooled Again" is now the theme song to a TV show, but I think we on the left are still somewhat deluded. Once again protesters have made overly dire warnings about the potential bloodbath in Iraq. I remember last time. The danger of Iraq's forces was greatly hyped and when the battle went smoothly and quickly it appeared to be a clean war. The press was managed so the real amount damage and casualties to civilians came out afterwards. Even now, the number of civilians deaths can only be verified as "more than we realized." Coverage of the post-war imbroglio was hard to follow, and many ignored it.

Some say it is better to over than underestimate. This may be true in a moral sense, but it's hell for a debate.

I don't think post-war interest in will flag this time around, but the first assault has moved so swiftly it will appear to be another "easy" war. Anti-war types will appear pessimistic. The full damage report will come out months or years later.

I'll make some predictions: Once again, more American soldiers will be killed by accidents than actual combat. Once again, massive, self-congratulatory victory parades will occur at the same time things are going wrong overseas.

And if we're lucky, once again, no massive show of force will save Bush from domestic issues and he'll be a one time president, like his father.

***

Dan Rather, speaking at about 1 in the morning: "The mystery question since the start of the war: wither Saddam?"

I see CBS is going for the "enhanced" audience again. When does Dan sleep? Answer: Satuday morning, when CBS shows it's usual kid's programming, tons of Glam Barbie ads while the bombs fall. The juxtaposition of war and normal programming forgrounds the ideology of commercial TV. A shot of troops is followed by an ad for the Hummer. It's like John Berger seized the remote.

On the Wednesday the war premiered, the network I was watching broke at 8:50 pm to tell us something had happened, but they wouldn't know what until 9:15 when the President spoke. They had interrupted one of their top rated shows right at the climax of the episode. I will confess, I moaned in frustration. For the next ten minutes they repeated there was no information.

On certain websites, fans of the show cursed the President, cursed the war, cursed the stupidity of news coverage. In defense of this selfish reaction - since the orgy of flashy war coverage was inevitable, would it have made a difference to wait a few minutes? Was it more dramatic to cut off the show?

To put a grimmer spin on it: This is the sort of thinking which can only be had in an overpriveleged nation. Imperial American citizens want their shows. Go on like nothing's happening while you rain change down on the world (this accusing finger also points at me).

***

To repeat myself somewhat - we've been living surreal since 2000. Hard times, strange times.

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All material copyright the authors, printed with permission.