320/2003

Not even the Peace organizations that made the calling had any idea what would transpire. The aim was to belt out the seriousness of the people’s discontent by way of a job “walkout” and a “shutdown” of the city. During the 17 plus hour rally, 2,000 were arrested, a dozen buildings were blockaded and over 30 intersections closed and opened like a switchboard with crowds easily sealing six lane streets plus sidewalks. They streamed like live water through the canals of the city, separating and siphoning at will. Marches would continue past midnight and begin again early the next morning, if they stopped at all.

Contrary to popular stereotypes about San Francisco and the Anti-War movement in general, the thousands that participated were a great many more than some hippies proclaiming, “Peace, dude.” The sentiment crossed age, ethnic, and economic boundaries. I personally saw organized groups of white collars, doctors, Jews, Palestinians, parents, children, and yes, even military veterans, all against ‘The Showdown in Iraq,’ as it’s paraded on some TV stations. No older than four years old, one child’s handwritten sign read “No Mas Guerra.” Translation: “No More War.”

Early morning on Thursday, March 20, 2003, I headed towards downtown armed with my camera when midway, the bus driver announced the last stop. Locating the source for this halt wasn’t difficult. Two major intersections nearby each had a wide circle of people sitting with arms secured in sleeves of metal covered tubing, the kind that takes Fire Department equipment to saw through. Here, the police had commandeered a bus for arrestees, taking mug shots with a Polaroid camera and holding them onboard.

Another couple blocks away, folks had linked arms to barricade one side of an intersection, where more supporters and inspired bystanders would jump in to eventually create a circle large enough to cover all four directions. Signs included “While you’re late for work, someone is being killed” as well as “The war stops here and so do you.” Respectfully, decisions were made to allow exceptions for passage in the case of a van carrying senior citizens and a truck delivering food for the homeless at which the people cheered on “Food, not bombs! Food, not bombs!” Street corner kids making fun of the cause would soon join the force after exchanging ideas with participants. Here, I scribbled a circulating number with marker on my arm, 415-285-1011. This is the information hotline for arrestees to gather details on procedure, what to do and what not to do.

Attempts to close the Bay Bridge and the Golden Gate Bridge were foiled by the foresight of CHP who had pre-posted security at the ramps. The police however had a difficult time predicting blockade after next as the throngs claimed distances and parked at random. Finally, a heavy presence of SFPD vehicles and riot cops followed as close as a half block away, though were kept at a distance by a steady rain of impromptu barriers made from newspaper bins, garbage cans and dumpsters, mattresses, construction barriers, and whatever else was on site.

San Francisco’s Federal Building was effectively captured well into the evening as people encircled the complex preventing any employee or vehicle traffic. Their federally employed police were also suited in riot gear and armed with rubber bullet weaponry. Several arrests were made but settled to a dead freeze with no shots fired.

I noticed, smelled then saw, several patches of vomit at the front of the Federal Building where apparently people illustrated physically what the war did figuratively – made them sick. Others also engaged creatively in the event via music, graffiti like that of body outlines on the street, and even knitting, where protest took form in front of The Gap as a group of women opted to create rather than consume, against the President’s inane advice for Americans to continue shopping in this age of terror.

In what I imagine was the climax of the day, I witnessed from atop one of our famously steep hills, a whole valley of up to six city blocks filled completely with moving bodies. They mobilized to the financial district where a decision occurred that we would rest and the thousands simply sat and lay in place, stopping automobile movement in all directions.

When the movement began again, police geared with helmets and bigger than usual sticks, tactically began creating their own blockades to sever the caravan. Unlike the sights from Seattle’s WTO protests, we were not met with tear gas or water cannons. I heard stories of some brutal arrests but did not see any myself. One policeman did, however, attempt to possess and steer a stroller carrying two children against the will of their mother. The crowd booed and chewed out repeatedly “Let her go!” and “Shame! Shame! Shame!” She was freed and we applauded loudly. I must commend the police on this trying day for not beating us all into submission. Some openly shared our feelings, one sergeant flashing the peace symbol, but they still had a job to do.

An article from Friday read:

Officer Drew Cohen, who was documenting the police response on his camcorder for the department, said he came away with a respect for demonstrators' tactics. “They succeeded this morning -- they shut the city down,” Cohen said. “They're highly organized, but they are totally spontaneous. I think police are doing a great job, but the protesters are always a few steps ahead of us.”

From what I saw after this tiring day, the march by late night had thinned to the length of one block and the width of two car lanes. They demonstrated freely with pacified police vehicles and on-foot cops closely but quietly monitoring the front and rear of the procession as sort of chaperones to settle any perilous activities.

Anthropologist, Margaret Mead, once said, "Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it's the only thing that ever has." I imagine, in wonderment, the possibilities when that group of thoughtful committed citizens isn’t small at all but actually quite gigantic. This is but one day and we are but one of many cities around the globe with the conviction and the determination to march forward against tyranny. March 20^th,2003 will live on as one victory against The Machine.

We may well win this war. My own cardboard sign read, “Fight war. Not wars.”

Flag of mourning

Van Ness intersection: arms locked in metal sleeves

Arrest

Mug shot by the commandeered bus

Market @ 8th Street: Stop war. Hand-in-hand blockade

Message by megaphone

The war stops here and so do you

Police bikes

South of Market: marchers hurriedly dragged these barriers from a nearby construction site into the street to obstruct police

Veterans for peace: When I was 23, I was a Marine Corps. Hawk. Today at 35, I know war is never a solution but rather a waste of life. I am forever a dove.

Young voices

Girl with a rack for peace in Iraq

Rubber bullet weapon at Federal building

Four girls also at Federal building

Symbolic slaying

Fatigues with outlines

F this

A Jewish voice for peace

Market Street siege and sit-in

The Gap retail store on Market @ Powell: No business as usual

Tired child with sign "No Mas Guerra" (No more war).

Woman with a point

Anti censorship superhero

Me against the cops: Fight war, not wars.

Armed and dangerous

These are turbulent times. San Francisco has seen non-stop unrest since Thursday, March 20^th. People day after day are taking to the streets, increasing the count of arrestees participating in civil disobedience. The ongoing display is yielding a noticeable cumulative fatigue that is exhausting everyone: cops, activists, and the fence sitters. The city has easily spent over 5 million dollars in police overtime. To make up for the shortage in man power, SFPD was reportedly even taking employees who had rarely seen any action, old or out of shape pencil pushers, and throwing helmets and batons into their nervous hands.

Where pro-war pep rallies only demonstrate the apathy of their following by example of feeble turnouts, averaging a thousand or so, New York’s Saturday demonstration in contrast collected over 100,000 fierce anti-war marchers and our own afternoon rally at the Civic Center followed closely, having organized over 75,000 people, with figures rising every month.

By evening time of Saturday's mobilization, following the last public speakers, the mass again dispersed into various self-determining factions that carved into the street like forceful branches of a great river. One large group again successfully closed Market Street chanting, “Whose streets? Our streets!” And a different contingent headed towards Rainbow Grocery to demonstrate support for the food outlet’s open position against the Iraq war.

Yet another mass that stayed at the Civic Center surrounded an NBC news van and with the fervor one might use to expel demons, they commanded in unison “Tell the truth! Tell the truth!” The van’s hood was marked with scribble and it’s windshield plastered with information leaflets. It was learned that General Electric who has a military contract with the U.S. government also owns NBC. The apparent conflict of interests was at the heart of this people’s unrest. Finally, a news anchor and his cameraman braved emerging into the swarm. After some heated exchanges, the anchorman submitted to recording a few people from the crowd as he challenged people to, and I quote, “stop talking shit” and speak candidly in an interview. The gesture received mixed responses whereas some appreciated the welcome to be heard and others yelled scathingly, “Is the camera even on?” Regardless of the local anchorman’s intent, these moments of truth remain at the merciless hands of top ranking corporate directors who, no doubt, will decide the fate of such footage according to the bottom line – ratings/commercial sponsorship/profit or lack thereof.

Ratings pushed the ironically sudden resignation of discussion leader, Bill Maher, for making an offhand remark on a TV show designed for offhand remarks titled "Politically Incorrect." Fortunately, however, I believe ratings also allowed, winner for best documentary, Michael Moore to take the stage in an unapologetic manner at the Oscars recently. Maker of “Bowling for Columbine,” a film exploring the violent nature of America, Moore launched:

His word/our fight flooded the mass media if for a few moments and we owe that in a bittersweet way to America’s ridiculous obsession with spectacle and gossip.

Songwriter, Gil Scott-Heron once described life in the 1980s as a “Hollyweird” B-Movie, whereas John Wayne, normally assigned to rescue America, had given way to another gun-slinging cowboy Ronald “the Ray Gun.” And this badge appears to have passed again to the current President, “W”. The televising of such sporty news titles as “America Fights Back” next to reality programming of some “Rambo” barking orders around a post-annihilated Afghanistan make obvious the B-Movies and fictitious times that Heron and Moore spoke of, media hype some hip-hoppers commonly refer to as “trick-nology.”

And as a side thought, I find it sadly coincidental that “Hollyweird” has in recent years amused us with a new generation of World War II movies that rejoice the classic victory of good over evil, while poignant films of a more recent Vietnam war that portray the wickedness of battle are forgotten, even ushered behind America’s Teflon curtain.

Extensive research shows that the American public will stick with a war -- and accept casualties -- only if they believe the objective can be won. War coverage is then essentially stripped of its investigative attributes and reduced to high tech cheerleading, dazzling the public with the glitz and bravado of dominant firepower and the latest technology.

This was evident in the first Gulf War, whereas coverage highlights focused on night vision capabilities and the grainy digital footage of some supposedly precision bomb falling into an airshaft and then detonating. The scene ran a lot like a simulated flight video game – an aerial view marked with cross hairs bearing no relationship to the human pilot that fired or of the devastated human lives below. This era also paved the way for the latest digestible vocabulary: friendly fire, post-traumatic stress, collateral damage, smart bombs and patriot missiles. Today, Gulf War II news is an advertisement for the most recent journalism toy - the television telephone - awing the public with the possibilities of real time images despite its limited use at the hands of major media to capture any meaningful content.

Consequently, most Americans' outlooks become compliant - rambling on in empty conversation of these technological advances yet remaining entirely ignorant about foreign relations, policies, and histories. Orville Schell, dean of the graduate school of journalism at UC Berkeley points out, "There's more than the battlefield, and we are utterly engrossed in the battlefield. Have you seen a program about how Saddam Hussein came to power? Have you seen a program that describes how Iraq came to be in the '20s and how it might fall apart in this moment?" Of course not and herein lies the first casualty of war: data, which carries the might to disturb, enlighten, and engage. If the power of information can be determined from the choices or actions it generates, then network media is clearly rendered impotent by virtue of it's sedated audience, the mainstream public.

Poet, William Blake dreamed of writing words with sharp corrosives to dissolve the realm of illusions and give way for complete and infinite truths. Magnificent revelations could unravel if news media would only aspire to such heights and pay homage to its own commandments, especially the classic journalism credo - Comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable. Meanwhile the gunslingers ride high, ass-backwards and unchecked, still haphazardly firing bullets into their neighbors as to pacify their “uncivilized” spirits. Their fans physically degenerate, intellectually atrophy, and spiritually deplete in front of the television. And the rebels, by hope and justice, must rattle the public from their complacent slumber through relentless large-scale direct action to effectively chant Babylon down. We cry through speech and placard to forcibly to fight the hype, democratize the media and stop this mad cowboy disease.