........
Therefore, I protest
The story of a 16 year old boy at the heart of the
WTO protest in Seattle, November 30th, 1999
The following is a true and accurate
account of events in Seattle November 30th, 1999
“I vividly remember the concussion
grenade that exploded five feet away.
It was by far the most demoralizing
experience ever. “
I first became aware of WTO from a
poster in the upstairs bathroom at
LWHS. It had an old Russian communist
style man with a hammer and talked
about trade. Immediately I had a bad
feeling about it. As I looked into
the issue I began to see how its
policies encouraged the gap between
classes to grow and its atrocious
effects on the environment. Soon after
I saw the poster came the protest. I
was 16. My mom had told me not to go
and made sure I got to school that day.
I had a good morning at Jazz
band (which was before school started)
and, reluctantly leaving my horn
behind, promptly headed out to catch
the 255 to Seattle afterward.
Stepping through the bus doors onto the
cold pavement at the convention
center, an intangible fog of
anticipation, joy, and apprehension hung
heavily in the air. To the north it
was business as usual; commuters on
bicycle headed up to capitol hill,
suits carrying briefcases walking
hurriedly to work, road maintenance
crews grinding away concrete. To the
south four or five double metro buses
encircled to Moore. The delegates
must have been using the Moore to meet
in, and half a dozen or so
protesters were on top of the buses
yelling at delegates who were
shielded by the buses and an emergency
barricade. I climbed on top of
the a bus that had only one other
protestor and joined her in asking
tough questions to the business people
behind their safety barricades.
After twenty minutes of holding signs
and yelling and having
conversations with private security
officers the air got thick with
pepper spray. Someone we couldn't see
was spraying massive amounts of
it into the air to try and get us to
leave. I had a gas mask and put it
on after it started to get bad. Since
the other bus-top protestors were
forced to leave and since I couldn't
articulate myself through the rubber
mask, I eventually climbed off of the
bus bringing with me a large cloth
sign that sported an eight foot tall
black hand and the word RESIST on
it. It was held together with a large
'T' made of 2x2, staples, and some
rope in a large loop at the bottom.
After that I headed west toward the
downtown area where I quickly fell in
line with the health and environmental
march, led by the sea-turtles.
(It is interesting to note that this is
yet another (and likely the
first) instance where Jill Cooper and I
were in the same place at the
same time without knowing each other).
INB was kickin out the beats and
everyone was groovin down the avenue.
The mood had flipped. With this
group, the fog was evaporated away, and
the joy of solidarity and
exultation of expression through dance
dominated the streets. It was a
truly wonderful experience. The
diversity of people and costumes lifted
my spirits much higher then the cliche
signs and listless chanting ever
could. IT was a new dimension of
protest opening before my eyes. It was
amazing to see people come together
against the most vile form of greed
and keep a positive attitude and even
enjoy themselves and their
solidarity! I marched around dancing
and holding my salvaged sign like a
sail in the wind (it was fairly windy).
Abruptly I decided to break off from
the main body and march the streets
alone. I began seeking out the places
where there were no signs of
protest, I didn't have to go far. A
few blocks away near Benna royal
hall there was nothing out of the
ordinary. People went about their
daily routines seemingly without a hint
of what was happening just blocks
away. The wind was blowing pretty hard
to the point of breaking the
wooden frame my cloth sign was attached
to. I unhooked the bottom and
let it fly freely behind me, its rope
whipping about this way and that.
Eventually, somewhere around Seneca it
caught on the neck of a man in
his early 40s'. This person was just
being dragged along and I oblivious
when someone else told me that I was
hanging this poor guy. Why he
didn't speak up or free himself is
beyond me, but I felt like a prick. I
was representing the protestors as
people who don't see what's going on
around them or how their actions affect
other people. I cut the rope so
that wouldn't happen again and
apologized to the man. The apology
falling on deaf ears and getting a well
deserved sneer in return I
changed course and headed back to the
protest.
I found a circle of protestors who were
holding hands and blocking
delegates from entering their
destination buildings. I joined hands with
an older woman to my left and an older
man to my right. The most
positive memorable part of the protest
was soon to follow. Not long
after joining the circle, a fat old
delegate came up and grabbed my left
hand, twisting it to try and break the
link. It hurt me to the point of
tears and as I was looking into his
hate filled eyes, weeping, I saw the
true face of fascism; I saw into the
evil, greedy soul of our enemy.
Standing strong in solidarity with
older people to my left and right I
was given the strength to resist his
attempt to break through our line.
All the while swearing at me to make a
sailor blush. I will never forget
that moment. The compassionate,
knowing eyes of the woman who held my
hand gave me the strength to resist him
and all he stood for. At
protests you always hear 'the people
united, will never be defeated'.
Honestly this kind of chanting bugs the
shit out of me, but in that
moment I was the physical embodiment of
that phrase. It was a powerful
and intimate experience shared with
people I didn't know.
An hour went by locked together with
the hundred or so people and it
became clear that we had won! It was
announced that the rest of today's
meetings were canceled because
delegates couldn't get to where they were
supposed to be. If it isn't obvious to
you, be aware that there were
some permits to march, but I'm sure
blocking the buildings such as we did
was illegal. It was the best act of
civil disobedience that I saw at the
protests, and it was the one that (in
my mind) accomplished the most.
But it was a small victory in the big
picture. Elated with the news
music erupted from everywhere and
several thousand people over many
blocks began dancing and celebrating
their triumph!
I noticed the blue lines getting
thicker. The cops had enough and were set on
controlling the peaceful demonstration.
The moment I realized their
intentions I walked right up to the
line and sat down directly in front
of them. At this point there were a
number of people doing the same and
the reality dawned on people. In order
to not look violent the dancing
and music stopped and everyone sat down
in defiance. Not a body was
actively moving about that I could see.
It took about a half hour for the cops
to get ready to move. I was sitting in
the front row against them. Without
warning or any orders to disperse the first
of many tear gas canisters were
launched. It hit the middle of the crowd pretty far away from me,
and people
behind us were scrambling about with
burning eyes and puking while snot poured out of their
nostrils. In the front few rows we
were holding fast in our sitting positions
chanting 'peaceful protest'. Then came
the concussion grenades, flying
well beyond us and further dispersing
the people behind us. It was chaos
as I craned my neck to look behind me.
People staggering blindly in the
streets, trying to find water to flush
their eyes out. People running
away from the grenades and trampling
those brave souls who chose to deal
with it all and remain sitting. By
this time only a handful of people
remained seated at the front of the
line. The cops began to move toward
us, stomping their forward foot and
brandishing batons and riot shields In their textbook riot cop
manner.
I will never forget the terrified
screams that flooded my ears, the uniform stomping of
combat boots on the indifferent
pavement, the explosions of concussion grenades and seething
spraying noise of tear gas canisters.
It was now that I stood, leaving
the few who remained sitting to get
scooped up like dog shit and slammed
onto the ground, zip tied, and beaten
even though they didn't resist. I
held my large sign high and stayed just
out of reach of their encroaching
line, encouraging everyone behind me to
resist! It was at this moment
that a barrage of bottles and rocks
came from behind me, a bottle
exploding in shards of glass a few feet
to my right. Some stuff hit the
riot shields and other stuff fell short
or behind the cops. Then a
barrage of rubber bullets and wooden
plugs came sweeping past me. I was
tagged in the knee by something that
ripped my pants and caused me to
bleed. Fortunately it just skimmed me
so I could still walk. I was so
close that I could have been hit hard,
but to the credit of the cops,
that was the only bullet that touched
me that day. Behind me about 20
yards some people had set a dumpster on
fire and were pushing it toward
me and the line. This all happened to
fast that I was in a sort of shock
and thought it best to continue my
defiance of the police by showing them
I wasn't afraid and keeping as close to
their line as possible without
being picked up. No one else seemed to
share my opinion. Behind me and
in front of me lay a pissed off mass of
people that was intent on forcing
the opposing side to retreat. I was
caught in the middle; unwilling to
take up arms against the police and
unwilling to back down from
confronting them. I decided that
staying in the middle of this urban war
zone was a very dangerous place to be.
I began backing up to join the
opposition when A concussion grenade
was detonated less then five feet
away from me. It was a blinding flash
and a horrendous boom which left
me hearing mainly ringing and far away
the muted sounds of the battle
that was raging on around me. I was
stunned to the point where
everything slowed down. Just like in
the war movies where everything
gets slow motion and sound is muted I
felt like nothing was real around
me, and I withdrew into myself and was
only vaguely aware of the
pandemonium on all sides. I took steps
but I didn't know where I was
going or what I was doing. I was
completely done with everything at that
point. I could have laid down and
slept right then and there hoping that
I would wake up at home. Some tear gas
got into my bleeding knee from a nearby cannister and the
pain pulled my consciousness to the
moment. I was suddenly aware of
everything around me again, and
although my hearing was totally shot
Things regained their original speed
and I could think clearly. I kicked the canister into the line of
cops hoping the pain would go away if the teargas did; It did not.
My only
thought was to get out of that
situation. I was so demoralized that I
just wanted to sit down and not think,
just have a cigarette.
I wove my
way through a rabid group who were
throwing everything they could and
destroying everything trying to litter
the streets to stop the cops'
progression. I could not participate,
I felt hopeless. In less then a
few hours I had gone from celebrating
ecstatic joy at our victory shutting
down their meetings for that day to
being utterly and completely
defeated. I don't think many people
have ever felt utterly and
completely defeated. There's no way to
describe it. For me it was like
a combination of hopelessness, getting
beat up, dumped by your one true
love, having everything you love taken
away from you and kicked out on
the streets in the freezing rain.
Obviously it's not that bad, all that
happened was a very close explosion and
some tear gas and a rubber
bullet. But never before have I felt
so hollow, so empty as after that
experience.
I realized that the victory today
didn't mean shit. I
realized that no matter what happened
and how much news coverage we
received the WTO would have its way. I
also realized how important
solidarity is. I have never felt as
strong as holding hands in that
circle or dedicated people. The
protest and resistance became a great
source of inspiration to people all
over the world.
In the end, out of
the violence and pain came a great deal
of respect and courage for others
to emulate. As I sit on a brick
planter several blocks away from the
action an older black man in his 60's
must have known from the look on my
face what had happened. He came up to
me and told me to 'hang in there,
and always fight for what you believe
in.' He wasn't a protestor, but perhaps he had been many years ago.
He,
like many Seattle-ites, left work to
find his beloved city in turmoil and, like me, was caught in the
middle of a battle. He found the
brutal face of oppression for perhaps a
second time peeking into our
town. Perhaps he was speaking from
experience, or perhaps from
compassion - I will never know. But
his words stay with me to this day.
He taught me in one sentence the
importance of perseverance in the
presence of evil. He showed me the
necessity to resist all forms of
fascism no matter what the cost, and
above all the need for compassion and reassurance to
those who have lost heart.