I spent a few weeks at the occupy movement in Oakland, camped out like
a forest ranger in the park by the civic center. It is normally called Frank Ogawa Plaza, but for the time of the protest it was always
referred to as Oscar
Grant Plaza.
Why? Who the fuck knows? The dead delinquent had nothing to do with Wall Street
or politics. I am told he was a victim of “The Man.” I thought he was shot by a
dumb cop who couldn’t tell the difference between his Taser and his Glock. A
lot of people tried to convince me what a noble fellow Oscar was. Each time it
came up I asked if they knew him personally; no one did. “How do you know what
an honorable and noble fellow he was?”
Yeah, there were Oscar Grant fans there. There
were a lot issues besides Oscar that were brought to the forefront each day.
Some were there to protest their growing student debt. I asked them, “Are you
still going to college?” Yes. “Why don’t you quit and stop going into debt?”
Invariably, the answers were that “The Man” will eventually forgive all student
debt so there was no need to drop out of school. “Dude, when this revolution is
done, no one will owe a dime on a student loan.” Shit, I paid my student loans years
ago. I should have let them ride and let “The Man” take care of them.
A typical day at the camp started just after
midnight when the first of two or more drunks/stoners fell on my tent, keeping
me wide awake. I never had a good night’s sleep there. I’d fall asleep for a
little while and then the guys in the tent next to mine would start making
love, usually about 3am. They sounded like hogs going at it. Their tent would
shake and the poles would rattle. Sometimes they had an audience who would
stand next to my tent and clap and cheer for their orgasms.
A couple of times I went to the community
kitchen to see what there was to eat for breakfast. There was a lot of organic
this and natural that cooking in pots. It wasn’t the food that I distrusted; it
was the people cooking it. It was hardly a sanitary affair. I am still
surprised there was not an E-Coli outbreak. I knew a lot of folks who had the
trots. That caused a real crisis for our toilet facilities. I noticed a few
guys and gals squatting like dogs on the lawn as the lines at the porta potties
were too long and the urge of their diarrhea too great! I think this pissed off
a lot of dogs as they spent their time trying to reclaim that territory with
their own poop.
The morning porta potty wait became a ritual. I
would often find myself with the same people in line day after day at sun up.
Sometimes we’d sing songs. There were a lot spontaneous chants that would
arise. “Get the fuck out of the toilet!’ was my favorite. It tended to move the
line along.
Well, in the mornings I usually took a walk to
McDonalds or a coffee shop for some eggs and good ol’ processed meats. I was
told by many that there was not enough food for all thru the community kitchen.
It ran out often. When it didn’t run out, the food was very bad. After a while
some of the nearby coffee shops closed during the protest and I had to walk
farther for lunch and dinner. I’d be damned if I was going to eat anything made
by “Natural Dan” and “Constantly Stoned and Happy Katey.” I was talking to
“Constantly Stoned and Happy Katey” while she was making a dinner dish one
night. She suddenly sneezed into the pot. She winked at me and said, “You
didn’t see that.” Yeah, I did. I nearly threw up my Big Mac thinking of all the
folks who were going to be dining on that later.
There were anti-war protesters there in droves.
“Out of Afghanistan”
read many signs. I talked to a nice couple who were singing some old protest
songs. The guy looked like a young version of Pete Seeger and the lady looked
like any other Dead Head/Phish Following Spin dancer. Should I say she had an
“earthy” scent about her? “We gotta pull our troops out now!”
Another group out there at Occupy was the Tree
Huggers contingent. This consisted of various backwoods types of hippies. Some
were more concerned with global warming, others were the true tree hugger who
literally save trees. One guy was very proud of the Redwood Trees he had
spiked. Spiking a tree is hammering a metal spike deep into a tree so when a
chainsaw hits the spike it breaks the chain injuring or possibly killing the
lumberjack. The most creative of this group was the fellow who occupied a tree,
calling himself an Ohlone Indian and declaring the tree his reservation or
tribal property.
Many of the people I describe above were
affiliated with socialism or socialist parties. There were people there who
called themselves socialists and some who referred to themselves as communists.
There were even those who called themselves anarchists and openly promoted the
violent overthrow of the United States Government. All three of these groups
advocated distinct and sudden changes to be made to our government. According
to many in these particular groups, the current system of government provided
through the U. S. Constitution is antiquated and unresponsive to the needs of
the 99%.
Yep, I said, “Hey, good luck with that!”
