The next morning as early as six am people begin to descend on the warehouse that contains hundreds of your imprisoned friends. It starts modestly with only a few dozen people on the sidewalk, shouting slogans and holding signs. The police are aware of your presence and at first they pay little attention to your peaceful picket. But before long there are handfuls of people arriving and soon there is no more room on the sidewalks.
Tentatively a brave few test the resolve of the police and venture into the streets. You think you recognize some of their faces from the protest yesterday.
“WHOSE STREETS?” they shout encouraging others to follow.
With a little hesitation you take up their invitation and step out onto the pavement.
“OUR STREETS!” you yell.
Your courage is instantly rewarded as others follow suit and together you’re able to take the intersection that leads to the prison. By now there is already a steady stream of new people pouring in, and the police are starting to look edgy. Songs of freedom and redemption fill the crisp morning air as the sun rises overhead and your numbers swell. With each passing minute the riot cops standing guard at the gate are becoming more and more agitated. They are soon vastly outnumbered and call for more reinforcements. The order comes people to leave the vicinity and disperse.
This is the moment of truth. Is there the critical mass of people to defy the order? The protesters on the front lines stand firm, holding hands and singing. The tranquil morning sunshine betrays the tension in the air. There is a moment of hesitation where nothing happens. You can feel your heart beating in your chest. Suddenly the police start making arrests, dragging people away one by one, yet the crowd remains resolute. Dozens of people are still arriving every minute and there are far more of you than there are police. This is unity, this is people power, this is collective strength, and the people united will never be defeated.
The cops can see this and are trying hard to break your spirit. You see a young hippie with a shirt that reads power to the peaceful, their dreads are soaked with blood as they’re clubbed to the ground and hauled away. But with every arrest another from the crowd steps forward to take their place. As you walk towards the front line, you try and remain calm but your inner voice is panicking. Just then you hear a loud air horn coming from behind. You turn around to see a brightly coloured school bus slowly making its way through the crowd towards the gate. It pulls right up to the line of police before coming to a complete stop. The rear emergency exit swings open and out pops a troop of clowns wearing gasmasks and beating drums. A bugler jumps out, the cavalry has arrived. You’ve won the first battle, now it becomes a war of attrition, a matter of who has the resources, the determination, and the staying power to outlast the other.
A general assembly is called right in the middle of the street. The main purpose to pick a spokesperson for the group to negotiate with the police who just don’t understand non-hierarchal organization. You elect two people, a man and a woman, to communicate on your behalf. Everyone agrees that they shall have no decision making powers and must consult the general assembly before making any commitments. After speaking with the senior officers in charge of the prison, the representatives report back to the group.
“The police consider this occupation an illegal gathering. They will not release any prisoners, and they say that if we do not clear the streets voluntarily, they will have no choice but to resort to force.”
“The first thing you have to know about police crowd control is that police have no control over crowds,” speaks a loud confidant voice from the crowd. “Most of their operations are purely psychological. They make us feel weak, and make them appear strong. They prey on our individual vulnerabilities, they try to instill fear in us to break the bonds that unite us. If they had the ability to disperse this gathering they would have done so already. They have made it clear that they have no desire to negotiate with us and yet their senior officers have initiated negotiations with our representatives. They know they’re in a weak position. They know they can’t outlast us in a standoff. And so they try to intimidate us with tough words. I say we call their bluff! We’re going to stay right here until they release the prisoners! That’s what we came here for, and that’s what we’re going to do!”
A massive cheer erupts from the crowd. People are feeling pretty bold after the first victory. Someone else suggests that we make as much noise as possible so the prisoners inside can hear. The group starts up a chant and people settle in for the long haul. Around noon, more vans arrive with huge pots of steaming hot soup, tea, and sandwiches. An army marches on its stomach, you think as you sip your tea. We have this building completely cut off. I wonder how their supplies are holding up inside?
News comes a little later that there has been another protest at the police station and many more people have been arrested. Busloads of prisoners have been taken and are heading your way in a convoy. Word has it that the protest at the station turned violent when people started throwing rocks and breaking windows. The police have lost their patience for protests and are growing a lot less tolerant of lawlessness. The news sends people scrambling to fortify the outer flanks of the demonstration. Bikes are locked together to form a barrier and a heavy chain is strung across the street, effectively blocking the way for vehicles. You grab your sign and prepare to use it as a shield if necessary.
Moments later the convoy arrives, accompanied by a squad of riot police. They march towards you in military formation looking fierce and unflinching. Fear runs down your spine as they draw near your makeshift barricade, making your arms and legs feel heavy. You gulp down a breath of air and take a sidelong glance at your comrades holding the front line. An older activist with a long grey ponytail smiles back at you. Their eyes seem to say “Have courage my friend.”
But you feel woefully unprepared. You can only wait for the cops to make their move, with your heart in your throat. You stare at the police, who stare back at you from behind their gas masks and riot shields. The exhaust from their idling engines combines with the smog of the city, and time seems to come to a complete stop beneath the mid-day sun. Beside you the activist with the ponytail is still grinning like they know something.
“What are you smiling about?” you ask “Can’t you see we’re all about to get our asses kicked.”
“I don’t think we are,” they say. “There have already been two mass arrests. They must be using every cop on the payroll already. They can’t afford another drawn out confrontation?”
The thought lifts your spirits a little, and then it occurs to you.
“Do you mean that if it wasn’t for those people smashing windows at the police station we wouldn’t be standing here right now?”
“It’s possible,” they say
The afternoon wears on and the staring contest continues. Squads of riot police arrive but do not engage the crowd. A large fire is built, tea is served, and songs are sung. News helicopters hover in the sky overhead. The police surround you on all sides, who are in turn surrounded by an ever increasing crowd of curious gawkers, spectators and onlookers. In the center of it all lies the prison. Figuratively and literally the prison has become the focal point of all the people’s rage against an unjust system.
“This is so symbolic,” says your grey haired friend with the ponytail.
“There’s a little more than just symbolism going on here,” you respond. feeling a bit insulted, as though they’re belittling the situation. “We have quite literally shut the police out of their own prison. A prison that contains hundreds of our comrades.”
“I didn’t mean it that way?”
“Huh? How did you mean it?”
“It’s like an allegory for the system as a whole. There’s an awful lot of violence needed to prop up the capitalist economy. From the cops who enforce property laws to the military who protect resources and national boundaries, these institutions are what allow the rich to maintain their ownership of, well pretty much everything. In day to day life this casual brutality is usually hidden but today it’s exposed for all its ugliness.”
“So we win the propaganda war.”
“Which is important because the public will not tolerate living in a violent oppressive society. They will only tolerate it if they believe the narrative of a democratic society.”
“But now that illusion is broken. You can’t pretend that the police serve the public when they’ve got hundreds of people locked up and they’re beating people down in the streets. This is clearly a corporate police state… unless they let us all walk free.”
“Exactly, either way we win. They’ve boxed themselves in.”
You think about the moments in history when mass movements challenged the established truth and changed the world forever. The Union struggle, Women’s Suffrage, the March on Washington, the Battle of Seattle, the War in the Woods. You allow yourself to imagine what victory would look like. Then, cupping your hands in front of your mouth you start singing Pete Seeger’s We Shall Overcome. Before the end of the first verse other people begin to join in. The lyrics are powerful and moving yet simple enough that anyone can sing along.
“We shall live in peace,” you shout, and people change the lyrics for the second verse.
“We are not afraid…” by the third round everyone is singing along, a chorus of several hundred voices united as one. You feel overwhelmed by this powerful demonstration of strength and defiance in the face of state oppression.
You can hardly believe what happens next: Without any warning at all, the riot shields part and out from between them walk the prisoners, stunned, tearful, joyous looks upon their faces. People race to embrace them, strangers hugging strangers, intimate symbolic powerful bonds of comradery.
Original photo by: Jackman Chiu