Flagpole Magazine: Colorbearer of Athens, GA Running Afoul
News & Views You Can Use
Feb 2, 2005
City Pages
At The Capitol
Barrow On The Job
On Jan. 20, 2005, purple clouds blanket a dawn sky, then give way to a sherbet sunrise over the United States Capitol. Last night's snow devolves into slush, but the air holds a promise of bitter cold. The morning of the first Presidential inauguration since terrorism, the Capitol is calm though tightly guarded. The burnt remnants of road flares litter intersections, and many Capitol Hill policemen are working double shifts. Four hours before President Bush is scheduled to lay his hand on a Bible, people with their color-coded tickets line up two blocks deep to secure seats.
The Washington Monument, long closed for renovations, is undergoing a "comprehensive security enhancement project," according to its website. In anticipation of all the out-of-towners and whatever nefarious beings that may piggyback with them, manholes are welded shut, rooftop snipers are deployed and helicopters have flown all night long. ABC News reports that 6,000 police officers from across the country are on hand along with 7,000 military troops: the cover of Thursday's edition of the Washington Post shows Miami police making snow angels.
In the Cannon House Office Building, furniture comes from downstairs in the basement: couches and tables, whatever's down there, whatever's left. Sometimes the outgoing Congressman just leaves the office furnished; it's all very informal like that.
In 226 Cannon, the desk and modern black leather couches in Athens' new Congressman John Barrow's office are arranged in a concise and simple utilitarian fashion, leaving space open for discussion and movement. Barrow's communications director, Harper Lawson, says he thinks the furniture was one of those left-behind situations, but it doesn't matter. The room has a sort of serenity, a far cry and a welcome shelter from the cold inaugural madness outside: helicopters, protestors, barricades and snow. In our modern Rome, a district of rulers, assassins, beggars and spies, the throngs have gathered to witness the swearing in of George W. Bush for the second time.
Congressman Barrow greets with a wide smile and outstretched hand, motions toward a seat, and in a stream of festive hurry (he has to report to the House floor in 15 minutes), talks about his new job (everybody's been really accommodating), his new home away from home (he is lucky enough to have found a place near the Capitol) and his new world outside of Athens. Things have been going well. If anything about all this is unsettling, it is the swearing-in of the freshmen Congressmen followed by a two-week window until the session commences: an orientation period, a lottery for office space and everyone has been welcoming and gracious. "No hazing, no paddling, no shortsheeting, no wedgies," he says with a chuckle.
He's out of Washington almost as much as he's in. During a whirlwind of activities over the Martin Luther King, Jr. holiday, Barrow visited three cities in his district, gave two speeches, cleaned a cemetery and spent time with his children.
Barrow and other members of the Democratic Party are outnumbered and in many ways outgunned; they are the minority. How does he feel about this, is it daunting? Will it affect his legislative approach? He stops for a moment, unfazed by the question but careful to pluck the right words from his repertoire.
"If the attitudes of the people you represent are not represented in the majority, sometimes you have to be in the minority," he says. "The minority is incredibly important in the political process. You have no power to reward your friends or punish your enemies - you have to stay on the ball… And it is vital to the process, and it is vital for the minority to speak with a voice that can be heard. There is reason, and then there is dissent."
Thomas Wheatley
Thomas Wheatley is a local writer.
DC Or Bust
Anarchist Diary
Thomas Wheatley
The Trip: Before leaving, we went to Daily and stocked up on bagels, bananas, almonds, peanut butter and hummus: mmm. We left Athens at about 1 p.m. The trip was long, but we had fun talking and exchanging stories. We arrived in Washington, DC at around 11:30 p.m. and drove around in the snowy streets for 45 minutes, looking for somewhere to park. We couldn't find a hostel or church to sleep in, so we parked outside the garage entrance to the metro station and fell asleep. It was cold.
Power Ranger: We woke up at around 6 a.m. and parked in the garage. We went into the metro station (L'Enfant Plaza) and got coffee. A vendor was selling stylish black ski masks for $5, and since it felt like 20 degrees outside, I bought one. It made me feel a bit like a power ranger (pterodactyl!). We took a metro train to McPherson Square and parted ways. I met some guy named Jay, and we walked to Malcolm X Park together.
Malcolm X Park: When I arrived at Malcolm X Park, it was almost 9 a.m., and different groups of people were starting to assemble. Several people were putting together cardboard coffins. Since I have so much UGA pride, I joined up with the expanding group of people holding red and black flags. They were mostly nice folks. We were all introducing ourselves, anticipating our day, and discussing our plans for direct action. They were from all over the place: Baltimore, NYC, DC, Chicago. One of them gave me hand warmers, which was nice.
I couldn't feel my feet, and I really had to pee. It took me 20 minutes to find the mystical underground restroom. The lock malfunctioned and I was locked in a stall for a few minutes.
Fascist Youth: At around 10:30 a.m., I heard a commotion and noticed a small group of nicely dressed, young, white men. They wore patriotic insignia and held up signs with right-wing slogans. An activist next to me explained that these were "The Protest Warriors," a young collective of right-wing thugs who show up regardless of the demonstration just to harass demonstrators. People began to gather around to see what was happening. Some anarchists from my affinity group (the anti-fascist bloc/ anti-authoritarian bloc) were engaged in a shouting match with the protest warriors. The confrontation escalated, and the protest warriors ran away (just as nature intended). Everyone gathered at the edge of Malcolm X Park to wave them off.
The March: Massive crowds lined up for the march through downtown, and all began chanting. The march left Malcolm X Park at 11:30 a.m. After a few blocks, the anti-fascist bloc (us) split off from the main march and began our own route towards Logan Circle. When we arrived at Logan Circle, we waited for other groups of anarchists to arrive. Finally, at about 12:30 p.m., a group of NY anarchists arrived with a 20 ft. x 6 ft. horizontal banner that said "Right Wing Scum, Your Time Has Come." They moved to the front of the formation, and we commenced marching (300 of us) toward the parade route.
Roxanne Harpe
Direct Action: Our action plan was to break through the police barrier to allow people into the route to block the parade. A nervousness combined with excitement kept our hearts pounding as we approached the site of action. An entire block of street perpendicular to the parade route was blockaded by concrete slabs to keep traffic out. An anarchist in the front said something into a walkie talkie, and then yelled "Go!" and we all climbed over the concrete blockade. The barrier was now in view. Yellow tape and storm troopers stood between us and the route. (An aside: "storm troopers" are MPDC, or Metropolitan Police of DC. They're muscular people in body armor, helmets and shields, with an assortment of weaponry. They're intimidating.)
About 30 feet from the barrier, people yelled, "Tighten up and get ready!" We all locked arms. "Go!" People on the other side who saw us coming from a distance began to cheer! We charged the barrier and clashed.
Troopers Attack: The storm troopers immediately lifted their clubs and began smashing heads. They tore the banner to shreds and began to use tear gas and pepper spray (not little cans of pepper spray, big crowd control guns that shoot pepper spray 30 feet, much like a super-soaker). This one big guy in the front was getting a mega-dose of pepper spray amidst the police clubs beating him senseless. He picked up a long pipe left over from the destroyed banner and began to defend himself. I got pepper-sprayed in the face and covered my eyes. Luckily, my ski mask covered most of my face, but my eyes were in hell. We managed to block the route for about two minutes, but we ran away when the storm troopers multiplied. They chased us down two blocks or so. I was choking on all the gas in the air and keeping 10 paces in front of the front row of storm troopers. It appeared to be about 200 storm troopers with weapons drawn chasing 300 activists down the street.
Food Not Bombs: In the midst of all the snowy mayhem, a guy ran out into the middle of the chase (behind me, in front of the storm troopers) with a big box. Covering his face, presumably because of all the painful chemicals in the air, he began to shout: "Free vegan sandwiches! Come get one!" He made me smile.
Confusion: Now that our anti-fascist bloc was sufficiently scattered, we had a hard time finding out where to regroup. Police were everywhere, and we didn't want the meeting place to be obvious. No one had any idea what was going on. I ran into some people I know from Athens, which brightened my day.
Eventually, it got around that the new meeting place would be at the corner of Seventh and H Streets at 2:30 p.m. I walked there with a group of people, and sure enough, about 200 people had amassed; red and black flags still waving (more mysterious bouts of UGA pride - he he he).
Action Again: Direct action number 2 was similar, but more risky. Our plan was to block the route of the motorcade. We marched several blocks to the route, which was guarded by large, metallic temporary walls. Some people picked up a large wooden pallet from a construction site (which made me really nervous), and decided to use it to ram the temp wall down, allowing us to run over it. As we approached, we tightened up and rushed the wall. We stopped before we got there, because onlookers were in the way, and we didn't want anyone to get injured.
They started to clear out and we tried again. The storm troopers sprayed the hell out of us, but couldn't chase us this time because they were on the other side of the temp wall. They told us to clear the streets, and we didn't. We stuck around and began to chant: "Let the president greet the people!" A dense fleet of storm troopers on horseback began to approach from the other side and started to surround us. We slipped through a clearing around the corner to another side of the route. The motorcade went by unblocked, but sped up when it passed us.
Cathy Cain
Stupidity: A couple of activists took it upon themselves to do something genuinely stupid. As we stood outside the route, some Bush supporters started mocking us from the fourth story balcony of a ritzy hotel. They drank champagne, waved Bush/ Cheney banners and gave us the "four more years" gesture. People at the bottom in turn began to heckle back. It was a boring, pointless heckling match. The two activists with the stupid idea began to carry out their plan. They took apart a sign, wrapped cloth around the end of the stick, and lit it on fire. The lighter of the two got onto the other one's shoulders and set fire to the hotel draperies.
Idiots! This an example of rage taking over reason: an action with no positive purpose that puts hundreds of people at risk. Upon noticing the little red dot of a laser scope appear on her back, everyone yelled at her to get down.
Fortunately, the hotel manager came outside and extinguished the flames. Snipers were watching from every other rooftop.
Violent Arrest: As some of us were preparing to regroup for another action, a cop ran up and pushed the activist standing next to me, entirely unprovoked. Being only about 95 pounds, she flew into a storm trooper, who feigned a look of shock and threw her onto the pavement. Two more police ran up and tackled her with handcuffs. Those of us who saw what happened stood there in shock for a second, and then got really angry. We surrounded the perpetrators and started to demand answers. "What did she do? Why is she under arrest?" The only answer I got from a storm trooper is "I don't have to talk to you."
The victim started to shout, "I didn't do anything! Let me go you fucking pigs!" She spit on their shoes. We followed them and confronted them all the way up the block. "Let her go!" we all screamed. They beat us back with their clubs. I kept screaming in disbelief. We all felt helpless. We wanted to help her, but we couldn't. A bunch of unarmed activists don't stand a chance against storm troopers. It's impossible to help the victim when the attackers are state thugs with helmets and weapons. They had a license to push, shove, beat, spray or kill - all with the blessings of the state and its capitalist leaders.
I had my eye on the one who started it: the pig who singled out an unarmed activist to make an example of her. I was so angry and helpless that I felt like I was floating above my body. Just as I was weighing the pros and cons of jumping on his back, my sweatshirt tightened around my neck and a storm trooper picked me up by the hood and slung me aside. After several more pokes and jabs with their clubs, their commander told them to arrest me if I so much as looked at them again.
For a second I couldn't move, and they were all staring at me. They went out of focus, and in the background I saw more state thugs shoving a struggling activist into the back of a van. She kicked and flailed and cried. The storm troopers came back into focus. I lowered the eye hole in my ski mask so they could see my mouth and slowly mouthed "Fuck You." A pointless expression of anger and frustration, right? What would you have done?
Union Station: It was getting dark, and the anti-fascist bloc began the march to Union Station. Union Station is where the elite from the inaugural celebration were having a Republican Ball. The march was long, and we were all getting grumpy and tired. Some storm troopers on motorcycles zoomed up behind us and arrested another example. People started to retreat out of panic. A lone anarchist stuck around the sight of the arrest and began to shout at the other anarchists, "What are you doing? One of us just got arrested! We can't just walk away! We're supposed to support each other! I'd rather the police attack us than abandon a friend! What kind of anarchists are you?" I agreed with him, and so I ran back to the arrest site. The majority kept walking, and so the rest of the march was filled with arguments mixed in with chanting. We occupied a street and blocked off all the limo traffic. (We cleared out of the way for ambulances and such.)
As we began to approach the DC Mall area, a voice came over a loudspeaker and sounded out from behind: "You are approaching the District of Columbia Mall. This is your first warning to clear the street. You are in violation of… " We didn't clear the street. After about four of those warnings, storm troopers on motorcycles zoomed up alongside us and ran us off the street with their front tires. The air was full of burnt rubber particles, and we were all choking. By then we were at Union Station.
The End: Demonstrations were ongoing in front of Union Station. Guests to the ball covered their faces and quickly ran past the crowd toward the entrance. Security was really thick, so, needless to say I couldn't get in. The temperature was dropping rapidly, and I started to realize how tired I was. I took a train to our meeting place and called my friend Angela from a pay phone. We met up at about 8:30 p.m. and left DC. All the way home, Angela and I shared stories and laughed.
I'll never forget these events.
Trevor Almon
Trevor Almon is a UGA student.
Voices Of Protest
Movements Of Life
Roxanne Harpe
You've probably heard the statistics by now: 6000 police, 2500 military troops, a 48-mile no-fly zone, 100 closed blocks of downtown DC (about $15 million for security alone), $40 million for the after party, and one family Bible. It was an anticipated event for all sides.
There is a certain poetry to protest. The trick is how you can get your message across in a phrase. ISO (International Socialist Organization) sold printed signs at entry gates, one of which read, "Money for jobs and education. Not for war and occupation." You know, just in case a Republican had a change of heart. Most were the do-it-yourself kind, like "No War No Empire," a direct statement against the Project for the New American Century — the think tank chaired by William Kristol, whose goal is the establishment of a global American empire.
As in any major protest, it's difficult to fully ascertain a view of all the forces at work. There are stories of a flag-burning, and an attempted rush at a security gate, and a big hippie fest where protesters disrobed. Ten arrests were made during the inaugural ceremonies. I wanted to make it over to the Anarchist Resistance, because there was reportedly "music, dance and art," but checkpoints made it hard to move around. (I had to walk three blocks to use the bathroom at the courthouse.)
For those of us on Seventh Street, there was a strange mixture of protesters and supporters lining the parade route. There was a constant battle for a voice, as supporters shouted "Four more years!" over and over, while protesters shouted back "No more wars!" At protests, I like how chants get started, whether by spontaneity or preparation. There were chants to end racism: "Blacks (clap) Latinos (clap) Arabs-Asians-and-Whites (clap) no racist war no more no more, defend our civil rights! (clap)" And general anti-Bush chants: "George Bush! We know you! You're a thief! A killer, and a liar, too!"
I waved hello to a sniper in one of the windows of a closed building who was overlooking the crowd through his binoculars. This is really where America is united under one cause, and it's amazingly pro-life.
Bush has made it illegal to use sticks on signs (as they could potentially be used as weapons), which some people cured by wearing theirs. One of the most rewarding things to see was this group of women in their mid-60s to early-70s holding up pink signs in the shapes of slips to "Give Bush the pink slip." (Rock on, girls!)
Then there were these two demonstrators performing a puppet show on the street dressed as Cheney and Bush guzzling down a 22-ounce bottle of motor oil smudged in red paint. There was this aspect of protest that was very festive. It definitely gives credence to the idea that what we want to do is creatively and politically strive for the same thing: a striking contrast to Bush supporters, many of whom were clad in grave black trench coats, neckties and pearls. Cowboy hats are in this season and they're kind of cool, but I mean you didn't see many Republicans holding up homemade signs rooting for their guy.
I have to admit, I have doubts about the effectiveness of protest in America and not entirely without consensus. Sleater-Kinney sings this song on their last album called "Combat Rock," and Brownstein asks, "Where is the protest, where izzuh… the protest song?" If you listen to music there's a general discomfort in the way of social organization, especially in comparison to Dylan and Lennon's generation. Maybe not outright cynicism, but wanderlust to fill a void. Today isn't like it was in the '70s, and it seems that some of the sentiment, although noble, is a bit antiquated. I thought some of the signs were a bit over the top, like, "Why not start a Department of Peace?" (Sorry, had to give a sideways glance at that one.)
As someone once told me, the role of protest has changed. The effects have become more personal. It seems that no one on the protesting side was actually expecting to stop the inauguration.
On the trip back, I had four layers on and the heat was blowing on me. I felt like a smooshed banana at the bottom of a grocery bag, way in the back corner in a minivan full of eight. Was the 10-hour trip worth it? I definitely can't say I regret going. While there are other means of resistance, using one's voice to express discontent with government is a human's natural-born right. As a friend of mine said, people did not die for a flag. If anything, it's an excuse to travel to different parts and meet new people that share your thoughts, and the least I could say is that I had fun.
Gandhi said that happiness is when "what you think, what you say and what you do are in harmony." By the same token, maybe revolution is the same way. It's all got to do with time and what you do with it. It reminds you of what Henry James once told fellow writer Edith Wharton, "Keep making the movements of life."
Cathy Cain
Cathy Cain is a UGA student and freelance writer.
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