Rainforest Action Network on Seattle - Blow by Blow
12/22/99
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RELAYED TEXT STARTS HERE:
Title: Rainforest Action Network on Seattle - Blow by Blow
Source: Rainforest Action Network via The Co-Intelligence Institute
http://www.co-intelligence.org/WTOblowbyblow.html
Status: Copyright 1999, contact source for permission to reprint
Date: December 22, 1999
Byline: Kelly Quirke
While we've all read quite a bit, here's a detailed blow by blow from
the streets of Seattle written by the Executive Director of
Rainforest Action Network and circulated to friends, forwarded here
with his permission:
Years from now, when we look back from the ecologically sustainable
society we have created and tell the story of the 20th century, I
think we'll all agree that the failure of the WTO Ministerial in
Seattle will be regarded as a turning point in history. And as I
mentioned in my brief message last week, the bards and pundits should
agree that the RAN/Ruckus family was the most important collection of
activists there during that electrifying week.
We were ensconced in an apartment building/convalescent home on the
southern reaches of Capitol Hill, an area known to locals as "Pill
Hill" because of all the nearby hospitals. Our place of residence was
a temporary home to elders and folks recovering from chemo and the
like, or to their visting loved ones. Thus, we conducted many a
meeting in whispers, perhaps the most truly amazing thing to come out
of that tumultuous week +. I myself was in Seattle for 12 days, and
the reason we chose these apartments was their proximity to the
action and the fact that they had kitchens - the theory being that
cooking for ourselves was far cheaper than not and more nutritious to
boot. Together with Ruckus, Amazon Watch and the witches of San
Francisco's Reclaiming collective,* we took over the floors, beds and
couches of 8 two-bedroom apartments in two catty-corner four-story
buildings a 20 minute walk from the Convention Center and, important
later, 10 minutes from the jail.
The grin I was to carry for much of the first week began almost as
soon as I deplaned and was quickly in the company of seven or eight
of the most talented activists I know. That number grew to over 30 as
the troops kept arriving. RAN itself had 15 full time staff
representing the organization in Seattle. And from those first
moments the relentlessness that, more than anything, characterized us
over the coming period was well in evidence.
I arrived on Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving. Those involved
in the crane climb and banner hang with which we planned to
inaugurate the week of action, plus Krikor Didonian, our office
manager and, for Seattle, our domestic logistics coordinator, were
already there.
We were already well-plugged into the DAN (Direct Action Network)
infrastructure, as one of its sponsors and primary financial
supporters.
DAN is the group that for months had been coordinating logistics,
housing, non-violence trainings, legal, and most of all, the opening
day "Peoples Convergence" at the WTO. By this time, though, DAN had
no plan to facilitate ways for relatively last-minute, largely
unaffiliated arrivals to fit into the Convergence. They expected
perhaps hundreds of people to arrive singly, coupled or in small
affinity groups to Seattle, with no notion of how to plug in. Help
was needed. So, together with Global Exchange and Ruckus, we
volunteered to coordinate particiption for these good people who had
arrived in Seattle with little more than their heartfelt commitment
to act for a better world.
For the next several days we worked to fit these folks into
meaningful action. This meant that Patrick Reinsborough, our
grassroots coordinator, and Jen Krill of the Old Growth campaign hung
in through hours, days, of DAN "cluster" meetings (DAN operates on
consensus), working on coordination for the Convergence. It's this
exhausting, unglamorous, sometimes maddening work of which
revolutions are made.
Come Saturday of Thanksgiving weekend, much of the rest of the
extended RAN family had arrived. Numerous people were plugged into
the action - as drivers, as security diversion, as grometeers for the
banner, as media runners - which was planned for dawn on Sunday
morning. But that night we hit an unforeseen snag. One of the
climbers was fearful of a new state law which made it a felony to
cross a fence into private property to commit a felony. Since we
theoretically could be charged with a felony (conspiracy to commit a
misdemeanor is a felony - yep, an Orwellian thought crime), she
decided at 11:30 that evening - five hours before we were to move on
the crane - to drop out of the action. Off I went to bed, wrecked and
disheartened.
When I awoke just after dawn hours later to a sky without a single
cloud, my heart sank even further. Our greatest fear for the action
was heavy rains and strong winds. Instead, Sunday was to be the
mildest day of our stay, with beautiful postcard views of Mt. Rainier
to the south.
But then, some interesting news. Westy, also a gut-wrenched early
riser, had driven down to the crane to discover that the site was on
the route of that day's Seattle Marathon, and was completely roped-
off. We would have been able to scale the crane, but we wouldn't have
been able to get the media right up close to it. Serendipity in
action? In the morning the climbing team met, shared their
disappointment, and got to work to figure out ways to salvage the
action. One by one our alternative climbers declined to join the
action until Ruckus director John Sellers heroically volunteered to
join the team. I think John said at the time that he had spent so
much time helping others prepare to get arrested in Seattle that he
had better run that risk too, and that this might be his only chance.
The action was on again, scheduled for the next morning, Monday,
November 29, or, in the parlance of the Seattle activists, N29.
I think you know the rest, and have seen the photos. The action came
off perfectly, and you needed your fingers and your toes to count all
the media. With the Space Needle as a backdrop, we unfurled a net
banner with two one-way arrows, labelled "DEMOCRACY" and
"WTO,"pointing in opposite directions. During a conversation with the
ABC World News Tonight producer on the scene he asked me why we chose
this crane. I explained that as activists we worked to be very sure
of our message and thought in symbols as well as words. So, I
explained, being from San Francisco we knew that the symbol of SF is
the Golden Gate Bridge, so in coming to Seattle...as I began to
gesture to the Space Needle he interrupted me with a smile, head
shaking, and said, "you guys know media."
That night, exhausted but supercharged (a physical state that would
be maintained for the rest of my stay, save a little down time in
jail), I went off to speak at the "People's Gala," our alternative to
the opening cocktail party being held that night for the WTO
ministers. After an opening band and many speakers, including Tom
Haydren and Jello Biafra, it was my turn to take the stage. But
minutes before I went on, I was informed that the climbers were out
of jail and were on their way to the show. So I stalled a bit and
finally went on stage, borrowing from Randy's book by waving a 3-foot
long monkeywrench up at the microphone. I started off with a shout of
"Welcome to the revolution!" and then called the climbers on stage to
an uproarious ovation. As they waved, arms overhead, to the crowd, I
shouted into the mike while pointing to the crowd, "If you do non-
violent direct action you can be heroes too!"
That was fun. The next day things got weird.
N30. You've all seen the images. Tear gas, rubber bullet guns fired
point-blank into the crowd, pepper spray, guns firing marble-sized
plastic orbs filled with pepper spray, designed to explode on impact,
guns firing wooden dowels (like tinker toys without the hole), Star
Wars, Robocop, gas-masked, full-armored, jack-booted storm troopers,
concussion grenades and rumors of non-lethal nerve gas. Armored
vehicles, smashed windows, burning dumpsters, blood and general
mayhem.
What you may not have heard, and what you must spread the truth
about, is this: Not one act of property destruction or violence was
perpetrated to incite the police violence. Without warning or
provocation they suddenly opened fire on the peaceful protesters
ringing the intersection of 6th and University who had successfully
prevented to ministers from entering the Convention Center and the
Paramount Theater, where opening ceremonies were supposed to be held.
They forced the protesters out and secured a lane for ministers to
begin moving through. By this time, the Ministerial was already
delayed by several hours. As people retreated, coughing, crying and
bleeding from the police armed offensive, rumors flew that the
opening of the Ministerial had been called off.
Over the course of the next hour, the police line gradually bullied
its way down a block to 6th and Pike and the entrance to the
Sheraton, where the WTO's Michael Moore was suppossedly trapped,
unable to get to the Paramount. The police batallion threatened a
lockdown of at least 30 people, chained to a platform in the middle
of the intersection. Hundreds of people sat down or milled around the
lockdown, determined to protect the immobile resistors from the
police assault. Vinegar-splashed rags (for tear gas) were torn and
passed about. Toothpaste (for gas) got daubed under the eyes. But the
police, with another lane near the Sheraton cleared and witnessing
the preparations, resilience and fortitude of the crowd, marched no
further.
It was during these several hours, since the shooting had begun, that
I was continually blown away by the actions of the protesters,
especially our folks. To cite just one example, one of our crew, Beka
Economopoulos, a student organizer from Philly, had found one of the
unexploded pepper-spray plastic marbles after a police barrage where
she witnessed a nearby seated protester have some teeth blown out by
their gunfire. We got Beka in front of as many cameras and media
notepads as we could find, and over the course of a very tense couple
of hours Beka gave countless interviews of what she had witnessed,
all the while displaying the plastic marble for view. When Beka was
not conducting these interviews she was at the front lines, directly
in the shadow of the troopers, exhorting the protesters over her
small bullhorn to sit, to sing, and otherwise keep the peace during
this intense situation.
In addition to Beka and scores more, I had the opportunity during the
mid-morning to spend some time with Anita Roddick, in her anti-WTO
poncho, analyzing the situation, sharing information, and otherwise
doing what she could along with everyone else. It was very heartening
for me to see her there in the thick of it with all the other
resistors, and a reminder that, as with other supporter/friends like
Bonnie Raitt, Anita is a partner activist. I can't think of many
other funders of this movement who would dare venture to the front
lines.
Earlier in the day the authorities had succesfully squashed DAN's
communications sysem. Again, we were there with the solution. Using
the Nextel radio/phones we had just purchased, we operated under the
bad guys' radar and effectively became the communications and
tactical squad for the rest of the day.
Finally, the labor march made it to the streets. Unfortunately
though, our friends at the AFL/CIO were determined not to get too
close to the action.
Despite our requests to head for the front lines, where we figured
they would change the tone and perhaps blunt the aggression of the
cops, the majority stayed their course, which was several blocks away
from the action. Beautifully, though, several thousand of the 40,000
workers broke rank and took part of the march up the streets and into
the heart of it.
Suddenly, what had been a tense stand-off became something of a
party, with labor marchers and direct actioneers mixing it up. During
the march we scaled the facade of a building on the route and dropped
yet another banner: this one graphic'd with the American colonies'
rattlesnake and the Earth and the message: WTO - DON'T TRADE ON ME,
underscored with "Don't Let Democracy Die In Seattle." Needless to
say, the marchers went nuts when they saw that. We were having fun
again.
After grabbing a bite, I dashed to the office of the Independent
Media Center, where Westy was preparing an end-of-day press
conference. With Randy as our spokesperson, we joined with Ruckus,
Global Exchange and a protester who displayed the handful of rubber
pellets he had been shot with, and proclaimed victory. The day, we
thought, was nearing its end, and we had shut down the WTO.
Whoa, as you undoubtedly know. As darkness fell, the looters took to
the streets and the police panicked. It got very eerie as concussion
grenades exploded, fires burned, the police shot at everything in
sight, and the streets were fogged with gas. Things were getting out
of hand, and, barking constantly into our radios ("No, don't go that
way, the cops are attacking!" "Turn around, they're clubbing people
from horseback down there!" "They're dropping tear gas from
helicopters!"), we gathered all our people up, many of whom were
resolutely still fighting to keep peace on the barricades, and
returned to our temporary home.
From there we watched the police assault on the residents of Capitol
Hill, much as you did. We regrouped, debriefed, dispatched
representatives to the meeting at DAN HQ, just on the edge of the
curfew zone, and planned our moves for the next day.
I'll pick up the pace of the tale from here. By the next morning, the
police had switched tactics. No longer would they shoot, it seemed,
now they would assault and arrest. Clueless in Seattle, to quote Tom
Hayden.
At the police chief and mayor's press conference we had watched on TV
late the night before, they announced that they were going to go
after the "ringleaders." Early the next morning, D1, John Sellers was
singled out and attacked by three police, leaving him with a cut over
one eye and a bruise and scrape on his forehead. They had clearly
targeted John, despite the fact that he had spent months working with
both protesters and cops to ensure that resistance to the WTO was
non-violent. This was the day that Clinton was going to speak, and
they were going to make sure that the protesters knew their place.
And at about 10am I found my place - pinned against a wall with over
a hundred others by National Guard dressed in Seattle PD armor,
watching them arrest another hundred peaceful, non-violent marchers
who had been herded and trapped in a small corner plaza downtown.
After being assured we would not be arrested (I still wanted to go
inside the Ministerial with my credential), we stood singing good old
traditionals like America the Beautiful, My Country 'Tis of Thee and
This Land is Your Land. Apparently we didn't sing too well because as
soon as they finished with those willing to be arrested, they pivoted
and rushed us, smashing us into the wall. Within 10 minutes I was
cuffed and in the bus. They drove us to a converted naval base, where
we spent the next 15 hours on the bus, eating and drinking only the
food and water we had on hand (they gave us none), doing interviews
and organizing the next morning's press conference until our cell
phones went dead (we were quite adept at getting out of the plastic
cuffs), singing, meeting (of course) and demanding to see our
lawyers.
Finally, at 1am, after moving the two busses away from view of the TV
cameras, they stormed the busses, and, pepper spraying those who
vigorously resisted, dragged us indoors into the facility. At 9am,
after stripping us of belts and shoelaces, we were shackled around
the waist, wrists and ankles and transferred to jail.
Many of the protesters were taken to the downtown Seattle jail, but I
was in a group of 30 men taken some 20 miles south of Seattle to
their new "justice facility" in Kent. By early Friday morning (D3),
troubled by no contact with my 7-year-old (who had seen some of the
carnage on TV and was wigged that both his parents were in jail) and
reasoning that with my credential I was more valuable outside than
another body practicing jail solidarity (the tactic by which you
refuse to cooperate with authorities and stay in jail until certain
demands are met, such as equal charges and treatment for all those
arrested) on the inside, I bailed.
Whisked back to the ranch by Westy, after an hour's sleep I was off
to the courthouse for the climber's arraignment. From there I
ventured for the first time into the Ministerial, where I was able to
join Randy and seven other colleagues in dropping a banner describing
the WTO's threat to forests. Unlike other international fora I have
attended, this kind of exercise of free speech is not tolerated here,
and all involved, save me, were whisked out of the meeting, their
credentials jerked. For some reason, after some saber rattling, they
determined that I was not worthy of being tossed.
I emerged at day's end to the Seattle Times' afternoon headline:
Summit Ends In Failure. We had won.
Still to come were more long nights in the streets, on the phone and
at the jail, where hundreds had set up camp in the courtyard,
demanding the immediate release of all the - obviously political -
prisoners. We kept the vigil until late Sunday night, when the last
of our people - and most of the rest - had been released. During this
time we heard dozens of horror stories of jail brutality which I will
not pass along here. Suffice it to say that there is a word to
describe the jail treatment - it's called torture. It seems that, as
determined as we were to demand our rights, the Seattle City
Attorney, Mark Sidran, was determined to teach the protesters a
lesson. With the number of civil suits planned and both Amnesty
International and the ACLU interested in the case, as well as a
demand for a Justice Department probe into the police and jail
fiasco, Mr. Sidran may have bitten off more than he can chew.
Two things have stayed with me since then. The first, tremendously
moving, sense is how RELENTLESS we were. Day after day, no matter
what they threw at us, we kept coming back, more determined,
creative, resourceful and passionate than ever. As I told Helene
Cooper of the Wall Street Journal, when the Romans fed the Christians
to the lions, they miscalculated. The WTO and Seattle authorities,
because of their attempts to squash dissent, have now created
lifetime activists, the WTO will forever mean tear gas, new alliances
have been galvanized, and, to paraphrase the Seattle Times' Sunday
headline, the tide is turning.
The other is that we had, in Seattle, a real-life glimpse of what
corporate-controlled reality looks like. Police in the streets, no
civil rights, martial law, jail brutality - we saw that what we jump-
started the week with: an action warning about the loss of democracy
- is not just activist rhetoric, not just some advertisement, but
real. We saw, all week long, as did the rest of the world, what they
will do to get their way.
But this is only the glimpse of A future, not THE future. All week
long we also saw us. In the streets, counting on each other, trusting
each other, loving each other. Determined, utterly determined, to
create a world where reverence is what we practice, with work that
fulfills us; building communities based on interdependence and
cooperation and nurturing relationships that breathe passion into our
lives.
Make it so.