By: PeaceLoveSprayPaint | Feb 6, 2012 Featured
February 3, 2012, Media Tent, General Assembly, supposed to be National Day of Action against the NDAA. What isn’t more important than loudly objecting to the indefinite detention of American Citizens? The future of the Occupation of DC is understood, but why sit with our thumbs up our asses while the rest of the country marches against this heinous decision by our Congress and Our President.
March suppoesd to happen at Noon. 11:30 already. Are we a protest movement or are we campers?
“Out of the tents and into the streets” shouts one camper
“What the FUCK are we doing here, a fundraiser??”
We do have an acoustic folk singer here to help raise some funds, but a march seems to be the furthest thing of our minds. Another occupier is bitter and yelling, an argument ensues, but are we going to march? This is Indefinite Detention people. The Fourth Amendment is being outright violated. Does that matter, will we get it on? Will we ever be able to tell President Barakabushlite about how we have rights and we need to protect them? Wasn’t President Barakabushlite a Constitutional Lawyer? What the hell.
One o’clock. No March. Delayed till Two O’clock. Yea, great solidarity guys. Fine. We wait, and continue the damned fundraiser…
“out of the tents into the streets” “NDAA! WE SAY NO WAY! NDAA WE SAY NO WAY!!!!””
Marching, about 20 occupiers and a half dead journalist head up 14th street to Mcpherson Square.
Are these horns in support? Angry disgruntled drivers sick of Occupiers taking the streets???
Thumb up thumbs up!!!
Who’s streets? OUR STREETS!
Turning left at K Street. Meet the brothers and sisters of McPherson. I already somewhat tremble. I know this isn’t going to be pretty. National Park Police have been agitating this camp for days, no one has slept, the mood of the park resembles a zombie film. All of us have taken a metaphorical beating, but McPherson seems to have taken the brunt of it. It’s still a National Day of Action against the NDAA, so still we move to arouse action.
“Out of the Tents! Into The Streets!!”
A girl pulls me aside, seeing the press pass, her eyes tired, her voice cracking, she doesn’t seem well, and I already know what she’s going to say.
“I know you want this march, I know you feel well. We have been kept awake and terrorized by Park Pigs, most of us are lucky to have gotten 2 hours a day, some have been awake for over 100 hours.”
She coughs, wheezes, continues to talk
Can’t Keep Warm
This is Psychological Warfare, This is Guantanamo in DC”
I understand now. The idea is to tease us we can have a peaceful protest, but torture us in our parks till we resort to violence. That’s all the Police understand. They come in riot gear, and we bring flowers. That’s why the violence occurs.
“All of this ‘enforcement’ has brought greater change, greater unity and a stronger spirit not to give up. We are exhausted, we feel like we are dying, but we will not leave.”
We manage to pick a few more, and I try and bless the camp, as they are just really trying to maintain, it’s survival for us all, and I know their need for a break.
Picking up about 10, bringing us to about 40 protesters, we continue the two blocks to the White House, hoping President Barakabushlite will be home to hear us. Chanting, confusing the police as to our direction, we know they don’t, screw’em. Tourists bewildered.
A group of people, young and old, atheist and religious, anarchist to conservative, all mic checking our Secret Service entourage. I mean, they were founded to protect the Treasury, not the the president, he is secondary, they guard the money. And considering the job they are doing, very very bad at that.
Somehow this does all seem pointless, as I know Barakabushlite is sitting far away from our voices, the police tourists and DC residents ignore us, and as the only media presence covering this, I still know this is more important that flipping a burger, stocking a shelf, or pushing another paper across the desk. These are our rights being trampled, and these are what’s left of our rights being exercised. Join the occupation. It might be your last chance.