Thursday, September 09, 2004
Not succeeding in staying away - a Convention-week diary
LOOKING AHEAD by Wally Dobelis
On Monday August 30th we were out of town, and, driving home through an immense rainstorm we heard stories of demonstrations on Union Square. No disturbances, though, despite reports by Bernadette Malone of the Manchester Union Leader, a gun toting ex-New Yorker who skewers Liberals in a way that would cheer the late William Loeb, founder of the paper. Her warnings, about New Yorkers misdirecting old lady visitors to disreputable places and hiring AIDS-laden prostitutes to lead delegates into unprotected sex and the like, was actually on the NRC web site. That last straw soured me, to the point of deciding to ignore the whole event.
No chance, though. Tuesday my terrorist-mania barometer, NY Stock Exchange, sported three kinds of security people around it, in addition to the armed cops. Motorcycle police, male and female, sat on heir bikes, on the ready, alongside Broadway. On Hanover Square, the Indian in the quilted aluminum wagon selling coffee-and-bagel for a dollar complained that breakfast trade was abominable (his words, w have high-class peddlers), confirmed by the building’s security guy, who proclaimed that everybody was out of town.
After dark, walking up17th Street in search of dinner , we were distracted at Irving Place by a squad of white NYPD paddy wagons, backing up from their positions around the Washington Irving High and moving west, towards Union Square, where there were expectations of scheduled disturbances . In back of them were two ordinary NY buses, filled with sitting passengers, seemingly stuck in traffic. Then someone in our crowd of watchers raised his crossed arms, and a few of the passengers stood up to show theirs, handcuffed behind their backs. The watchers shouted and applauded as the buses continued north. A knowledgeable white-beard offered as how he hadn’t seen anything like this since 1963. “They were laying down in traffic around Ground Zero, the Garden and Union Square, to symbolize death. Now they will be taken to a holding pen on West 18 Street [Pier 57, as we found out on Thursday], with ACLU lawyers standing by to make sure there are no more than 30 to a room. Crazy, it will cost their families $5,000, and they will lose their voting rights for a while. To what purpose?” I nodded, and we decided to settle for takeout.
On corner Third Ave, outside the Gramercy Cafe, there was small group of young men wearing do-rags and carrying hiking backpacks, one of them bare-chested, with two peace symbols tattooed on his arms. I inquired if they were real, and he offered to show me more. The kids were from the boroughs, and one of them had fixed up his room for a shelter, expecting many out-of-town demonstrators, with no takers so far. Their 7PM action was over, and they were looking for dinner, politely refusing an offer of a small stake towards a burger meal, and calling me “sir.”
Wednesday morning Wall Street was bereft of cops and guards, presumably readying for action elsewhere. The expected human chain of demonstrators carrying pink slips was nowhere to be seen, called off for lack od participants. Some marchers had shown up at Union Square, walking up Broadway, I was told when visiting the Park area, homebound. Farmers Market had acquired neighbors, to the South, a touching display of shoes - sneakers, kiddie footgear, high heels, boots - with a flipchart showing a current count of 976, a pair for each American casualty in Iraq. Signs identified the organizers as Eyes Wide Open, and American Friends Service Committee members in t-shirts proclaiming that Peace is Priceless hovered around. Other t-shirt, pamphlet and Socialism & Liberation distributors displayed their offerings, flanked by the usual portrait artists, Falun Dafa people and souvenir sellers, and in the middle of all that stood a tall craggy-faced man with an “In God and Bush we trust” sign in a well-worn harness. Jonathan Bingham, an itinerant street-corner evangelist, admitted that New Yorkers have been polite to him, although some demonstrators were offensive. He accepted Stop Bush handbill from a smiling NYC Central Labor Council member, but had harsh words for a woman who tried to press on him an anti-NRC button. When reminded about turning the other cheek, he rejected meekness as inappropriate in street action, suggestively hefting his big piece of sign-bearing lumber.
The bustle at Union Square ceased later at night, leaving the Market area wide open for the usual skateboard kids practicing their jumps, and, surprise! a squad of the motorcycle cops I had been looking for downtovn, sitting on their steeds with lights off, ready for the call.
I really could not stay away from the Park, it was infectious. On Thursday, Chase Bank-bound, I mingled. It was like a meeting of an affinity group, with people of various persuasions trolling for members. Veterans for Peace had a Vigil for the Fallen,with an all-day reading of the names, and prayers in support for our troops. They are a non-partisan anti-violence 503(b)(3) group, and donations are tax deductible, as contrasted with the partisan 527 groups, whose donors may not deduct their gifts for income tax.. There were “I Say No” people, and “Not In My Name” advocates, a group that facilitates letterwriting to elected officials, here and abroad. Policemen lounged around, plastic handcuffs on the ready, looking bored. I tried to get one as a contribution, to join my meager non-partisan Nixon-Lodge 1960 and Eugene McCarthy 1968 tokens, to no avail. For the interested, the cuffs are ¾ inch plastic strips with ridges, the tails to be wrapped around wrists and jammed into two small box traps, like department store price tag holders, non-removable until cut off.
On Monday August 30th we were out of town, and, driving home through an immense rainstorm we heard stories of demonstrations on Union Square. No disturbances, though, despite reports by Bernadette Malone of the Manchester Union Leader, a gun toting ex-New Yorker who skewers Liberals in a way that would cheer the late William Loeb, founder of the paper. Her warnings, about New Yorkers misdirecting old lady visitors to disreputable places and hiring AIDS-laden prostitutes to lead delegates into unprotected sex and the like, was actually on the NRC web site. That last straw soured me, to the point of deciding to ignore the whole event.
No chance, though. Tuesday my terrorist-mania barometer, NY Stock Exchange, sported three kinds of security people around it, in addition to the armed cops. Motorcycle police, male and female, sat on heir bikes, on the ready, alongside Broadway. On Hanover Square, the Indian in the quilted aluminum wagon selling coffee-and-bagel for a dollar complained that breakfast trade was abominable (his words, w have high-class peddlers), confirmed by the building’s security guy, who proclaimed that everybody was out of town.
After dark, walking up17th Street in search of dinner , we were distracted at Irving Place by a squad of white NYPD paddy wagons, backing up from their positions around the Washington Irving High and moving west, towards Union Square, where there were expectations of scheduled disturbances . In back of them were two ordinary NY buses, filled with sitting passengers, seemingly stuck in traffic. Then someone in our crowd of watchers raised his crossed arms, and a few of the passengers stood up to show theirs, handcuffed behind their backs. The watchers shouted and applauded as the buses continued north. A knowledgeable white-beard offered as how he hadn’t seen anything like this since 1963. “They were laying down in traffic around Ground Zero, the Garden and Union Square, to symbolize death. Now they will be taken to a holding pen on West 18 Street [Pier 57, as we found out on Thursday], with ACLU lawyers standing by to make sure there are no more than 30 to a room. Crazy, it will cost their families $5,000, and they will lose their voting rights for a while. To what purpose?” I nodded, and we decided to settle for takeout.
On corner Third Ave, outside the Gramercy Cafe, there was small group of young men wearing do-rags and carrying hiking backpacks, one of them bare-chested, with two peace symbols tattooed on his arms. I inquired if they were real, and he offered to show me more. The kids were from the boroughs, and one of them had fixed up his room for a shelter, expecting many out-of-town demonstrators, with no takers so far. Their 7PM action was over, and they were looking for dinner, politely refusing an offer of a small stake towards a burger meal, and calling me “sir.”
Wednesday morning Wall Street was bereft of cops and guards, presumably readying for action elsewhere. The expected human chain of demonstrators carrying pink slips was nowhere to be seen, called off for lack od participants. Some marchers had shown up at Union Square, walking up Broadway, I was told when visiting the Park area, homebound. Farmers Market had acquired neighbors, to the South, a touching display of shoes - sneakers, kiddie footgear, high heels, boots - with a flipchart showing a current count of 976, a pair for each American casualty in Iraq. Signs identified the organizers as Eyes Wide Open, and American Friends Service Committee members in t-shirts proclaiming that Peace is Priceless hovered around. Other t-shirt, pamphlet and Socialism & Liberation distributors displayed their offerings, flanked by the usual portrait artists, Falun Dafa people and souvenir sellers, and in the middle of all that stood a tall craggy-faced man with an “In God and Bush we trust” sign in a well-worn harness. Jonathan Bingham, an itinerant street-corner evangelist, admitted that New Yorkers have been polite to him, although some demonstrators were offensive. He accepted Stop Bush handbill from a smiling NYC Central Labor Council member, but had harsh words for a woman who tried to press on him an anti-NRC button. When reminded about turning the other cheek, he rejected meekness as inappropriate in street action, suggestively hefting his big piece of sign-bearing lumber.
The bustle at Union Square ceased later at night, leaving the Market area wide open for the usual skateboard kids practicing their jumps, and, surprise! a squad of the motorcycle cops I had been looking for downtovn, sitting on their steeds with lights off, ready for the call.
I really could not stay away from the Park, it was infectious. On Thursday, Chase Bank-bound, I mingled. It was like a meeting of an affinity group, with people of various persuasions trolling for members. Veterans for Peace had a Vigil for the Fallen,with an all-day reading of the names, and prayers in support for our troops. They are a non-partisan anti-violence 503(b)(3) group, and donations are tax deductible, as contrasted with the partisan 527 groups, whose donors may not deduct their gifts for income tax.. There were “I Say No” people, and “Not In My Name” advocates, a group that facilitates letterwriting to elected officials, here and abroad. Policemen lounged around, plastic handcuffs on the ready, looking bored. I tried to get one as a contribution, to join my meager non-partisan Nixon-Lodge 1960 and Eugene McCarthy 1968 tokens, to no avail. For the interested, the cuffs are ¾ inch plastic strips with ridges, the tails to be wrapped around wrists and jammed into two small box traps, like department store price tag holders, non-removable until cut off.
# posted by Wally Dobelis @ 5:16 AM 
