There has been growing concern that the Democratic Party will surreptitiously appropriate the Occupy Wall Street movement. However, Chris Hedges assured readers recently that the great groundswell of protest growing in the “squares, parks and plazas across the nation in defiance of the corporate state” are in no danger of being co-opted. He asserts that rather than power elites, it is everyday citizens alone “who hold out the possibility of salvation”.
Hedges may be right in this regard. However, in Portland, Oregon’s Occupy Portland movement there exists the genuine possibility of hijacking. This threat is not so clandestine either. Whatever hidden maneuverings the power elite may be conducting, there are some very overt groups that seems to be monopolizing the popular demonstration. The Dirty, the Drunk and the Deranged have swept in en masse and would appear to outside observers to be the primary constituents of this movement. Portland is an interesting mix of folks. Portlanders are proud. Many more support the Occupy movement than might be apparent from a drive by of the occupied parks. More mainstream Portlanders would like to participate more directly and more long-term. However, frankly many are just turned off by what they see in the park. It’s not kind; it’s not fair; yet it’s the truth.
It seems as though a tale of two parks has developed over the past two weeks. Today the park is considerably well organized. Two weeks ago on day two as occupiers settled in, there were far fewer people, but still enough to warrant serious logistical planning. These were just developing and seemed worryingly inadequate. It appeared at first that the occupation might be in danger of collapsing in upon itself for lack strategic management. Now two weeks later, the management is impressive. People are working efficiently in shifts to feed the occupiers and clean up after them as well. In those first days, there were far fewer people but far more impromptu discussions and debates. Now there are four times as many people, but talking circles seem a much rarer occurrence. Where they have gotten their logistical business in order, the occupiers may have sacrificed crowd quality for quantity. It is hard to discern between the activists and the merely active (often barely active at that). Upon first glance they all look much the same. Sadly, they are for the most part divisible into the three aforementioned camps: dirty, drunk and deranged. This makes one all-the-more grateful that they at least got those sanitation logistics sorted.
Now, when I say dirty, I don’t mean a group of people that have been camping out in the park for three weeks, bathing only occasionally, if at all, a little funky, but generally presentable. I mean a mass of people who choose to express a lifelong pride in the fact that they have small critters living in their hair. For the most part these are decent, intelligent, articulate and impassioned people who simply lack much regard for personal hygiene. No big deal. They have always been a ubiquitous assemblage in Portland, and the city would be a sadder place if they were to all suddenly shower and don suits. Their seeming indifferent approach to life and appearance is in its way (ironically) refreshing. However, once assembled in single locale they resemble not just a single part of the whole, but a vast swath of a town of transients. It’s as if Lady Liberty said, “Give me your unwashed masses and I will stash them away over in Lonsdale Park in Portland, OR.” Most of these folks are not, in fact, homeless; many of them are. The point is that they all appear to be. As unfair or unkind as it may be, it frightens off much of the more presentable public – a contingent of our city that wants its voice heard as well.
If that is not enough to keep “mainstream” Portlanders at home, there is the second co-opting group: The Drunk. Now, when I say drunk, I say so in relative terms, “drunk” being the baseline. I also say “drunk” with a twinge of hope that they are merely drunk and not strung out on meth. The drunks are not as prevalent as the merely dirty. They seem to mostly converge on the sidewalks surrounding the parks. Sadly, this is the area most visible to passersby. Again, mainstream Portlanders, people who want to join this movement, people who want to bring their children to this possibly-historic event are driving past and heading home.
Aside from politely holding your breath to avoid the emissions from the dirty and the drunk, there are still the deranged to deal with; and holding your breath won’t help. Along with the addicts, it’s most appropriate that the city’s mentally ill have gathered to criticize the relationship between corporations and our government. By redirecting funds to private enterprises, corporations and government representatives have derailed the institutions that served the mentally ill. Now they wander the streets, seeking whatever it is they need, railing at the world or nothing at all. The Occupy Portland movement has given them a home and a captured audience. A tent was set up to serve as a sort of psychiatric triage center offering help for any who suffer from mental illness. None were inside. Yet, plenty were outside the tent, wandering the park, or planted firmly in one place. Lost perhaps. Some were silent. Some were loud. One was terrified, shoeless and obviously sick. This is the smallest of the three groups of usurpers, but they probably require the most immediate attention. They need quality, individual-care from professionals. In most cases they are harmless, but still intimidating. In some cases there is a very real concern for their safety and that of others. If for no other reason, it is good the police have a small but constant presence within the park.
The Dirty, the Drunk and Deranged are all one small piece of the Portland pie. The Occupy Portland movement would be much more effective if a broader representation was present in the park. Of these three groups, the Dirty should take the lead in making this possible. Unlike the mentally ill and the addicts, most of our unwashed brethren have a choice. By shaving (or even trimming), bathing (or even deodorizing) and changing their clothes (or even washing their rags), they will help the cause in myriad ways. Here are three: First, this will help distinguish the truly needy so that they may get the appropriate support they need. Also this will present a more palatable public face to the occupation, which will in turn bring additional support from a broader spectrum of Portland. Lastly, it will disarm critics of the occupation. As it is, it is easy for them to write off this movement as just a bunch of unemployed, lazy reprobates. Having been there, I must assert plainly that this is not true. There are brilliant minds and articulate voices occupying Portland. The sad truth is however that from afar it is hard to discern the brilliant from the demented and the articulate from the raving.
This is a point of perception that may seem frivolous. However if we’ve learned anything about ourselves and our society over the last 3 decades of capitalistic orgyfest, it is that perception is everything. Aside from a hefty bill (and a worrisome itch) at the end of a long bad date, corporations have left us with many life lessons and misguided values. The recently deceased and glorified Steve Jobs, among others, with beautiful gadgets, ingrained in us the notion that it doesn’t really matter what is on the inside that counts. Perception is everything. Build it beautiful and they will come. As sad as this fact is, it is the reality in which we live. The Occupy movement could apply this lesson in honor of the man so many of them seem to worship, even as they ironically excoriate the corporate world he revolutionized. Image is everything (insert Apple logo here). Even better, they should do it because it is good for the movement and for all of Portland’s proud people.
Reflections, September 13, 2001
September 8, 2011 by pjburns
Two days after the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001, holed up in my Bangkok apartment, I spewed my thoughts and feelings down on paper. I wanted to relate my perceptions for my family and friends back home. Red Smith said, “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein.” It’s true the writer has little control over what comes out and where it flows. Well, I suppose I sat down at my computer on Sept. 13 and opened my stomach if not a vein. What came out was a bile-filled mess that spewed in every direction. It reflects at the time my ignorance, my innocence, a desire for peace, a desire for vengeance. Confusion and shock. Sorrow, hate and love.
Indomitable, September 13, 2001
There is a large upscale mall in Bangkok called The World Trade Center. I was reading contentedly when the phone rang. A close Thai friend told me that a plane crashed into the World Trade Center. I immediately felt a shock but not the sort of shock you did when you first heard this. I thought she was talking about the mall. I am ashamed to say I felt the same kind of fleeting disbelief that I feel when I hear about another bomb in the middle east. Sadness, horror disbelief but ultimately it is another people, far away. Killing and dying for reasons I have tried to comprehend but can not and have grown weary of trying to understand. I imagined a small plane crashed into the lobby of the mall. Dead people, hurt people but surreal. Then I heard her say New York. Then I heard her say two planes. Then I felt my heart rate quicken. I remembered her husband is in new york city. My mind raced.
Thai TV didn’t help much with explanation but the images I saw were the same that you saw and that told me all there was to tell. Then it escalated, and escalated and escalated.
Celebrating Palestinians? I don’t care if they are Muslim, Christian or circus clowns, they are celebrating mass destruction and Massive, massive death.
How has the world come to this place. Where did we turn, what map have we followed that has left us lost in this stark place?
What brand of person can commandeer a plane full of people and slam it into a building full of more people sending rubble pouring over the heads of still more people. What kind of person is this? Where is the soul? Moreover, what kind of person witnesses this and then pours out into the street in jocular glee, handing out candy to children and neighbors in celebration of such a dire, bleak act.
You loft your hands in the air and dance in the street over the greatest single act of malicious violence in history.
Ussama Bin Laden denies involvement but states that he supports the action. - Then, with those words, welcome to the row. Accept responsibility for your beliefs and opinion. You believe in killing the innocent in the name of god. I believe in personal religious interpretation. I believe in establishing a personal set of morals based on a personal relationship with god butYou are, quite frankly, wrong. You are, quite frankly, insane. You do not, quite frankly, deserve the life that god has given you. You will not break us. You can not conquer us. We will all die before you sink your evil fingers into our homeland. But that is what you want isn’t it. So, bring that aggression to us. Come and see what we can do. See, how lazy and complascent our fat capitalistic asses are when we are pushed in a corner. How dare you bring your mismanaged psyche and politcs to our yard. How dare your extort the lives of OUR brothers and sisters for YOUR asinine Jihad? How dare you kill in the name of GOD!
If they are as Tony Blair said, “utterly indifferent to the sanctity of life” then perhaps they do not deserve the life they have been given. Perhaps their gift should be eradicated as well. I swear I never thought I would feel this way, I never thought I would say it and possibly even TRULY BELIEVE it in my heart, but maybe it is time to extract an eye for our eye lost.
I can’t think that way…. but I do.
Bush: “quiet unyielding anger”
We have sacrificed for your skirmishes. WE have tried to help mend your wounds. WE have orchestrated meetings and open fists into open arms.
Right now my infolifeline to the world is cnbc – financial news pap. They are the best I have here and all they talk about are issues like what will the loss of all the personnel of morgan, Stanley Dean witter, what will that loss have to do with the market and the margin rate? This is really disgusting. Ah, my bottom line. My portfolio. My stock options. Could I potentially profit from this bleak day?
What about the mother who won’t be coming from work again ever. The father who won’t be pull into the driveway ever again.
Bitter enemies: My country is hated
IF I have any bitter enemies in my life they would be the motorcycle taxi drivers here in Bangkok. Our relationship could be better described as symbiotic tolerance. But at the end of my darkest night. My “bitter enemy” asked me where I was from and expressed his sympathy. I don’t know how he had heard so quickly? But…. He was sincere and I thanked him.
They took away our favorite skyline. L.A has its pacific sunsets. Chicago towers over rivers and plains. Seattle points an honorable finger to the sky, to God. But it is New York that welcomes the promise of each new day. The city that never sleeps is awake each day to say good morning to life. The twin towers, those perfect rectangles that reflected sunlight like mirrored sunglasses snugly upon a confident, happy face.
Past tense.
At night, those two dark monolithic silhouettes dotted with lights in the night sky. Eternal, or so we thought. Past tense.
They knocked those sunglasses off our face. They have knocked us down. We ARE hurt. We have never been hit like this before. But we are NOT knocked out. We are dizzy. We have faltered. We will need some time. But we are NOT finished.
Our great monolithic towers have crumbled. They are gone. But these were not the strength of America. These are not backbone of our nation. Perhaps this is what they represented. They were intrepid symbols of a resolute people. The symbols are gone. So much life was swept away with these icons. Yet, New York, New Yorkers, Americans remain to greet the sun, to welcome the promise of each new day. Our eyes are blackened but the sun has risen again. We squint into the morning light and we will move on. We will continue. When it is all swept up and played out, we will be stronger than our enemies ever imagined. We are indomitable.
We’ve lost brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers, husbands and wives. Humanity.
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