Thoughts on peaceful protest and recollections on my first experience with the anarchist Black Bloc

[Downtown Hound]

Hi DU'ers. This is a rather long piece that I've spent the past two days writing. All of the events in Pittsburg the past week have brought back these memories, so I thought maybe it would be a good time to share them with you and get some of your very valuable insights on this matter. Anybody that bothers to read this whole thing is going to be making a serious investment, so thank you in advance and I welcome any and all comments.


The date was March 15, 2003, five days before the Iraq War started. The location was San Francisco, California. Back then, I was a recent college graduate with a degree in journalism, and only two months before had been picked up by an ABC station. My future in the corporate media looked bright.

But, the clouds of war were on the horizon. Everyone by then knew we were going to go to war. That Bush was going to do this little bit of insanity no matter what any of us said. I had already been to two big peace marches in the city, including the major on February 15th, the day that 15 million people from around the world marched and said no to war. It was the single largest protest in the history of the human race. Never before had something that amazing and wonderful happened. Never before had so many people, form America to Europe to Asia to Australia to Antarctica to Africa had so many people risen up said no to war. Bush dismissed us as a “focus group.”

So a month later, I headed down to the city again for yet another large peace march. This time I brought my girlfriend with me. She was one semester behind me in college, so she hadn’t graduated yet. But we were in the same department and she was working on her journalism degree too. She needed a final project to film for one of her classes, and the protest seemed like just the thing that would get her a big, shiny A.

The problem was, we were late to the march. We got there just as it was winding down. There were still scattered groups of protesters about the steps of city hall, where the march had ended, but we had missed most of the action, or so we thought.

Maria (my girlfriend’s name, not her real name, but the one I’ve chosen for this story) began to interview people with my little camcorder that I’d let her use for her project. Digital camcorders were still relatively new back then, and it was an $800 piece of hardware that I’d bought with my newfound spending power from my new job. I started to walk around and look for other potential subjects for her to interview.

It wasn’t long before I heard the commotion. On Market St, not too far from where we both were, police sirens were going off and a crowd was forming. It couldn’t be, I said to myself. No, we weren’t this lucky.

Actually, we were. It was an honest to god breakaway march, complete with those anarchists dressed in black and wearing masks and everything. I’d seen them on the teevee, but never in person before. We had thought that we missed our chance to film something special. As it turned out, we were about to not only witness but take part in something much greater than either of us had hoped for when we woke up that morning.

I went back and got Maria. We joined the breakaway march, her with her camera to film the action going on, and me joining in the chants of, “Who’s streets? OUR STREETS!”

There were probably about 500 people in all. Some of them were wearing masks, some weren’t. A few had gas masks, most didn’t. Before long, many of them started to spill out into the street, weaving around stopped cars that still had motorists in them. It must have been quite a shock to those people to suddenly see a small army of protesters in black surround them in their cars on the road and weave in and out of traffic. The chaos had already begun. It was still early in the march, and I couldn’t help but notice just how easy it really was to upset the normal order of society, the fabric of our existence that we take for granted everyday. All that has to happen if for 500 people to walk where they’re not supposed to, and society virtually falls apart.

The protesters in the street prompted a swift reaction from the police. They began to move in with motorcycles and lines of riot cops to push them back onto the sidewalk. It worked. The protesters retreated. The police got on a loud horn and told us that if any of us got back in the street we would be arrested. One man tried to debate this order with a stern faced riot cop standing on the sidewalk, waiting for the first protester to challenge his authority and take him or her to jail.

“What if I just take a step?” the man asked. “Would I be arrested then?” The cop very quickly grew tired of the man’s questions.

“We are not having this conversation!” he snapped at him. “If you step out into the street, you’re under arrest!” The man backed off. The march continued on.

While we marched, I couldn’t help but notice how the streets cleared out in front of us. People were afraid. They were afraid of what we were going to do. Were we going to break windows? Kick over newsstands? What were our intentions? I myself had no idea what was gong to happen, I was just along for the ride. I had no intention of destroying any property, and as it turned out, nobody else did either.

That didn’t stop people from being afraid. The sidewalks cleared out of people in front of us and stores closed up shop. At one point we came across a group of three young girls probably in their late teens, early 20’s. One of them backed up against a wall as we marched by, hovering in fear.

“I’m scared,” I heard her say to her friends. I wanted to tell her that there was nothing to worry about. We were peace protesters after all. Nobody was going to hurt her, and no one did. We marched peacefully by her, no one paying her any mind. But I said nothing to her. I won’t lie, it made me feel good to know that she was scared of us. That we were exercising our power, that we were a force to be reckoned with. This was like no other protest I’d ever been to. I love protests and protesting, but this was different. Protesting is essentially a submissive thing. It’s kind of like pleading with somebody to stop what they’re doing.

What we were doing wasn’t submissive at all. We reclaiming our streets and our power from those that we felt had stolen them from us. We were united and strong, and we were not to be fucked with. The police were there and we didn’t give a shit. Bring it on cops! For the first time in my life, I understood mob mentality.

A few more blocks up the road a young female protesters was holding a sign and attempting to cross the street in the sidewalk. She wasn’t one of us. She had been at the “peaceful” permitted march, and now it looked like she was going home. She hadn’t been privy to the police announcements about how anybody entering the streets would be arrested. Oblivious, she pushed the button for the walk signal, and when the walk light came on, she began to cross the street in a crosswalk, an act that on any other day wouldn’t have even drawn a raised eyebrow from anybody watching.

Today though, probably half a dozen riot cops swooped down on her. She was in flexicuffs before she even had time to fully realize what was going on. While they were leading her away she turned towards us, still unable to really believe that she had been arrested for crossing the street in a crosswalk with the walk sign on, and shouted, “Help me! Help me!”

All of us, meanwhile, began chants of, “Let her go! Let her go!” Maria turns towards me and says, “I can’t believe it! They just arrested that girl for crossing the street! In America, man!”

Now we were pissed. Things had been filled with tension before, but now they’d gotten personal. People began to taunt the cops. They began to march faster. The cops kept trying to get ahead of us and pen us in, but whenever they tried to do it, we’d charge, moving ahead of them and preventing them from encircling us. The crowd as a whole would count down in unison, “TEN! NINE! EIGHT! SEVEN! SIX! FIVE! FOUR! THREE! TWO! ONE…and then all of us, 500 or so people, would charge ahead on the sidewalk. The police would run after us, but they’d never get far enough ahead of us to pen us in. The whole scene had become a big cat and mouse game, with all of us voluntarily playing games with the police.

In spite of the fact that there were black blockers all over the place, everyone in the crowd remained completely and totally peaceful. It was like anarchy with no property destruction. Nevertheless, the police were not amused. I learned later that an order had gone out to, “start picking them off,” referring to us. Every once in awhile a group of police would make a beeline for a single person, grab them, arrest them, and haul them off.

We came to an intersection , and the police finally had us trapped. Some of the protesters had begun to go out into the street in defiance of the police, and they would run back and forth, continuing the cat and mouse game we had been playing. One of the major problems if you’re a riot cop and you’re trying to keep up with these young and limber protesters is all the gear that you wear. You’d see a crowd of protesters run by and a line of riot cops chase them, and it wasn’t even a close match. Those anarchists ran rings around the police. They failed to catch a single one of them.

In an effort to prevent to prevent more of this, the cops took out a single tear gas canister and deployed it at the edge of the sidewalk. The gas started coming out, and the cops formed a line behind it. One black clad young man decided to do something about this, so he calmly walked up to the tear gas canister, picked it up, and threw it away. He didn’t throw it at the cops or anybody in particular, just to an empty section of the street. The cops, though, charged after the man, and began knocking down anybody that got in the way to their target.

I myself saw the commotion and so did Maria. We ran up to the rather chaotic scene and got pretty close. The next thing I knew two rather burly cops were carrying the protester that had thrown the tear gas canister in their arms back to the street, and they were coming RIGHT FOR ME! In completely reflexive act, I jumped to the side, barely missing them. When I caught my footing I saw another cop coming right towards me. He was brandishing his baton menacingly at other protesters and not seeing that I was right in his path. I jumped again, and missed a near collision. I had now narrowly missed having a total of three police officers bowl right into me.

The arrested protester had gone limp in the classic Gandhi-style non-resistance but non-compliance mode. The police cuffed him and pulled him to his feet, before leading him away to a police wagon. He received shouts of support and solidarity from other protesters.

One man was cursing the police and swearing at them. His girlfriend had been shoved hard by an officer while they charged through the crowd, and she had basically gone smack on the concrete sidewalk below. She was crying.

“She’s five foot three! A girl! You are a fucking coward! She’s innocent!” he shouted into this policeman’s face probably not more than five inches in front of it. If the cop felt emotion about it one way or the other, he didn’t show it.

A little while later the police got on a loud horn and declared our little rebellion an unlawful assembly, and that if we didn’t leave, we would be arrested. At this point, most people left. But what the police didn’t know was, we weren’t done yet. We left the area, but many people, Maria and I included, continued to march. At this point, Maria was angry. I’d never seen her like this before. She was angry at the police, and she was taking my camcorder and sticking it right in some of their faces, trying to see if she could get a reaction out of them. Most of them would do nothing, some would give a kind of sly grin back to her, and some turned their faces away. I couldn’t help but be proud of her, even though I didn’t think it was the wisest thing to do.

There was Maria, little 5 foot 2 inch tall Puerto Rican firecracker. And there was me, 6 foot 3 inch former boxer and corporate media whore, I mean…professional, and she showed no fear at all of those police. Me, I was worried about many things. I was worried about myself, about her, about my damn camera, about everything. The air was filled with so much tension that if at that moment the cops had started charging through the crowd and beaten everybody with their batons, it wouldn’t have surprised me one bit. I also had the feeling that if Maria got arrested, I could kiss both my $800 camera and the footage goodbye.

We marched on. Eventually, the cops penned us in again, and this time there really was no place left to go except back. The game was up, and all of us knew it. We were either going to jail or we were going home, but our rebellion had officially been quashed.

The scene looked something like this: a row of riot cops decked out in gear, standing directly in front a group of masked, black bloc anarchists and a few others like Maria and I. A face off. A standoff. The taunts soon began.

“You think you serve and protect? All you serve and protect are the ruling elite. If you really cared about serving and protecting people, you’d stop attacking us and join us!” one of the anarchists said to the police.

“Do you know that when they attack Iraq, they’re going to employ something called “shock and awe? They could kill over a million people with that!” As it turned out, this particular anarchist was right about the eventual body count. “If you really cared about saving lives, you’d join us in smashing the shit out of the financial district.” Mmm, up until now this little rebellion had consisted of people going out into the street when they’re not supposed to, marching without a permit, one guy throwing a tear gas canister out of the way, and generally making a whole lot of noise and being disruptive. But it had been peaceful. No property had been destroyed. Now there was talk of riot.

I hadn’t showed up that day with the intention of rioting, and if a riot had broken out, I would have done my absolute best to get the hell out of there, not taken part in it. And maybe that is why ever since that day, I’ve always held both a fascination and respect for the black bloc while at the same time, I’ve never truly agreed with their property destruction tactics.

There was me, passionately against the war. I was known as a radical. Some of my teachers in college referred to me as a radical. But back in those days, simply being politically active was considered radical. Most kids weren’t politically active in the 90’s. But in that moment, I could take a look at myself and see myself for what I really was. I was a poser compared to these people. I was there with them, so I guess that counted for something. But I had my job, my career that at the time was so important to me, my girlfriend, I had things I was afraid of losing. I claimed to care about Iraqi lives that would be lost in this upcoming tragic war. I claimed to care about the U.S. soldiers that would be killed. But at the end of the day, how much did I really care?

Did I care enough to take a risk, and I mean a serious risk, one that might involve prison time or one in which I am prepared to sacrifice all that is important to me, to save others?

The answer was, I wasn’t. No matter how much I told myself that I was a dedicated humanitarian that would brave the wrath of The Man to stand up for others, I was nothing. The only thing I was willing to risk was some tear gas and maybe a night in jail. But these anarchists were willing to risk a lot more than that. They were willing to go the distance. They were willing to fight back, no matter what the consequences. And they did it all because they cared about the lives of people they had never met.

While all this taunting was going on. I started to scan the police to gauge their reactions. To my surprise, I got one. One of them was a female officer, a middle aged woman of Asian-American heritage. Underneath her stormtrooper gear and behind her transparent riot faceplate, she looked like somebody’s mom. She very well might have been somebody’s mom. She was dong everything in her power not to burst out in tears. I could see the wincing and pain in her face as she listened to all of the taunts and accusations of being a fascist stormtrooper that supported the deaths of children. Her eyes would well up, and then she would fight the tears back down.

I may be a left wing radical or I may not be. But I’m definitely a geek. As I sit here typing this, I’m reminded of an old Star Trek episode, “The Alternative Factor.” In it, Kirk and the Enterprise crew come across a man named Lazarus, who, we learn as the story progresses, is in fact two men in one, each half from a different universe. One is made of matter and the other of anti-matter. In the event that one of those halves ever crosses the barrier that divides the two universes and actually meet in person, all of creation will be wiped out. A little unfortunate law in Star Trek physics. Throughout the episode Lazarus continually refers to a murdering monster and vicious destroyer of worlds that he has been pursuing and been pursued by.

When Kirk finally meets the other Lazarus in the alternate universe, and sees that he’s just a regular person that is in fact far more sane than the Lazarus from his own universe, Kirk says somewhat sarcastically, “So, you’re the terrible thing. The hideous beast. The murdering monster.” Lazarus calmly replies to him, “Yes. Or he is. It depends on your point of view, doesn’t it?” Here was my enemy for me to see. Here was my fascist oppressor, a middle aged woman on the verge of tears.

On the one hand you had us protesters, willing to defy authority and risk going to jail because we wanted to stop the mindless slaughter of innocents. And there were the police, willing to do a job that many of us never would, and deal with obnoxious malcontents like us, in an effort to protect property and maintain the peace. Of course, we protesters would have argued who’s peace would that be? Peace for the warmakers to carry out their agenda, or peace for all humankind?

But which side was really in the right here? Which side are the real criminals? Well, as Lazarus said, that depends on your point of view, doesn’t it?

Both Maria and I ended up leaving. We didn’t want to go to jail that day, but I have been to jail since then as the result of various acts of civil disobedience I’ve committed. I always got tons of praise when I got arrested for civil disobedience. People called me a hero. They called me an inspiration. They said they admired me. But I’ve never been able to shake the feeling that a mere arrest doesn’t really make you a hero. The risks I’ve always taken have been very small, and the consequences minimal. The risk the anarchists take, from the RNC 8 facing terrorism charges to the window breakers in Pittsburg, those risks and their consequences dwarf mine.

To this day, I have serious reservations about both the effectiveness and the wisdom of breaking windows as an act of protest. Ultimately, I think the anarchists hurt their cause more than help it by continuing to endorse such tactics. The bottom line, very few people out there know anything about anarchists other than they like to break windows. The truth of the matter is that only a small number of anarchists actually support breaking windows, and a smaller number than that actually carry out such acts. But you wouldn’t know that from listening to the corporate media.

Nevertheless, the lessons of that day were not lost on me. The media and many people call the anarchists terrorists or thugs. Having been there and seen them up close, I can’t agree with that assessment. I believe that they are dedicated and fiercely determined activists who’s drive and courage puts that of many other activists to shame.

By the same token, to this day I can’t really get behind property destruction, and in the six years that have passed since that day, I can honestly say now that it’s not because of cowardice or fear of consequences, but rather of ideals and effectiveness. Anarchists would say to me that peaceful protests don’t accomplish anything. I don’t agree 100%, but I do think they have a point that peaceful protest only goes so far.

I might ask them in return just what the Black Bloc has accomplished, besides the ever growing number of windows broken. Have they destroyed capitalism? Have they eliminated government? Have they ended the war? No, but then again, neither have we.

I feel for all those people in Pittsburg that had their windows busted. I wish it hadn’t happened. And I’m also glad that there are true fighters out there willing to stand up to the government with the passion that the anarchists do. Is there an answer as to how we can do this without destroying anything? Is civil disobedience the answer? Non-violence but non-cooperation? I think it would help, and ultimately, I think it’s more effective in the long run. But I would stress that I only THINK that. I do not know for certain. I may die and go up to heaven and find out that the Black Bloc was right all along.

It’s not a popular idea amongst liberals to contemplate. But what if, 100 years from now, the polar ice caps have melted, the environment has gone haywire, droughts are common, people are starving and civilization has gone to hell? What would I think then? Would I really care so much if back when we really had a chance to stop, we did so by breaking windows and destroying property? Are we really willing to look at our grandchildren that have yet to be born, and tell them that ultimately, we failed to save the planet for them because we believed that breaking windows was wrong, or we didn’t want to go to prison, or this or that? Tough questions, to be sure.

All I know is, I am going to do my best to remain non-violent. There may come a day when I reevaluate that belief system, but it’s one that I hold for now. For me, it’s not just a question of resistance, but also a question of what kind of world do I want to build. I do wonder what kind of world the anarchists would be able to create if they ever did get everything they wanted. Would they really be able to build a paradise free from all oppression, after they destroyed all of the things that they hate so much? Would their world be better than one born about through non-violent resistance? I don’t know for certain. But I don’t think so. I have to believe, want to believe anyways, that a revolution waged completely and totally through non-violence could never produce anything other than a civilized society that respects the rights of all. A revolution won through violence and destruction, well, the end result of that would be less certain in my opinion.

Whatever the future may hold, I will never forget the day of March 15th, 2003, the day that I and 500 other people officially declared revolution against the illegal and unethical actions of the United States government. Our little rebellion didn’t amount to much. It didn’t stop the war. It didn’t bring down the government. It didn’t change the world. All we did was basically give The Man a big, collective middle finger. But in retrospect, that was a hell of a lot better than doing nothing. It may not have changed the world, but it did change me.

I would do it all again if the same situation presented itself to me. The truth is, I may do something like that again someday. But if that day ever comes, my hope is that it is just like it was on that day: loud, obnoxious, unreasonable, defiant, and ultimately peaceful. Because deep down, I think that only peace is the real way to peace.

Anyways, sorry for making this so long, fellow DU’ers. Thanks for letting me reminisce with you. And if you did manage to make it through this rather long piece, then thanks for reading.

If you want to see some video from that day, here it is. Maria’s video footage was a big hit in her class and she did get an A. It was even posted on the university's journalism department web page as an example of excellent student journalism. We broke up about a year later, and she ended up with the video tape from that day. I never made a copy. I should have, but I didn’t. But I did find this little bit on youtube a while back. And lo and behold, there I am, dodging charging cops. Hi mom!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YV1mHXqmi-o

I first appear in view at time frame 1:54, right after the protester threw away the tear gas. Me: tall guy, black shirt, light blue jeans, brown hair, bottom right corner of the screen. I jump out of the first cops’ way at exactly 1:59 and the second one shortly after that.