Occupy Oakland Must Be Scary

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Written February 2012 — Published Today November 18, 2016

1.You are right–not only has OPD destroyed every effort at doing what Occupy was created to do, build community, but targets individual occupiers with even more repressive measures than mentioned in the article. Now, “stay-away” orders are issued to people simply chosen by the police to receive them–not predicated on any harmful behavior as stay-away orders in cases of domestic violence, for example.

There are also warrants after the fact. Arrests are made without any charge. Arrestees spend days in jail, then are released for lack of charges. Then, the DA issues warrants specifying charges, but nobody is notified. That means the police sweep the plaza, or a march, and pick out those who are walking free without realizing they’re wanted. After this happened a few times, most occupiers with arrests make it a point to call the DAs office almost daily to find out if they have warrants against them.

OPD now uses a six-page list of occupiers they consider “instigators.” Some are laughable; the most mild-mannered, or at least dedicated to nonviolence. There are descriptions of charges formerly filed against them. Most important, there are pictures. The morning of J28 an occupier whose photo is in the list was surrounded by six OPD, handcuffed, and taken to jail without any arrest at all. Only after several hours in jail was he released; other occupiers made phone calls and angrily “occupied” the jail. There was no warrant, no reason–he was literally kidnapped by six OPD, and saw in their hands the document with his photo on it while they were doing it.

We are constantly asked what we do beside battle the police. The answer is, that’s all we can do. The city and OPD literally destroy everything that’s begun. Now what’s begun is a campaign to make the larger community aware of the corruption within OPD. The lawless behavior against Occupy Oakland is in a video presentation and can possibly convince Oaklanders not of West or East Oakland that 1)those communities have been under siege from OPD for years, and here’s what they’re capable of in the daylight (violating all their own crowd control policies, and 2) something has to be done.

There are many other issues–the Riders Consent decree, the money the city is spending to go after Occupy Oakland, lawsuits against the city and OPD based on all these unlawful measures taken against individuals. Cleaning up OPD will take will on the part of the City Council and the only force that can make them do it is public opinion, especially from those neighborhoods both white and higher income that never are treated in the unique way that OPD treats People of Color and their neighborhoods.

Life So Far

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A Long Time Ago . . .

As directed, I looked at pictures of things to give me ideas for a first post. Rather, to find one quiet image that could consolidate the videos and blogs that run in my head pretty much nonstop.  I think about what I remember seeing as it happened and I remember thinking then as I do sometimes now, why did mommy say not to do that?  What is “that”?  What will happen if I try “it”?

My sister, just a few years ago, said “You know, when Mother and Daddy made a rule I figured it was for a good reason so I followed it.  YOU,[capitalization is all I can do to replicate her ACCUSATORY tone of voice] YOU thought it was JUST SOMETHING ELSE TO TRY!”

Following where my parents had unknowingly led me was also the earliest experience I can remember in detail–no, I lie.  There was being locked out of the barracks-turned-GI Bill student family apartments at Cornell University.  Because I was, uh, unmanageable.  It was freezing out there and yes, tongues do stick to icy swing set poles.  And neighbors come out when a 2-year-old screams and disturbs everyone, so she goes home.

But, this video here is much clearer.  It’s in color because it was summer in Massachusetts, not grey frozen winter in upstate New York.  First, there’s the grape juice in the glass that used to hold spreadable cheese.  The cheese always filled the long cavities in stalks of celery, at Thanksgiving dinner.  I thought the celery looked like canoes, then I learned about boats made by burning the centers out of huge logs.  The first time I saw a picture of one, I thought “Celery!”

The glasses were decorated with  painted pictures, and as my mother handed me the glass of grape juice I heard her voice but was trying to interpret the pictures. The bright colors painted on them looked awesome against the deep purple. I did hear her say, “Don’t go outside with this!”  Outside.  Outside was a sunny Sunday morning; when I went, well, Outside, onto the back porch I see that it’s Sunday morning because my grandfather has the colored funnies in his hands.  That little bit of Outside was made a paradise by my grandmothers sweet peas climbing their strings across porch posts, pastel flowers blooming between sunbeams.  Ah, Outside.

The house was fairly old, late 19th century.  The back porch was wide, and so were the steps leading down to the gravel walk leading to even more Outside.  The steps were fairly old too–uneven, the wood polished by all those feet over the years, all going Outside.  I was 3 years old, slurping grape juice, sliding over the slick undulating wood . . .

Next, my cranial video sees a lot of blood.  Hmmm.  Oh, my dad in his permanent post-WWII outfit, khakis and a white t-shirt.  Passed out on the floor of the hall outside the bathroom.   My arm and hand in the large bathroom sink, filling it with blood. Things got a bit scrambled after that.  Actually, the next act was sometime later.  A 3-year-old refused to cry when the black stringy threads of stitches that grew from her pink mercurochromed wrist were snipped and yanked through wrist skin.That led to the next memory, of the hospital I was returned to for more surgery.  Where the nurse tried to make me wear pajama pants with a pajama top.  And I wouldn’t.