"NOBODY FUCKS WITH MY FLAG."
the cops hand wrung my throat. like crushing a beer can
i heard my hair crunching as he pinned my skull to a brick wall
the cracks sunk into my back.
the police were trying to stampede us down the sidewalk
we were getting closer. to tiffanys neiman-marcus
they told us to stop and wait and not cross the street
and then everyone was running. across the street.
and then i was running-
now we were dragged down the street. a cop the size
of three people
led me and a womyn to the paddy wagon
she was crying: "i cant believe youre doing this to me.
youre so gross"
YOU PEOPLE ARE ALL ON DRUGS.
"i dont take any drugs, i dont drink, i dont smoke
i teach mentally retarded children-
im a good person. i have done nothing,
i cant believe youre doing this to me.
youre so gross."
and i said: dont waste your tears.
at the wagon someone was passively resisting
they were dragging him. all i could see
were fists and boots. i said get up
its not worth it.
i stepped onto the wagon. WAIT.
they searched my knapsack and left it open,
pushed me inside and everything dumped.
through the pain i picked it all up. i was inside-
tiny grates for windows, rivets, mental. exhaust fumes.
all over the stainless steel bench i sat on
was a skin of dried blood.
thursday night
my wrists are sore from the cuffs
where officer maurell smiled "WAIT A MINUTE"
and crushed them together as tight as they would go
into cartilage and muscle polished masochistic chrome.
the police are the gestapo of the city.
ask any of its poor. they patrol
they arrest. and it becomes an ordeal
of money never justice. the pigs
are there to protect your right-
the right to obey.
HERES THE ANARCHIST FLAG BURNER
they sneer through the bars
in sadistic macho pride.
they treat all prisoners the same-
guilty until proven innocent.
theyve standardized ignorance here.
the police are the gestapo of the city-
and im in jail with the citys poor.
numbers tattooed on my hands
in permanent marker telling me
im next, telling me what ive done.
again and again they demand.
COOPERATE. YOU MUST COOPERATE.-
OR YOULL STAY HERE FOREVER.-
but he needs insulin.
COOPERATE. NO ONE LEAVES UNTIL THEY COOPERATE.
we decided not to cooperate.
they took me upstairs and handcuffed me to the wall.
i sat on a bench in the report room.
with twenty cops.
so this is what they do. arrest and type.
anything in between isnt accounted for.
they were pig secretaries now.
typing up lies to make the charges stick.
no need for me to be in this room
except the cops sick yearning to use me
as an example, to show me his power.
there was the flag i had burnt.
there was the flag i had torn, and ruined.
except it wasnt burnt.
and was already worn and ragged
when it was torn from the back of a jacket
and held in protest, not by me-
but even so, the first amendment says
nothing. its meaningless to these nazis
they want revenge. they hate my guts.
thats all they understand. im guilty.
if i wasnt, i wouldnt be there.
ive always considered one question:
did HUMAN BEINGS become police,
or were police already pigs before they were given
a license for pain.
and here in this room the answer was obvious:
"YOU SHOULD BE PROUD OF THIS FLAG."
its the flag of imperialism. why should i be proud.
(infuriated-standing up), "PEOPLE DIED FOR THIS FLAG!"
my cousin died in vietnam-
alot of good the flag did him.
YOUR COUSIN IS A HERO YOU LITTLE BASTARD
my cousin is a corpse. he doesnt know if we won or not.
IF I HAD A SON LIKE YOU ID BLOW HIS HEAD OFF.
if i had a father like you, id blow his head off.
i lied. but explain nonviolence to a proud soldier
of The Army Of The Rich.
explain it to a room full of 40 year old wanna be rambos.
explain love--even for other animals--to a room full
of overweight carnivores.
Drinking huge glasses of coke, eating McShit
and holding their flag. of course.
they all voted for reagan.
the fbi (?) showed up. they whispered and left.
three men in dark suits with their sears catalogue of law.
what could they get me in time for summer?
CLASS 4 FELONY--COCKSUCKER!
i sucked on an invisible dick.
officer maurell asked another cop how to spell `desecration'.
they stared at me. WOULD YOU RATHER BE IN RUSSIA?
you mean im not?
they gave me some generic proamerica rhetoric.
delivered with that twisted smile they all had.
and i could smell the hate. "BROADS" "COONS" "FAGGOTS"
they reeked of ignorance.
"YOURE GOING TO THE COUNTY JAILHOUSE
WHERE SOME BIG COON IS GOING TO FUCK YOU UP THE ASS."
thats fine. im homosexual.
and ive had this cold for months.
they didnt get it.
they brought in a womyn--a "minor."
15 years old. she sat next to me.
she was worried about the others.
she was strong. they took her over to the typewriter.
WHATS YOUR NAME?
why?
WHERE DO YOU LIVE?
why?
STEP OVER HERE.
no.
SPOILED LITTLE BITCH.
she made me stronger. she made them weak.
i had a black and red haymarket button on my shirt.
and plenty of time.
with the pin i scratched off my fingerprints.
they brought me back downstairs.
they had divided their prisoners,
from the holding cell we were split into groups and rejailed.
officer trzebny appears:
"WE HAVE TO FUMIGATE."
where have i heard this all before
when have i lived this through the sight
of thousands suffering
and why, why the fuck has nothing changed.
"WE HAVE TO FUMIGATE."
he opens a row of windows.
and in our concrete room, the heat
is sucked out by the cold of the night.
all bodyheat is lost to the steel benches.
and an eternal draft, like opening the refrigerator,
on your neck all night.
with luck it will get down to 34 degrees.
in a loose fitting shirt
my body begins shaking convulsions.
and this is how i pass through the epileptic night:
watching roaches strafe the floor
7 in a two man cell
singing solidarity forever
eating breatharian pizzas,
reciting my poetry of disgust.
Were the Haymarket 37
And Our Love grOWS Stronger
Much More Stronger Than your hate Could Ever Be.
i paced to keep warm. we followed each other on an oval track.
it was a cycle of sitting, shivering, and walking.
i lowered my sore ass onto the bench.
my head dropped into the sleep of exhaustion
i could see color--not grey,
not the thick coats of grey on the bars
on the benches. the prison grey.
dreaming i was outside-
it was the kind of dream when you know
that youre dreaming-
and i fought to stay asleep.
But the Cold ShOoK me AWAKE.
friday morning we decided to cooperate.
we realized we were never getting out.
they could hold us here for weeks.
outside comrades shouted to us through the open windows-
"Were Trying to Get You Out--but they
Wouldnt Let The Lawyer In."
fingerprinted two by two. and then you got a phone call.
the cop didnt even notice my fingers were bleeding
-my fingerprints looked more like an etching.
they took my mugshot. they transferred us.
we were being collected in the holding cell
a brother was led off to the ink pads
and he closed a window.
officer trzebny opens two.
AND WHO TOLD YOU TO DO THAT?
COME ON!
In Our Cell This Fine Alaskan Morning
is an aging alcoholic
obviously from the more elite part of town.
He groans and rolls side to side
on the concrete floor. and He tells us everything-
Hes an alcoholic. He has pancreatitis.
He needs to go to the hospital.
officer! officer!
theres a sick man in here!
o-ffi-cer!
they SLAM another metal door.
and even sound is entombed with us.
a few hours go by and the Pain-
I-Cant-Stand-It-Anymore, Man
He starts forward, his fingers down his throat
just like He had said, just like what he had said
He was puking orange juice
Pancreatic Bile.
Hed have to wait hours on that floor-
for officer trzebny to come for him.
and return him
telling us he was full of shit-
just faking it. im sure.
officer trzebny brought a wagon of "food":
preserved animal flesh and wonderbread.
a greasy sopping mess.
"proud to be Hog Butcher. proud to be Hog Butcher."
could we have cheese?
WHAT IS THIS! THE HOTEL HILTON! (he laughed.)
Fuck You Pig. I Wont Eat This shit. ill starve
first.
9 hours later we were released two at a time.
50 bucks apiece. mob action, disorderly conduct.
misdemeanors--thanks for the money,
and dont come back to our town.
they "escorted" me out.
i was going to nightcourt: 6-ll p.m.
i would be transferred to the county jail
if i couldnt pay bail.
there i would be stripped.
i would have an 'exam' and take a 'shower'
i went for my money in a backpack behind the desk
they wouldnt let me take it.
how will i pay bail without my money?
oh. yeah. why am i being so naive.
they put me in a paddy wagon. mustve been around 7.
driving through the town, all i could see were streetlights
strained by the tiny grates near the ceiling of the truck.
we stopped outside a garage. we were nowhere.
i thought this meant six bullets for tryin to escape.
or at least a few days in the hospital.
they smoked in silence.
they opened a garage door. no one said a word.
i walked in, between the cops,
and i couldnt tell if i was ready.
inside was a holding cell. and another cop.
"HERES THE ANARCHIST FLAG BURNER"
i thought to myself in the closet with bars:
im just trying to be a Human Being.
and i didnt even burn the flag.
-it wouldnt light.
in the cell--just iron and cement
carved initials and the human animal smell.
i pissed. another steel bench with four coats of grey paint.
i daydreamed of being home
warming myself near a bonfire of amerikan flags.
they were coming for me.
i could hear the metal keys and the leather boot heels.
LETS GO.
walked me outside to an armored school bus
i was being thrown around the inside of an enormous bus
with every turn-
and the drive began again.
i arrived for the last session of nightcourt.
another cell--the walls were tattooed, initials
gangs. nothing political.
through the bars you could reach a phone.
they told us to use it
to call whoever would bail me out.
and that was the plan.
there was 10 minutes left.
even if i had someone waiting with money
they could never make it across the whole city of chicago
they could never make it in less than 1/2 hour.
i was called in. the judge and court cronies
were watching a small plastic television.
i had been assigned a public attorney.
where was s/he? i looked them all over.
more blue suited clones. no way to tell who was who.
a small group of people were waving to me-
they had waited hours in the court.
maybe i would get out of this.
maybe i was going home.
they made me properly face the judge.
he lifted his head.
judge: YOU HAVE BEEN CHARGED WITH THE DESECRATION OF THE FLAG OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, WHICH IS A CLASS 4 FELONY.
prosecutor: YOUR HONOR THIS MAN HAS NO TIES TO THE COMMUNITY--AND THEREFORE I RECOMMEND THAT THE HIGHEST POSSIBLE BOND BE SET.
judge: YOU WILL HAVE A PRETRIAL HEARING MONDAY, MAY 4.
BOND IS SET AT 5,000 DOLLARS. TAP TAP.
i felt nauseous as they led me off. i was swaying.
they put me back in the cell.
a cop looked at me as he locked the gate-
"WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD.."
it was true, the real world of the NON-reality.
My Friends stepped forward with money.
bail was $500, 10%, and They Had over $2000.
i didn't know how safe i was in the hands of Cooperation,
Mutual Aid, and Love.
the pigs were shocked. it was only too obvious.
they Let ME OUT! I Was OUT!
back to those weird looking Anarchists.
one guy had pants made entirely of zippers.
another gave me two copies of Reality Now!
Lets Get The Fuck Out Of Here!
i want a pizza.
we went through the metal detectors.
out of the courthouse. some invisible force was holding me up.
but-
was i coming out or was i going in.
it was back to the other prison for me.
where people hide with their T.V.s
behind locks and laws.
we live our lives never knowing whos in the cell next door.
in quiet ignorance, together and completely alone.
back to the other prison Where I Could At Least THROW BRICKS.
As I was half way to two-thirds across the street, a police officer
seized me, and then another seized me just as quickly. The two officers
started pulling me toward a paddy wagon and one of them hit me on the head
repeatedly. I went limp and allowed them to put me in the wagon. Several
other police officers crowded around and one of them said, "A passive resister,
huh?" and they then hit and kicked me repeatedly. While they were putting
me into the paddy wagon, they continued to hit me all over. I heard one
of them say two or three times while I was being hit, "Watch his face!
Watch his face!" I was handcuffed as I was put into the wagon.
When the wagon reached the police station all the women were ordered
out. A few minutes later, all the men were ordered out and into the police
station. We were put into a holding cell. I was sitting in the cell when
an officer opened the door. I'm not sure what he said at first, but he
looked at me and ordered me to go with him. I asked where and why I was
going. The officer yelled, "Come on, let's go!" or something like that.
I asked again where and why I was going. The next thing I knew, I was being
dragged out of the cell by my hair. I was taken to a room in which other
officers were standing and sitting. I gave them identification cards (driver's
license, library and bank cards). The officer emptied my pockets and requested
my shoelaces. They returned the cash I had in my pocket, but kept everything
else.
I started asking some questions and got a few short answers. I remember
being somewhat confused as to what was happening, and what I was supposed
to do. I heard one of the officers say,"He's a refusal." At this point
an officer started to lead me back toward the lockup. I hesitated and tried
to ask what was happening, at which point another officer joined in pushing
me toward the lockup. The two officers knocked me down, hit me repeatedly
in the head, and kicked me in the groin.
At that point, I declared out loud that I would go. They led me to
the lockup. I was put into a separate cell. Before too long, six more detainees
were led into the cell. We all sat there for several hours.
Then an officer came by and asked if we wanted to be fingerprinted.
We asked him many questions, but got few answers. We ultimately decided
not to be printed at that point. We sat in the cell for some time more.
I believe it was well into the evening before the officer again offered
to print us. We wanted to make a phone call and consult a lawyer before
we were printed. We told this to the police, and they responded that we
would not be allowed a phone call or legal representation until we were
printed.
The night passed. Early on Saturday morning, the officers again offered
to print us. Some agreed to be printed, and others continued to refuse,
still asking for an opportunity to make a phone call. I think it was about
11 a.m. when an officer came by and told us that we would never talk to
a lawyer or anyone else outside until we had been printed/identified. He
said we were in a legal limbo, a limbo that could last indefinitely, and
in which we had no right to make phone calls or have legal representation.
He said that if we would not agree to be printed at this time, we would
wait until Monday morning at 7 a.m. when an officer would again offer to
print us.
At this point I agreed to be fingerprinted (approximately ll a.m. on
5/3/86), and I was. After being printed/identified, I was allowed a phone
call and then returned to another holding cell which contained some people
arrested at the march who had also consented to be printed. As the morning
went on, everyone from the march who was being held in this lockup agreed
to be printed, and was put in this cell.
---Anonymous
Most of the people who came down from Toronto were in jail, so
we got to spend 2 days together. The 3 of us caught up on Toronto happenings
and spoke of our travels with our friends. We did a "workshop" on Big Mountain
in the jail, and there was one on the Vancouver 5 too.
Memories in jail: the cat who came to visit us and let us know that
life will prevail--the guy getting beaten on by the pigs for not standing
up and getting dragged by his hair--Michael and his skirt--the mixed blessings
of the open window. a) It was freezing cold for 2 days, and b) people could
talk to us from outside! Finding the strength to grin and yell, "We love
you" while being stuck in a stupid box. The shit they pulled on Walter--hearing
the women on the other side when the doors were open, and howling and banging
and chanting and yelling and screaming to each other. And being alone in
the jail for 3 hours after everyone was released, not sure what to expect
because they took my prints twice, and the FBI was around, and everyone
else was gone. I was hoping for deportation back to Canada. When the cops
finally came in I thought it was time for the little room, but they only
wanted my money. And I was out, amazed, and too late for the banquet of
the anarcho-beef-people, but instead just in time for an evening getting
high and being happy to be able to touch and talk to my friends.
---Ken
WORLD CIVIL WAR (LYRICS)
I see the start of a world civil war
See the Start of a world civil war!
Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!
No military or police can keep peace in the streets
For peace is never what they ever seek
Our funds are spent on building and killing machines
Instead of an environment where true life can prove supreme.
Man's best progress has been finding new and improved ways
To destroy mankind and all within days
And it wasn't through our freedom of choice
Rather, it was through the suppression of our voice.
The judges are meant to be sentenced
The juries are meant to be tried
The weapons are to be stripped of their power
And the soldiers are meant to die!
Overpopulation escalation of starvation in all nations.
---Group of Individual'S
POLICE BEAT (LYRICS)
We call for peace
The bastards in blue call in for reinforcements
And try to cage us in their zoo
Taken from our homes
And now enclosed in iron
After those in uniform
Play with their sirens.
There's blood on your hands from our faces
And we get charged with assault in your kangaroo court cases
You're the aggressor, not the protector
The court jesters peace-seeking people molester.
We hold up two fingers
You reply with one
We speak with our mouths
And you with your guns
The more you use your fists
The less you use your mind
The mask you wear over your helmet
Has made you blind.
A billy for a bully
Yes! We will resist arrest
Clubbing us like baby seals
Your violence we can't accept
Pinned down three to one
There`s no way to flee
Like seals on the ground
Struggling away to be free...free!
We're beaten and beaten, and tied up and tied up
Then dragged and scraped, then dragged and scraped
Now thrown in to interrogate, a guise for you to intimidate.
---Group of Individual'S
I spent the next 22 hours or so in jail and it was pretty awful.
We weren't fed for about 20 hours and the place was real cold, especially
after they opened the windows on us since people were making so much noise.
Some people were in jail longer than others, since they initially refused
to give their name or be fingerprinted, but eventually everyone cooperated
and was released on various amounts of bond.
Apparently, some people who participated in the march did some property
damage at a couple of places along the march route, which was the pretext
for the arrests. What pissed me off most about the whole affair was that
in November people had wanted to exclude Shimo because they were encouraging
confrontations with the cops and would get people arrested, and it turned
out that some anarchists ended up doing the same fucking thing. I have
no objections to doing property damage, but I prefer to choose when I take
risks instead of having them imposed on me by others. I had thought that
some people were going to try and disrupt business as usual at a few places
and risk arrest for themselves, but didn't realize that they were going
to do what they actually did, so I really didn't give too much thought
to avoiding arrest. Next time, I'll be more cautious and not get separated
from friends.
After I got out of jail on Saturday, I went to the banquet and hung
out with friends. I was pretty tired so I didn't really get involved in
any of the discussions or activities that evening, but did meet some new
people and enjoyed myself.
---Joe
While I don't mind doing jail solidarity (I have such a winning
smile, and after fourteen years of secretarial work, I have the social
graces that allow me to deal with cops--one bureaucracy is just like another),
I felt like I ended up spending way too much time down at police stations
and courthouse--from 3:30 to 10 p.m. on Friday and from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m.
on Saturday. On one hand, I don't feel bad about what I did; I would freely
and gladly do it again. I'm always happy to do solidarity work for people
who need. it. When I was arrested here in San Francisco at the 1984 Democratic
Convention, I learned the hard way how those on the inside are totally
dependent on those on the outside to get them out of jail. There is nothing
like a long, cold lonely night in jail to teach you that.
On the other hand, I'm mad both at myself for doing it so long and
at others for not doing it and seemingly not caring that there were 38
people in the hands of the state. I was also infuriated by the attitude
of "well, they got themselves arrested, let them get themselves out; it's
not our responsibility," which assumed most of those people arrested had
done something to deserve being arrested for. Sort of like blaming a rape
victim of bringing the rape upon herself.
I also didn't like the attitude of some of the people arrested. One
woman was upset that we weren't down there at 7:30 a.m. to bail her out.
The men were very upset that a) the cops had left the window open all night
and it was cold so they couldn't sleep, b) they were only served bologna
sandwiches once while they were there, and c) a couple of them had their
hair pulled when they resisted. You know what they did for such ill treatment?
They fucking called Amnesty International. I'm from a working class background;
in 1970 the Chicago cops beat my sister into unconsciousness with a rubber
hose--her crime? She was a sixteen year old runaway high on acid who resisted.
They were treating people with kid gloves compared to the normal treatment
of prisoners. Dennis from Chicago spent a lot of time with me down at the
jail. He works in an Emergency Room and was telling me about the police-beating
victims he gets all the time. I guess I got angry that a lot of those arrested
were young, white, and privileged middle-class who had no understanding
that when you break the rules (or even if you didn't, but the police get
their hands on you anyway), the state will not treat you very well at all.
---Freddie
When I got to the church, I heard that maybe some people got arrested.
A couple of us headed to the jail to find out. Danny and I went into the
station and I walked up to the desk. Then I saw that my friend was being
arrested. I tried to block the police and asked why, and when they told
me, I asked if they could prove it. I was told if I took one more step
I'd be arrested too. I didn't want to add myself to the list. After all
I felt good that I managed not to get arrested.
I tried to get names of those in jail, of course not thinking that
people weren't going to give their names right off. So there I was, being
harassed by cops and by the news media.
Then I heard the proposed intro into the story, which was the #1 news
story on the first edition, #2 on the next and somewhere at the end on
the 11:00 news. Anyway, they wanted to say a group of teenaged punks calling
themselves "anarchists" caused chaos on the streets of Chicago today, etc.
You can imagine. Anyway, although I hate the straight media, I agreed to
do three interviews. In a way I'm glad that the other anarchists (and friends)
missed it, because the last thing I needed right then was criticism (although
later a large group of us did the same thing with Dennis making some pretty
good comments), but on the other hand I felt justified in trying to explain
why we were in Chicago (know thy history), what I thought anarchy is and
why non-violent direct action doesn't hurt people, just property and that
we are autonomous individuals. We do as we think appropriate and that doing
damage to the Marriot was their choice, but I thought the Marriot wouldn't
feel the cost of undoing their damage. After, I spent about an hour trying
to explain to Adelai Stevenson why we call the event the Haymarket Tragedy
and not the Haymarket riots. (Referring, of course to 1886. Just try to
talk history to some people.) But I made it clear that I felt that anarchy
was a rejection of all hierarchies, social and political. I said we are
all autonomous people loosely associated with each other and we are all
individual sovereigns who behave in a way which they see fit as long as
it doesn't hurt or infringe on the rights of others. (But I wouldn't give
my name or anybody else's, or tell where our meetings were.)
While I was sitting around, the cop made all sorts of sexist remarks
towards me about the way I look. There was also an imaginary line which
I was told I couldn't cross or I'd be arrested. Then I had to go upstairs
to sign for a rat. (Of course, Emma Goldman actually signed for it.) They
wanted to kill it, but then they said that it was a white rat and they
only would have killed it if it was a black rat. I asked "what does that
mean?", and a cop relied, "That's a racist joke, honey." They told me that
was called pesticide. I told them that's funny. I thought killing a cop
was called pesticide. Of course, they made all sorts of disgusting remarks.
I was shocked. I've never met more offensive cops.
---Chartreuse Colada
As you know, 38 people were arrested and fingers have been pointed
in all directions. Some have blamed the Chicago organizers for the arrests
and I feel that it's inappropriate. I am not a member of Chicago Anarchists
United (CAU), the conference organizers, but had worked with them in the
past. I know some of what they went through planning events, and think
it's out of place to blame the arrests and legal difficulties on them.
People were told that if they were arrested, CAU did not have the resources
to take responsibility for them. Their fault was a reluctance to adequately
organize and plan the route. One which twists and turns through an unfamiliar
city, has a course known only to a few participants, and ends by marching
down a major tourist and financial strip which itself ends 2 blocks further,
is a setup for problems.
People have blamed those involved in the Marriot action for the arrests,
since most arrested had nothing to do with it, and were simply victims
of the police response. They feel that this action coming at the end of
a 2-hour demo which pushed the police further and further only gave them
an excuse. Most have said that the police response was inevitable after
the action at IBM. Others said they heard talk, between police, of planned
arrests as early as the Tribune Building. The police had lost their patience
and realized that we weren't the type of demonstrators that they were used
to--the kind who play it safe and give the names of those to be arrested
to the police ahead of time as tokens.
We have to remember that people were arrested by police--we didn't
arrest each other. The fact that we exist is reason enough for them to
arrest us. Whatever the causes were, after people were arrested, solidarity
was required to release them. It was great to see people get together the
way they did. When something needed to be done, people did it. When money
was needed people gave what they could, sometimes not saving enough to
get home. The total collected over the next 2 days was $3165, of which
$800 was given by CAU.
---Dennis
When it became clear that a number of people had been picked up
by the Chicago police, the rest of us swung into action. I fondly hope
to see such effective decentralized action again in the future (ideally
directed towards some nicer cause!). No one gave any orders, no one called
on a previously set up plan, no one tried to exert authority based on previous
experiences with arrests in general or the Chicago police in particular.
Instead, a bunch of people--everyone there--pitched in and started doing
stuff.
Anyway, people pitched in, and I know who at least some of them were.
Chicago's Dennis ended up going down to the 18th Precinct, where everyone
was being processed, along with a bunch of other people: Laura, Freddie,
and David were there at one time or another, but there were lots more.
Meanwhile, back at the church, the pay phone was beginning to ring, and
Guy and myself did most of the answering, aided by at least half a dozen
other people. Lee got in touch with the press, and soon we had at least
a rough number from CBS as to how many had been picked up. Others were
running around helping out, either in the continuous meeting that was going
on or in talking to the press (the Chicago Trib reporter was particularly
confused, I think, that none of us claimed to be any more a spokesman than
anyone else). A couple of people hunted up lawyers who were willing to
lean on the cops for us.
Dennis kept in touch from the Precinct, and passed the news back via
the pay phone. From him, we found that most of the guys weren't cooperating,
and that the whole station was shaking as they yelled and stomped their
feet. A round of applause greeted this, followed by another when we learned
the charge: Mob Action Against the State, Disorderly Conduct, and Desecration
of the Flag. Conflicting reports of the bail amounts came through, depending
on who talked to which cop, ranging from $50 to $150 each. The hat was
passed several times, and by the time the night was over about $2000 in
bail money had been collected from the two or three hundred people present--it
was amazing how much people were willing to donate, often without any idea
who it was going to help.
11:00 and church closing sneaked up on us with a lot of things still
up in the air. Four different people organized ways to keep the phone lines
open and people in touch, and ultimately what was left of the core group
with the bail money ended up at Max-Works, an anarchist collective south
of downtown. From there we were able to get to both the 18th Precinct and
the 11th Street jail, to which the women had been transferred, and were
actually able to bail a few people out before morning. A few others made
their own bail after cooperating, and I believe 8 or 9 were out by dawn.
We could have had one more, but she refused to sign the bail papers without
reading them and the asshole cop at the jail wouldn't give her time to
do so ("We're busy"--with no one else in the place but us!), and back upstairs
she went. So it goes.
By about 4 a.m. those of us still up decided to call it a night. Arraignments
were set at 9 a.m., and the cops weren't going to finish processing anyone
else before that. I turned the bail money over to some of the folks at
Max-Works, and hitched a ride back up to the hotel where my stuff was for
a couple of hours of sleep.
---Mike
Meanwhile, back at the gathering, dealing with the arrests took up a lot of time and energy, diverting people's attention from the other events. People tried to determine who was arrested (since many arrested didn't give names, and the cops were being very slow in releasing the names of those who did "cooperate"), hats were passed to raise the thousands of dollars in bail money needed, and the press was kept at bay (TV camera crews kept trying to invade the gathering that night). Criticism and self-criticism sessions followed. Many people learned more about how demonstrations should and should not be organized--knowledge which will hopefully be put into practice in planning future activities. Some San Francisco anarchists criticized the demonstration as "long, boring, and typically leftist," although by midwest standards it was quite atypical. Reportedly, the organizers of the "shopping spree" have since changed their minds about the practical wisdom of what was done, although others (including some who were arrested) applauded their actions.
---Lev
Excerpt from Anarchy:
a journal of desire armed
At a wide-ranging post mortem discussion on Friday evening of the downtown action, there was a large and fervent concern over lack of communication. It was pointed out that most of the people who'd been at the action had no advanced warning that the actions which led directly to the arrests were even being considered, and were totally unaware of the impromptu strategy meeting which had happened the previous evening. A heated discussion on the subject of the validity of property damage as a tactic arrived at a general if not total consensus that property damage might, under certain conditions, be called for. But to launch into such a program with no prior agreement on tactics was an example of lack of solidarity with, and concern for, other members of the overall action. It was suggested that folks who wanted to participate in such actions might better choose targets a few blocks away from the main march route. The differences between demonstrations for propaganda purposes and those devoted to "having fun" were discussed, along with serious questioning of the total validity of demos as an agent of social change and propaganda in the current social/political climate. A demo in front of the jail was suggested, briefly discussed, and rejected. Two firm decisions came out of the Friday evening meeting, that some of us should be present at court the following morning for moral support at the bail hearings and that we should redouble our efforts to come up with bail money. Both of these things were actually done. In view of the fact that the busts didn't start until the cops had pressured the group into splitting in two, it seems evident that the number of arrests could have been greatly reduced if the majority of the marchers had any idea of what was impending and if the cardinal rule of "stick together" hadn't been broken.
---Pat
our friend was arrested the day after we arrived in chicago, so
that we spent much time and energy around getting her out of jail and most
of our contacts were made with people who had friends in the same situation.
i didn't have a chance to attend many workshops. the shit we went through
getting christine out of jail was the tough "reality." the wheeling and
dealing, racism, sexism and hatred in that courthouse was staggering. the
guards and cops kept asking us (the prisoner support group) who our leader
was. they wanted to direct their power of manipulation at one person's
eyes. they said the courtroom where our friends were pleading was full
and that we could not go in, although we saw it was half empty. they threatened
us with imprisonment and the fires of hell if we spoke above a whisper
or moved a hand in the wrong way. there was not a shimmer of fairness or
justice. they were so threatened by a colorful, motley crew of young people
caring for their friends, that maybe it should have made us feel powerful
to bother them so easily. but it is their world we live in and i felt fear
of their hatred.
i liked the tug and pull that went on in the discussions about the
demonstration and examination of our motives. my gut reaction is that i
liked the demo. i liked the power, the energy running through the streets.
how little opportunity i have to express how i really feel about the cities
of glass buildings and money holders. i believe the sense of humor and
mocking of conventions (sliding down city monuments) are the best things
that the demo and possibly the whole movement has going for it. the seriousness
of commercials and car payments is how we are all strangled. we forget
about dancing and playing.
---Tamara
On June l3, 1986, twelve defendants of some 38 or 39 arrestees
appeared in court. One defendant was tried separately and I assume
acquitted. The other eleven made the decision to get in and out of court
ASAP. This meant a bench trial on that date at that time. Our lawyer went
to a back room with the prosecutor and the judge. When he came back, he
said he had a deal worked out where 4 defendants would be acquitted, four
would get a continuance and 3 would go to trial that day. We talked it
over and said no. Our lawyer went to the back room again and reappeared
with another deal: seven of us would be SOL's and 4 of us would go to trial
that day. It didn't matter to the court which four. SOL means the charges
are dropped, but the state has 90 days within which it can reinstate the
charges if they so please. Reinstatement of charges is very rare. So it
came down to getting 4 volunteers willing to take a dive. Four volunteers
came forward and went to trial (a bench trial). They pleaded not guilty
with disposition to the evidence or some such disposition to some shit.
What this meant was they considered themselves not guilty, but they agreed
that the prosecutor's evidence was fact. The judge proceeded with 10 minutes
or so of legal rhetoric asking them yes and no questions and getting them
to recite various verses of law. These recitings were that the judge said
something and they repeated it after him.
The charges faced by all defendants in court that day were: mob
action , a state charge, and disorderly conduct , a city charge.
The city charge of disorderly conduct was dropped, because the City of
Chicago prosecutor failed to appear in court.
Among the prosecutor's "evidence" was testimony from cops who didn't
appear in court. The testimony was that two of the defendants knocked people
down or hit people during the demonstration. The two defendants committed
no such acts. Our lawyer challenged the prosecutor to produce these cops
and challenged the prosecutor to have these cops actually perjure (lie
under oath) themselves. It was too late though. The judge was already influenced
by this lie.
What I found ironic was two of the four defendants were, according
to the first deal, to be acquitted. It was these two who ended up with
social service supervision. For those of us who were rookies in the arrest
game, it was sobering. The falsehoods of the "justice system" became quite
apparent.
Well, the four defendants were sentenced to 3 months supervision, though
not found guilty. Two got court supervision, meaning they must appear in
court on 9/11/86. Two got social service supervision meaning they must
deal with a social worker and appear in court on 9/11/86. This supervision
deal means, don't get busted for a penal offense between 6/13/86 and 9/11/86
or you will get fucked. At least that is what the judge implied.
Those who didn't appear got warrants for their arrest and $3000 bonds.
It should be said that extradition on misdemeanors is unheard of.
---Anonymous