Heres what the Monday night Westlake protest felt like to me: Standing around with like-minded comrades, listening a variety of speakers on the bullhorn, it felt good to put my heart into action. As we streamed into Pine street I could feel a collectively held breath as we marched west and realized this action did not have a permit. I felt carried along by the passionate, determined hearts of my comrades and as we rounded the corner chanting hands up, dont shoot I lost the lump in my throat and shared my plea for complete disarmament. The police surrounded us, on the periphery. Time stopped as I felt myself begging the system to STOP SHOOTING PEOPLE-- here, overseas, everywhere. Our hands were up, we were in clear and public violation of the law, and they could have shot something at us-- tear gas, rubber bullets-- to try and silence and control us, but we pleaded, we instructed, we taught them what taking a compassionate stand looks like. We faced the stopped traffic, we reminded drivers of what happened to Mike Brown who was murdered on an asphalt road like this one, we reminded everyone what matters-- amidst all of the blaring store signs, money changing hands, the capitalist machine that reduces people and our Earth to units of abstract greed. Like angels we hovered there, a sentinel, a visitation, a presence of divine love and wisdom here on Earth, the only Seattlites at that moment brave enough to claim the core of this grey town. We were fully present with our hearts in our hands, unafraid because we had each other. And then, one young woman told me we dont have enough medics tonite-- I dont want to get sprayed and we made the choice to step out and step away. But outside the cordon, I raised my black-gloved fist in the air in silent salute to the people of all ages lying down on the road, and now I know for sure that I am not alone.
Posted on: Wed, 03 Dec 2014 05:09:57 +0000