we made our way north towards Heiligedamm for the G8 protests. It was a noisy three hours drive in the blue Renault with a hole-pocked muffler. a loose idea a week prior - to 'do something' political - to 'participate' in this broken system - raging and machines and whatnot. i had a few free days and cowboy george was coming to town and well, it's just that close, so why not pop up do the right thing. even be a part of another seattle - nudge the world in a more humane direction, if everso briefly.
there are just so many ways to approach the events of the G8 protests; as i process those twenty-four hours, it's all rather amorphous and subjective and not simply a little overwhelming.
I consider:
- the absolute futility of protest as a modality for affecting change in the world;
- the dire importance of protest as a modality for affecting change in the world;
- fear of a police state;
- and of tumbling further down the spiral in search of short term profits - a few people screaming;
- and loss of freedom of speech;
- the roles we play and the hands we are forced as we're boxed into categories - as demonstrator, as police, as politician and power broker, as television viewer at home, as indy media documentarian, as observer and passerby and wallflower witness, as victim, as perpetrator, as good as bad.
- that mediation of events and the absurd and frightening cartoonishness of these roles - stormtrooper cops and post modern hippies, anarchists in black throwing rocks the size of fists., and the viewer at home.
"what does this all mean?" asks the tv viewer at home.
rocks thrown at cops. fire. impressions. great newspaper pictures. even better television.
media crews peppered everywhere. mediating. beholden to spectacle. absolved of responsibility.
i cut my teeth on san francisco and berkeley protests of the 1990s - at their largest, these were mellow, peaceful affairs with much spirit and pranksterism and a handful of arrests - free mumia, stop bombing iraq, no wars for oil, and the seeds of the anti-globalization movements and so on.
Heiligendamm was a much different animal.
we arrived mid-day at the ordinarily sleepy town of bad doboran, not far from the fence surrounding the actual summit location and one of a handful of protest epicenters. it was cooking hot. we drove as far north as we could; an arbored boulevard was blocked by police vans. we got out and walked. i took some pictures.
Protest tourism. where are the anarchists? where are the riots, the flaming cop cars. we stepped through the blockaded streets. people yelled "no pictures" and i put my camera away.
we strolled out to The fence. two parallel chain link fences and razor wire. and rows of police in riot gear, just inside the town border. demonstrators lounged in the sun. the cops were sweating from the heat, dressed in riot gear. the protesters taunted them with bubbles and techno. a man dressed in pink poked a finger through the fence..someone snapped a picture and it made page 2 in the papers.
we walked west along the new town border. open fields the the left. black helicopters moved about nearby, chop chop chopping the hot air. i thought of movies about vietnam. "this is really like vietnam...in all those war movies i grew up on." i kept thinking chopchopchopchopchop....dopplering in and out. i ran my hand along the fence as i walked. a few kilometers in, there was a closed gate. on the other side: police, horses, green armored vans. demonstrators began to assemble. there was a medium size fire burning. a police horse got loose; he galloped in circles. the demonstrators cheered and the air felt tense. i did not feel calm and walked into the field beyond. watching from a distance. the police exited in unison, some in riot gear, some on horse back, defining a perimeter around the entrance. the demonstrators jeered. i walked further out into the field. arrest was not an option and i realized there was no 'protest tourism'. as i watched reinforcements arrive, surrounding roads around the field. more stormtrooper police, cops on horseback, vans and water cannons. ali left with a group. i crouched in the wheat, searching for an exit - groups did not feel safe to me here. i worked my way through the fields, walking low. and the black helicopters circled above. police had blockaded roads and intersections. demonstrators were gathered and wandering the area, surrounded. uncertain what would happen, i looked for an exit. i scrambled up a nettle-covered embankment to another field, dotted one side with police and made my way in an opposite direction to an open road. circle back to the car. call ali. meet at another blockade.
wash. rinse. repeat.
this is the cat and mouse game. the media thrives on it. so do the demonstrators. the cops get paid overtime. 1200 arrests. many no doubt political prisoners, more or less, swept up perhaps for no other reason than being unlucky. a few get nabbed for throwing rocks at police and setting fires. many others for pushing through public streets that are no longer public. demonstraters push in and the police push back, rushing animal quick in packs or rows to "de-escalate". there was a lot of deescalation happening.
i walked away from Heilegendamm, a bit less optimistic than the closing speakers seemed to be. they spoke of successes and grand strategies for G8 summits to come. it was without a doubt an impressive feat of organization and logistics - tens of thousands were fed and cared for, legal teams worked for the rights of those arrested, camp reddelich was a feat in itself, with planning, info and logistical centers, media spokespeople, security, clean toilets, numerous bars and eateries...and a population, many of whom give a shit. on our drive back home, just outside of rostock, a convoy of black helicopters passed overhead, racing towards the airport. "Bush on his way out?"
whether this action in sum total was a success or a stalemate, the summit proceeded. the policies were largely, if not wholly, unaffected. some reporters did have to arrive by boat instead of land (of course, widely reported). i left somehow confused. the impact here was, to me, some kind of duality - nil and all - these protests don't change policies (the iraq war showed that.) and i'm not sure how often they change minds (i'd guess rarely); that they happen is essential all the same. as the screws get tightened on freedom of speech everywhere, those here will be the first and loudest screamers, the ones who rush headlong into the fray to push back as the clubs come down and the cuffs come out. despite my pessimism and as worrysome as the future seems it is likely to be, it was inspiring to be in Heilegendamm, feeling just ever so slightly that i'm doing what i can.
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