Salon.com > Marisa Handler

Notes from an activist: After Miami, what next?

Mon, 24 Nov 2003 16:34:00 +0000

As usual, mild chaos prevails at the Convergence Center when we arrive this morning. Outside, people are eating or smoking, lounging in small constellations on the cement and animatedly chewing over yesterday's drama. Inside, under the Welcome sign, greeters are answering phones and barking out questions to people milling about. Within the main room, a meeting is slowly coagulating.

"If you can hear me, clap once!" bawls Lisa, the facilitator. A round of scattered claps. "If you can hear me, clap twice!" A rather more coordinated spurt of applause. "If you can hear me, make some noise!" Noise is duly made, and the meeting is officially launched.

The beginning of the meeting is devoted to statements from various allies pledging support in the face of the past two days of police violence: the AFL-CIO, the organizers of the Root Cause march, the National Lawyers' Guild. Many activists are still in jail, practicing jail solidarity in order to ensure that all get equal treatment. The rest of our meeting is spent discussing how to mobilize national support for those in prison, and how to get the word out about the brutal response of Miami's police force. I work on the letter calling people to action: We are asking for monetary support, call-ins to city and county officials, and solidarity actions to take place this coming Monday. Increasingly we are receiving word of prisoners being mistreated in jail, and the usual high energy gives way to a palpable, spreading sense of disquiet. One prisoner, a Mexican man, was beaten so badly during arrest that he is currently in the intensive care unit, suffering from a brain hemorrhage.

Notes from an activist: Militant response

Sat, 22 Nov 2003 18:30:00 +0000

"Dade County Ordinance: Vendors caught merchandising here are subject to 60 days in jail and/or a $500 fine." On the opposite fence, in large, gaudy lettering: "Welcome to the Really Really Free Market!"

We walk into the narrow strip of park, refreshingly verdant and lush in the middle of downtown Miami. On my right, people are lining up to take a hit at a hefty green pinata, artfully molded into the shape of a dollar sign. "Smash the corporate pinata to find true wealth" reads the banner; when the pinata bursts, a tide of dandelions come wafting out. On my left is the free massage section. I make a mental note to return here. Further down is capoeira, and a circle of activists squinting down at the elaborate folds of their pink origami peace cranes. I pass a woman smiling widely, holding a sign offering free smiles and hugs. As always, Food Not Bombs is here, doling out generous veggie lunches. It's all coming together now. So this is where they went when Jerry died.

Notes from an activist: Running with the Black Bloc

Fri, 21 Nov 2003 16:43:00 +0000

It's 4:45 a.m. and time to get up, impossible as that seems. I've had a whopping six hours of sleep in the past two nights. We meet outside our hotel, distribute snacks and medical supplies (Maalox for tear gas, a first aid kit), and split up into cars to drive over to the Convergence Center for our scheduled 5:45 cluster gathering. It is not yet dawn, and Miami is numinously beautiful against the night sky: the emerald city, the breathing incarnation of our months of planning.

At the Convergence Center, we circle up, introduce ourselves with a game, and review plans. There are at least three helicopters overhead, flashing powerful lights down onto us, whining like gargantuan mosquitoes -- over the past days, this whine has ingrained itself into my skull -- and we have to yell to hear each other. We break apart to head down to Government Center, our 7 a.m. downtown mass action convergence spot. I stay behind to finish up some media "wrangling" -- placing our ironically "embedded" reporters with affinity groups.

Notes from an activist: Preparing for the showdown

Thu, 20 Nov 2003 16:58:00 +0000

Outside the Convergence Center, in a shocking pink gauze dress and oversized sunglasses, a woman is tracking passing vehicles: which ones slow down, which drivers pause to photograph. Security. We exchange smiles as I wend my way in. The Convergence Center is about twice as busy today, Wednesday, as it was Tuesday: Hundreds more activists have arrived, and today is the day to organize. Thursday is the much-heralded "Day Of": the first day of the FTAA meetings, and our scheduled day of mass direct action.

Organize, organize, organize: Everywhere I look, people are gathering to strategize and plan. We meet first in our affinity groups -- small groups, generally no larger than 15; the goal is to build supportive, close community -- and work through what kind of action we want to be part of. My affinity group is Code Orange (for liberation!), birthed out of Direct Action to Stop the War -- yes, we were some of the folks that organized to shut San Francisco down the day after President Bush declared war on Iraq. We want to incorporate lots of art and theater; we have decided to cluster with the FCAA, or Free Carnival Area of the Americas.

Notes from an activist: Welcome to Miami

Wed, 19 Nov 2003 17:24:00 +0000

A couple of weeks ago, this was a nondescript warehouse, squat and invisible in the midst of a working-class Miami neighborhood. Today, as we pull up, the excitement is palpable. I pause outside the chain-link fence to admire the transformation.

"The New Global Currency: Love" reads one sign. "FTAA No Way" reads another. And over the entrance, in colorful, buoyant letters: Welcome Center. Also known as the Convergence Center, this is where direct action activists from all over the country are coming together to organize. I push my way through the narrow entrance (a police raid could happen at any point, and thus access is limited) and here I am, a distracted neophyte in the center of a whirring hive of activity.

I wade through the outdoor section-kitchen, living room, and back porch all rolled into one tarp-covered playground, and into the warehouse. I search the room, the multicolored signs, the massive, marked-up map of downtown Miami, the animated faces. Ah, there's Meddle! I arrived in Miami last night, and have yet to hook up with anyone else from my San Francisco Bay Area-based affinity group. It's good to see someone I know. We hug. Meddle has been here for weeks already, locating housing for the arriving activists (with little success: When the Coral Gables Congregational Church offered space, the Miami police -- the most frequently indicted police force in the nation -- issued notice that they were violating nonresidential zoning laws, despite ample precedent of churches housing activists). Meddle grins at me. "Welcome to Miami."