If my thought dreams could be seen: May Day 1971 (Part One)
If my thought dreams could be seen: May Day 1971 (Part Two)
If my thought dreams could be seen: May Day 1971 (Part Three)
If my thought dreams could be seen: May Day 1971 (Part Four)
Within twenty minutes we stopped and Scott opened the back door to the U-Haul. I could smell water immediately and hear flags cracking in the wind. It was like going from black and white to color in the Wizard of Oz. Light and color and the fragrant scents of spring flooded in, overwhelming the darkness and dread that had captured us for 15 hours or more. We were crossing the Potomac River and the bridge was decorated with red and black flags. Long hairs were everywhere, people had signs and banners, and joy had captured us all. We were driving into West Potomac Park, we had gotten to D.C. safe and sound, it was morning in America, and we were going to make history.
West Potomac Park, adjacent to the National Mall, was filled with 45,000 people and it was a counter-cultural carnival of noise, color and excitement. A rainbow of people and issues were represented. The Beach Boys were rocking out on stage, there were men on stilts dressed as Uncle Sam, jugglers, movement heavies like Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin, hippies galore and gay people of immense variety. Several men in one group wore fully loaded Boy Scout merit badge sashes. There were tents everywhere and flag poles defiantly flying what were considered the colors of this nation's enemies, mostly the flag of the National Liberation Front, commonly known as the "Viet Cong." It was not an ideal PR gesture to win over the uncommitted, nor was it a staid event managed by an old left vanguard party committed to minding its P's and Q's.
The collapse of the more youth-led wing of the anti-war movement in 1969, represented by Students for a Democratic Society, had created an opening that was filled by more explicitly structured and disciplined groups. The weekend before May Day, a march in D.C. that had been largely spearheaded by the Socialist Workers Party drew 500,000 participants. This group opposed tactics such as civil disobedience or anything that exceeded the constraints of legally permitted protest. They even opposed linking opposition to the war with other social and political issues to avoid alienating anyone that might be against the war for any reason. This strategy was driven by what the participants in May Day saw as the futile hope that one more big demonstration might make a difference. But it didn't matter.
The collapse of the more youth-led wing of the anti-war movement in 1969, represented by Students for a Democratic Society, had created an opening that was filled by more explicitly structured and disciplined groups. The weekend before May Day, a march in D.C. that had been largely spearheaded by the Socialist Workers Party drew 500,000 participants. This group opposed tactics such as civil disobedience or anything that exceeded the constraints of legally permitted protest. They even opposed linking opposition to the war with other social and political issues to avoid alienating anyone that might be against the war for any reason. This strategy was driven by what the participants in May Day saw as the futile hope that one more big demonstration might make a difference. But it didn't matter.
"Most everyone I know is tired of demonstrations," long-time anti-war activist David Dellinger said at the time. "No wonder. If you've seen one or two, you've seen them all. Good, bad, or in between, they have not stopped the war, or put an end to poverty and racism, or freed all political prisoners."
The May Day action, as its literature explained, was different from a demonstration where you marched down the street, listened passively to speakers and went home. It was about action not congregation, disruption not display. Its understanding of non-violence did not preclude creativity or militance. The goal was to blockade major streets and roads and to make the Monday commute in to D.C. impossible. The leaders of May Day 1971, the May Day Tribe as they were called, were generally spokespeople, and it was up to decentralized geographical regions and hundreds of "affinity groups" of up to a dozen or so people to locate their targets and decide how to act.
Our one day in the encampment that Saturday was like attending a highly-politicized rock festival, with lots of people partying and getting wasted but with a far more serious intent underlying this fun than was usually the case. The idea that all these people would then change gears and clog up the streets and bring the city to a halt seemed brilliant. If the youth culture could take a political turn, this action could be replicated elsewhere with great affect. I of course didn't realize that things similar to this had been tried before, only with with less planning and militance. This time we were told, by the "movement heavies" we linked up with when we got there, it would all be different.
As Jerry and I sat on the back of the U-Haul taking in the vibe, we were approached by a young guy with long hair and some oddly-wrapped PVC pipe. Jerry, smart, witty and strong, was a great friend I'd met at Purdue my first week there. The guy with the pipe told us that what he had was a pipe-bomb and that it was for sale. Now this was a militant demonstration, but it was non-violent for a reason. We automatically assumed the guy was a rip-off artist who thought we were stupid or a police agent trying to stir up trouble to entrap us so we could be arrested well before acting on our mission. We didn't know what that would be yet because the "heavies" hadn't told us. We told the guy to fuck off and leave us alone. This was not the last time we would encounter people like this.
Later, military helicopters buzzed low over the crowd, trying to intimidate us. It still amazes me that some people were so well prepared that they launched helium balloons with thick enough ropes tied to them that they could get snared in a helicopters' propellors. It was sheer genius. They drove the helicopters away.
Finding it convenient to leave for a while, Jerry and I linked up with an affinity group from Connecticut and decided to take a look at their target intersection because we still did no know what we were really going to do. We left the park with them and drove over to an iffy residential neighborhood. It didn't seem like the kind of route someone would take to get to government offices and that we'd only be inconveniencing ordinary people in a poor neighborhood as they tried to get to work. For the first time I realized that not everyone we would stop from moving around was working for the war machine and it bothered me. As we poked around in a weed littered vacant lot we found numerous old telephone poles lying around. One of the guys from Connecticut, a sharp and funny man with a rapid-fire speaking style urged us to ally with his affinity group to block the nearby streets using these poles. It was a great idea, I enjoyed the energy of this new friend we'd just met, and my concerns about the people in the neighborhood subsided, perhaps too quickly. We we made plans to meet nearby early on Monday morning. Remember, this was Saturday afternoon.
When we got back to the park we told our friends about meeting the people from Connecticut and a number were interested; but it was mostly the friends we thought were not quite as heavy as ourselves. That worried me. The "movement heavies" we'd met in Illinois--and had gone out of our way to meet up with in D.C.--said there were bigger and better plans than that for us and that we'd all find out about it Sunday. I was not sure I liked these people that much anymore. They were such condescending know-it-alls and I liked the people from Connecticut much more. They seemed more like my friends and me only better informed. I preferred to cast my lot with them, but events conspired to create a different outcome.
Sunday morning before dawn, rain was pinging on the U-Haul's metallic roof, and then we heard bullhorns. We awoke in haste to find line after line of riot police with nightsticks drawn and tear gas ready emerging from the trees. Armored with shields and plexiglass visors, several hundred of them ringed the encampment, demanding our immediate exit. Overnight the May Day Tribe's permit to stay in the park had been revoked. The police fired tear gas and started knocking down tents, but they left a gap for people to escape if they wished, and many fled in the direction of the Lincoln Memorial and the Reflecting Pool. Police were stationed in all the other city parks to keep affinity groups from coalescing elsewhere. In the end, probably half the entire crowd just left town and went home, significantly weakening our forces. From the looks of many of them, they probably were just there for the fun part anyway and had not really intended to stay to confront the war machine on Monday.
Actually, it amazed me that we were even allowed to be there as long as we were. Some people had been in the park for ten days. I did not realize however, that there were many supporters in local and national government--and elsewhere--who were just as disgusted by the war as we. They were responsible for the May Day Tribe being able to legally occupy the park as long as they did. We would meet many people such as these in the next couple days, but for now we knew we had to haul ass and get out of the park before our value to the movement was compromised through arrest. The heavies told us that we should head over to Georgetown University and that there was going to be a militant march we wouldn't want to miss. My closest friends and I grabbed our gear quickly, Scott left to return the U-Haul, and we hopped into some cars to head over to Georgetown for the march.
When we got to Georgetown it was total mayhem. Armed with NLF flags and banners, the crowd was screaming at the police and tear gas canisters careened through the crowd spitting toxic fumes. The police charged with clubs drawn and drove motorscooters through the crowd, running down protestors and breaking their legs. People were bloodied and shrieking in pain and it was my very first demonstration ever. I could not believe what I had gotten myself into. The action was led by the Gay and Lesbian contingent of May Day, a vital part of the advance planning for the event. These people just refused to be walked on any longer. They were tough. But while talking tough, they were not violent. Only the police were violent. Jerry and I ran to the front because we wanted to be in the thick of it. "Hey guys, it's a women's march, fall back a bit OK?" said one woman with a wink. I got the feeling that there was a lot of conscious theater involved in this action and that these people were pretty skilled at what they were doing. The crowd chanted, "Run Yankee run Yankee run Yankee run. Women of the world are picking up the gun!"
Toto, I thought, I've a feeling we're not in Indiana anymore.
TO BE CONTINUED
The May Day action, as its literature explained, was different from a demonstration where you marched down the street, listened passively to speakers and went home. It was about action not congregation, disruption not display. Its understanding of non-violence did not preclude creativity or militance. The goal was to blockade major streets and roads and to make the Monday commute in to D.C. impossible. The leaders of May Day 1971, the May Day Tribe as they were called, were generally spokespeople, and it was up to decentralized geographical regions and hundreds of "affinity groups" of up to a dozen or so people to locate their targets and decide how to act.
Our one day in the encampment that Saturday was like attending a highly-politicized rock festival, with lots of people partying and getting wasted but with a far more serious intent underlying this fun than was usually the case. The idea that all these people would then change gears and clog up the streets and bring the city to a halt seemed brilliant. If the youth culture could take a political turn, this action could be replicated elsewhere with great affect. I of course didn't realize that things similar to this had been tried before, only with with less planning and militance. This time we were told, by the "movement heavies" we linked up with when we got there, it would all be different.
As Jerry and I sat on the back of the U-Haul taking in the vibe, we were approached by a young guy with long hair and some oddly-wrapped PVC pipe. Jerry, smart, witty and strong, was a great friend I'd met at Purdue my first week there. The guy with the pipe told us that what he had was a pipe-bomb and that it was for sale. Now this was a militant demonstration, but it was non-violent for a reason. We automatically assumed the guy was a rip-off artist who thought we were stupid or a police agent trying to stir up trouble to entrap us so we could be arrested well before acting on our mission. We didn't know what that would be yet because the "heavies" hadn't told us. We told the guy to fuck off and leave us alone. This was not the last time we would encounter people like this.
Later, military helicopters buzzed low over the crowd, trying to intimidate us. It still amazes me that some people were so well prepared that they launched helium balloons with thick enough ropes tied to them that they could get snared in a helicopters' propellors. It was sheer genius. They drove the helicopters away.
Finding it convenient to leave for a while, Jerry and I linked up with an affinity group from Connecticut and decided to take a look at their target intersection because we still did no know what we were really going to do. We left the park with them and drove over to an iffy residential neighborhood. It didn't seem like the kind of route someone would take to get to government offices and that we'd only be inconveniencing ordinary people in a poor neighborhood as they tried to get to work. For the first time I realized that not everyone we would stop from moving around was working for the war machine and it bothered me. As we poked around in a weed littered vacant lot we found numerous old telephone poles lying around. One of the guys from Connecticut, a sharp and funny man with a rapid-fire speaking style urged us to ally with his affinity group to block the nearby streets using these poles. It was a great idea, I enjoyed the energy of this new friend we'd just met, and my concerns about the people in the neighborhood subsided, perhaps too quickly. We we made plans to meet nearby early on Monday morning. Remember, this was Saturday afternoon.
When we got back to the park we told our friends about meeting the people from Connecticut and a number were interested; but it was mostly the friends we thought were not quite as heavy as ourselves. That worried me. The "movement heavies" we'd met in Illinois--and had gone out of our way to meet up with in D.C.--said there were bigger and better plans than that for us and that we'd all find out about it Sunday. I was not sure I liked these people that much anymore. They were such condescending know-it-alls and I liked the people from Connecticut much more. They seemed more like my friends and me only better informed. I preferred to cast my lot with them, but events conspired to create a different outcome.
Sunday morning before dawn, rain was pinging on the U-Haul's metallic roof, and then we heard bullhorns. We awoke in haste to find line after line of riot police with nightsticks drawn and tear gas ready emerging from the trees. Armored with shields and plexiglass visors, several hundred of them ringed the encampment, demanding our immediate exit. Overnight the May Day Tribe's permit to stay in the park had been revoked. The police fired tear gas and started knocking down tents, but they left a gap for people to escape if they wished, and many fled in the direction of the Lincoln Memorial and the Reflecting Pool. Police were stationed in all the other city parks to keep affinity groups from coalescing elsewhere. In the end, probably half the entire crowd just left town and went home, significantly weakening our forces. From the looks of many of them, they probably were just there for the fun part anyway and had not really intended to stay to confront the war machine on Monday.
Actually, it amazed me that we were even allowed to be there as long as we were. Some people had been in the park for ten days. I did not realize however, that there were many supporters in local and national government--and elsewhere--who were just as disgusted by the war as we. They were responsible for the May Day Tribe being able to legally occupy the park as long as they did. We would meet many people such as these in the next couple days, but for now we knew we had to haul ass and get out of the park before our value to the movement was compromised through arrest. The heavies told us that we should head over to Georgetown University and that there was going to be a militant march we wouldn't want to miss. My closest friends and I grabbed our gear quickly, Scott left to return the U-Haul, and we hopped into some cars to head over to Georgetown for the march.
When we got to Georgetown it was total mayhem. Armed with NLF flags and banners, the crowd was screaming at the police and tear gas canisters careened through the crowd spitting toxic fumes. The police charged with clubs drawn and drove motorscooters through the crowd, running down protestors and breaking their legs. People were bloodied and shrieking in pain and it was my very first demonstration ever. I could not believe what I had gotten myself into. The action was led by the Gay and Lesbian contingent of May Day, a vital part of the advance planning for the event. These people just refused to be walked on any longer. They were tough. But while talking tough, they were not violent. Only the police were violent. Jerry and I ran to the front because we wanted to be in the thick of it. "Hey guys, it's a women's march, fall back a bit OK?" said one woman with a wink. I got the feeling that there was a lot of conscious theater involved in this action and that these people were pretty skilled at what they were doing. The crowd chanted, "Run Yankee run Yankee run Yankee run. Women of the world are picking up the gun!"
Toto, I thought, I've a feeling we're not in Indiana anymore.
TO BE CONTINUED
Building some good tension here...
ReplyDeleteTitus
I don't like crowds and wonder about things like this.. were you ever concerned that you would lose your ride back home? (I guess you could have hopped a train... ;-) )
We hitchhiked back. Jerry and I got one really good ride from a truck driver--the only ride I ever got from a truck driver--and we went almost all the way from from DC to Indianapolis with this one man. He said we reminded him of his daughter's friends. He was a sweet guy. We were very grateful.
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