Today I went to a protest. The protest was on Trump's child detention policy and the shittiness of ICE. Appropriately, it took place in front of the building that houses ICE's San Francisco office, on Sansome Street in the coldest part of town, the Financial District. /1
A noontime wind whipped off the Bay and through the dark streets. Many in the crowd - between 700 and 1000 - difficult to tell because there was a lot of coming and going - were bundled up or shivering.
The scene was solemn, the chants strong but cold. /2
The scene was solemn, the chants strong but cold. /2
Unlike every other San Francisco protest I've been in, this one had no joy. That sounds strange, but, when you are out on the street with others, united for or against some cause, there is warmth in solidarity. You don't feel alone, you feel hope, you feel joy. /3
Today, I didn't feel alone and there was hope in the numbers and the no bullshit attitude of the crowd, but there was no joy.
I've been to hundreds of protests on tons of different topics /4
I've been to hundreds of protests on tons of different topics /4
- capital punishment, torture, governmental mass murder, cruelty to prisoners, etc. - and my emotional range has tripped from joyous anger to angry joy. In nearly 40 years of doing this shit, I have cried twice. /5
The first time was in a mass mobilization in San Francisco against the first Gulf War. The police estimated that there were 500,000 people there, organizers said 1 million. Whatever, it was huge. /6
Standing with a friend, in the middle of the crowd, slowly moving down Market Street, we both started crying. The tears came from no one emotion but from that special feeling when you are overwhelmed and transcend everything - ecstasy, perhaps. /7
The second time I cried at a protest was this afternoon. My tears were not ecstatic. They came from some place darker. As I wrote, the scene was one of solemn determination. There was no drum circle or witty signs. No dark humor. /8
There was anger but it was muted by a sense of duty. If the crowd was armed with sledge hammers, we would have cheerlessly set upon the base of the building, knocking out stones until the fucker fell. That was the mood. /9
Someone in front with a megaphone led the chants. The chants were good. They were direct. They were strong. They were serious. And that is what got me. Not all the chants, but one in particular: Stop taking children. Stop taking children. Stop taking children. /10
The chant went on for ten minutes. Sometime around minute mark four, I started to tear up. Stop taking children? Stop taking children?! Are we protesting Boko Haram or the United States? Listen, I know my history. /11
America has lynched & done medical experimentation on African Americans. Its forced sterilization and lobotomized people It has tortured It has enslaved. It has murdered million. But never have I have standing in front of a building chanting "Stop taking children." Never. fin
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