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Monthly Archives: June 2012

On Wednesday, June 13, members of the Occupy movement protested against a conference dedicated to combatting child sex trafficking — thus, the Occupiers in essence were coming out in favor of one of society’s most loathsome moral crimes.

The protesters mostly were members of Occupy Oakland Patriarchy, a group within the overall Occupy movement tasked with overthrowing our civilization’s “patriarchy.”

The conference which so infuriated them was called HEAT Watch, short for the National Human Exploitation And Trafficking Watch Conference.

If there’s one issue that unites Americans of all political stripes, it’s the sexual enslavement of children. Whatever our opinions on other issues, we all agree that sex trafficking and the prostituting of children is an outrage and a tragedy. Thus, conference attendees included liberal, moderate and conservative politicians; progressive nonprofit organizations; law enforcement groups; religious leaders; and (according to the conference Web site) “social services, medical providers, mental health, education, probation, and community-based organizations.” In short: Everybody.

Everybody, that is, except Occupy Wall Street, who somehow found a way to oppose the abolition of child sexual slavery. In order to justify this seemingly incomprehensible and repugnant position, the Occupiers performed some of the most amazing moral gymnastics you’ll ever encounter. I’ll give them a lot of room to explain themselves in a moment, but first let’s get a glimpse of the conference, the protest, a small counter-protest, and the completely bizarre behavior of the Occupiers.


The first thing passersby encountered was not the conference nor even the protest but instead this one-man counter-protest. He alone had the cojones to come out and oppose the Occupiers with his own confrontational counter-narrative: “Defend the Children from the Occupy Molesters.” I imagine his point was that, by espousing the practice of child prostitution, the Occupiers are morally responsible for their molestation; though perhaps his accusation was more direct and literal — hard to say.


He had also written a very large warning in chalk on the sidewalk in front of the venue; it was so big that I couldn’t capture it all in one photo, so I stitched together two images to reveal the full sentence: “Counter-demonstration: Defend Child Sex Traffic Conf. from Occupy Molesters.” Since in this version we’re asked to defend the conference (rather than the children) from the Occupiers, one can safely assume that his accusation was more metaphorical than literal.


Around the corner, the Occupiers assembled at the side entrance of the convention venue, the Marriott Hotel inside the Oakland Convention Center on Broadway.


The Occupy narrative was very convoluted and can’t be coherently summarized in just a few images — in fact, they remained pretty incoherent even with all the space in the world to explain themselves — but we’ll get started with a few of their signs. This one said “End Police Terror Against Minor + Adult Sex Workers.” This is based on the Prime Directive of Occupy Oakland’s worldview: The police are mankind’s #1 enemy. Cops are invariably malevolent, and their actions always rank as “terror.”


Building block #2 for the Occupy argument: Rescuing an immigrant girl from a lifetime of sexual slavery at the hands of an evil pimp counts as “racism.”

Hell, why am I even bothering with this? When you act as the Occupiers did at this protest, your violent aggressive behavior trumps any message you may have had. After protesting on the sidewalk for a while, the Occupiers went berserk and staged a full-frontal assault on the conference. The security guards somehow managed to repel the invasion, as the Occupiers then hurled paint-bombs, bottles of unknown liquid, eggs and other projectiles at the hotel. Amazingly, they were so proud of all this that they uploaded their own video of the assault:

Sorry, Occupiers: All your credibility is lost after antics like that.

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President Obama sprinted through San Francisco on June 6 to attend yet two more high-end fundraisers. And I dogged him every step of the way.

Although Obama studiously avoided mentioning the Wisconsin election results during either of his speeches in S.F., Tea Party protesters rubbed his face in his party’s painful defeat yesterday, as we shall soon see.

Protesters — from both the right and the left — vastly outnumbered supporters wherever Obama went in the city. But at my first stop, most of the accidental rubberneckers had no idea which celebrity was responsible for the annoying street closures. “What’s all this for? Some politician?” asked a passing San Franciscan as Obama’s motorcade approached. “President Obama’s showing up,” I replied. “Oh. Again?” he shrugged as he walked away.

Obama has been to the Bay Area to withdraw cash so many times this campaign season that everyone seems to have lost count.

Interestingly, the Occupy Wall Street movement was nowhere in sight and seems to have completely faded from the political landscape, even though both fundraisers were in buildings that Occupy actually vandalized in earlier times.

Let’s follow Obama on his visit to the ATM known as San Francisco.


His first stop was a mysterious high-ticket fundraiser for 25 unknown donors at One Market, a skyscraper on the Embarcadero. While several hundred protesters (visible in the far distance) futilely awaited Obama’s motorcade at the building’s front entrance, I knew from experience that the Secret Service always sneaks him in the back way. So I maneuvered myself to the rear of the building, where I was almost completely alone.


When the cops started blocking unwitting pedestrians with barricades, under the direction of guys wearing business suits with sunglasses, American flag pins, and earphones, I knew I had hit paydirt — this was going to be the entrance point.


A bomb-sniffing dog from the K-9 Unit checked out every possible hiding place — another sure sign that the motorcade was going to pass this way.


After 20 minutes or so a cluster of onlookers had gathered, almost all of whom were there by chance. One by one I had informed them of Obama’s arrival, and the word spread. A few stuck around to catch a glimpse of the most powerful man in the world. As his motorcade approached, a couple of young ladies stepped into the street, and the cop was like, “Whoa whoa whoa, are you out of your mind? Do you want to get shot? Get back on the sidewalk!”


They stepped back, but the cop moved in to ensure compliance.


Hilariously, at this exact moment, an open-topped tour bus ran the barricade on the other side of the intersection, and was directed by tense cops down a side street. Never before was the cliché, “Move along, nothing to see here” more appropriate. Apparently neither the driver nor the tourists had the slightest clue that they missed seeing the president by just a few seconds.


The first of two identical limousines drove by. People waved and yelled. But as an old Obama Hand I know that he’s almost never in the first limousine — he’s in the second one. I squinted through the window and saw that I was correct — it was a body-double.


Then the actual presidential limousine cruised past. Interestingly, not only were the two vehicles visually identical, but they even had the same license plate number (800 002). Strange!


As you can see from the people across the street, the misdirection worked pretty well — most people were waving at the first limousine, while Obama went unnoticed.


But that was definitely him in the back seat. His jug ears gave him away, despite the poor visibility.


“Hello, Mr. Body Double!” everyone waved at the first car, as Obama slipped past them in the second.


Obama himself gave a perfunctory wave to my side of the street, though he had turned his head to talk to the guy next to him.


The crowd of blockaded pedestrians had grown to a couple hundred people; some decided to wave at the second limousine, just in case, even though he wasn’t really visible from that side of the street.


Obama finally turned his head to observe the passing peons. Too bad each of us didn’t have a spare $35,800, so we could actually see him in person! I guess that’s a privilege reserved for the elite.


The person next to me reached out a desperate, pleading hand. It seemed symbolic of something, though I’m not sure what.

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