Attending the “Day of Action” reminded me to notice New York’s scale, even on Lower Manhattan’s short and narrow streets. The city — even just Wall Street — is far too large to be “occupied” except by the most productive and clear thinkers; the most useful port in North America was inevitably utilized by the most resourceful people. Yards away from Zuccotti, two tremendous towers that none of the parasites could ever construct went up quietly from productive hands, and a literal turning of the corner and the Occupy Wall Street crowd was inaudible. They are small and liberty’s front entrance is much larger:
I don’t wish to understate it: one block’s distance from the protest was enough to be through with it. You could not hear or see any happening – except for the helicopters – and you could not find a person who generally cared about it, less someone like myself filing a report, or the large, bemused police presence. You know about the occupiers because of the helicopters and media like me, but from New York’s point of view: Lower Manhattan is occupied, still, by cashiers and mops. There is lots of quick food and coffee here, for the world’s greatest capitalists.
I first arrived around 10:00 a.m. via the Brooklyn Bridge subway stop. The parasites had advertised the coming evening march to disturb rush hour, and NYPD had already prepared for the coming public safety hazard half a day ahead of time, with countless steel barriers and an electric message board warning of arrests for blocking traffic:
I headed south towards Zuccotti Park to find the first sign of possible disturbance, and a block or so away I passed this woman. I don’t read Spanish. I don’t know, maybe this is interesting. I think “lucho” means “wrestling”:
I last visited Zuccotti Park in 2009 to watch the Yanks’ victory parade: that event drew millions, Zuccotti had people in the trees to get a glimpse of Jeter. With only that memory of the place, it now seemed empty, yet the morning crowd that marched in the vicinity of NYSE had not yet returned.
But I saw jingling green leaf women:
Note the seated statue from iconic 9/11 imagery.
The “Make Leaves, Not War” woman? Sometime in the 1990s I recall the rise of “little girl” fashion; the teenagers who had previously intended to appear 21 started wearing cutesy kid clothes again, female singers grew bangs, and it devolved to this nauseating “aren’t we precious” leftism. They couldn’t possibly be tyrannical socialists, they have magical bells and hugs!
This guy was less upbeat, more of an example of “identity” protesting. Carrying a pompous sign strikes some as empowering rather than silly, and I venture that this is the case with him, though I did not hear him speak. He stood motionless:
The finest minute of my day: witness the Gathering of the Minds, and never again consider if OWS is a historical event of note:
The park was still generally empty, but tension and noise was rising a bit as marchers returned. Every few minutes, a scraping noise — protesters moving the barricades, which generally resulted in quick arrests — sent a good percentage of the park charging towards the “action” and hollering.
“THE REVOLUTION WILL CONTINUE! NEAR THAT WASTEBASKET!”
Ok, nobody said that. I thought it.
Well, this guy kinda said it — watch and listen for Mr. “History!”:
Again, that’s a schmuck dragging a barricade a few feet. Despite Mr. History’s possible imbalance, clearly a great deal of the protesters thought this event to be important, and in turn, themselves to be historical actors. I would direct them to witness actual historical events occurring within shouting distance, where historical actors continually rebuild Ground Zero.
I believe this meditating girl was a member of the jingling leaf women. She is an example of about eight strains of leftist detritus: the Eastern medicine fetish, radical environmentalism, vanity dressed up as selflessness, inaction dressed up as progress, “identity,” or “self-esteem” protesting, intentional strangeness to convince others of one’s uniqueness, etc.:
Eventually, the park did become intensely crowded, but it still had nothing on the Yankee parade. The failed Wall Street marchers had mostly returned. Tension rose from the larger crowd and the greater police readiness.
I spotted this sign. Note the red/black color scheme — he is an adherent of Anarchist-Communism, whatever the hell that is, and his message is violence:
Arrests seemed to peak at this time of greatest crowd size, and I caught these three barricade scrapers being dragged off in plastic cuffs. This would have been a fine time to do a shot with Stephen Green, but alas:
The crowd surged in the area where the meditator formerly was. I noticed at this time a Twitter freak-out on the #ows hashtag: talk of the park being some epic dance party, or of police brutality, or of the moment they’d all been waiting for, none of which was true on the ground.
Mr. Employable made his appearance, another instance of intentional strangeness, or possibly illness:
Some protesters found identity through anger, this is nothing new. “Action is character.” These few wanted revolution, they weren’t going to cause it, though. Just waiting for something to happen, wanting to be the muscle. Note the guy walking to the barricade and kicking it, then striking his idea of an intimidating pose for the riot cops watching. Wanting to be somebody, as if violence grants that.
Then his doofus buddy comes along, apparently concerned that the police have placed barricades at “his home,” and he drops the most comically stupid threat in the history of protest:
“I’ll barricade your dog.”
This sign marked the first attempt I found at delineating a cause: an actual demand! Let’s break it down:
“Failing to warn the public about the true default rate” on student loans: we weren’t properly warned about our being unemployable. People like this are the reason we have warning tags on mattresses.
Around 2:00 p.m., I left. Got a few blocks away, and checked Twitter one more time: reports of a cop injured.
I came back. Below is video of the ambulance where the cop was receiving treatment for a lacerated hand, while his brethren stood by, caring for one of their own and protecting the ambulance. A Daily News reporter snapped away next to me, trying to get a telephoto shot through the ambulance window:
Minutes later, these two women showed up. Note one of them is wearing a City Year jacket: City Year is a division of Americorps, so you may be paying her salary. Did she know she was chanting at an injured policeman? I don’t know. I know she is yelling in the general direction of a busy ambulance:
Then came along this winner: as the police care for one of their own, he whines — whines is apt, just listen — that he was just “assaulted” by someone who may be a cop who “put his hands on him.” My guess: this alleged assault was accompanied by a “pardon me, sir.” Another example of a generation’s moral decay, entitlement, and perverse definition of “rights,” just about anything true of this leftist age fits. Do watch this one, you’ll enjoy the apt police response:
I left for good at this point. As I backed away, a group of three or four Asian tourists asked me in passable English:
Can we turn right here? We want to go through to Ground Zero.
I said I didn’t know, and that they would have to ask the police.
They were bewildered by the crowd:
What is this protest?
They didn’t know what they had walked into, and judging from where they intended to visit, they had a heartening perspective on what is worth seeing in America.