A brief history of occupying Seattle

Seattle Central Community College. Major protests and occupations (100+ people).

(1) 1969-1972. Clashes between BSU and SCCC administration, including BSU occupations. Link 1 | Link 2

(2) 1972. Minority workers occupy SCCC. Link 1 | Link 2

(3) 1976. Seattle Community College Federation of Teachers goes on major strike. Link 1 | Link 2

(4) 1988. Black Panther Party holds its reunion at Seattle Central Community College. Link

(5) 1990. No Blood for Oil protest of the Gulf War. Link

(6) 1994. Homeless youth set up encampment at SCCC (lasts less than a week; voluntarily taken down.) Link

(7) 1999. SCCC used as major staging area for entry into WTO protest action. Link 1 | Link 2

(8) 2000. SCCC epicenter of WTO demonstration commemorative protest. Link 1 | Link 2

(9) 2001. Students and community members protest police murder of Aaron Roberts. Link

(10) 2007. Hundreds march to protest Iraq and Afghanistan wars. Link

(11) 2008. Once again, hundreds march to protest Iraq and Afghanistan wars as well as campus recruitment.

(12) 2011. Occupy Seattle, having been repeatedly forced out into the elements by Seattle Police, moves to SCCC. Link

Other schools; mainly, the U of Wash.

(1) 1950s. University of Washington students staged regular protests and walk-ins against McCarthy trials of UW faculty as well as the growing threat of U.S. nuclear armament.

(2) 1968. BSU @ UW stages sit-ins in protest of the Vietnam war. Link 

(3) 1970. Students at UW hold a strike against the Vietnam war. Link 

(4) 1975. Faculty of UW strike over firing of two Chicano professors.

(5) 1986. UW shantytown constructed by students seeking divestment from South Africa.

 

Occupations, generally.

(1) 1890. The Lakota encampment making its last stand at Wounded Knee suffers a massacre at the hands of the U.S. Army, which disposes of the Lakota corpses in a mass grave. Link

(2) 1900. Having had their longhouses burned down by the U.S. Army and other whites, the Duwamish make their last Seattle encampment along the Seattle waterfront. They are subsequently exiled to Ballast Island, where they remain for little over a decade before being permanently pushed out of the area bearing the name of one of their chiefs, Seattle. Link

(3) 1931-1941. Bounded by the Port of Seattle, warehouses, and Railroad Ave., Hooverville was the largest of many Seattle homeless encampments turned shantytowns during the depression era. Under protest, many tenants were evicted in 1938. The shacks underwent an elimination program and were burned down in 1941.Link

(4) 1934. An 83 day strike closes West Coast ports and railroads. Protestors treated violently by police. Link

(5) 1980. Puget Sound Peace Camp set up at Boeing's missile production site in Kent, WA. 

(6) 2000-2011. Dale City. Comprised of veterans and other homeless persons, this encampment town was destroyed by Virginia State Police and the VDOT on March 21, 2011. Link

(7) 2009-present. Nickelsville. Recently, long-time YWCA housing director Jeanice Hardy has said that she is sending desperate people to Nickelsville because there are no public resources. Link

Birthday 2011!!!

So you may have seen that I haven't written since JANUARY--this is a problem that I definitely plan to correct in 5772/2012. This year, I wanted to get back in touch with my heart, both socially and politically, and I feel like I've done a pretty good job.

So SOME of you know that it's my birthday weekend, not that other thing :P :) :) --if you want to grab a birthday drink with me, come to the Conor Byrne on Sunday night for the open mic (5140 Ballard Ave NW); there are other plans for pie and ice cream late Monday night, contact me for details!!!

Also--for those of you who keep asking about my birthday wish list, here it is, from most expensive to least expensive (but all equally desired!):

• iPhone 4 (could be used, refurb, whatever, just don't buy a new one!)
• A bike (also used, of course; prefer city/hybrid tires, ≥26", 18 speed, geared for Seattle :P)
• Shoes (I need a pair of hiking boots and a pair of running shoes)
• A UW Alum license plate holder (rear only, George doesn't have a front plate)
• Crazy, Stupid Love DVD (there may be others, you'd have to ask)
• A Jackson Browne CD (there may be others, you'd have to ask)
• An Oreo cream pie (yes, I know, it's a repeat :)
• World peace, or at least for you to show up to Occupy Seattle :)

That's pretty much it! Check back soon for future blog posts.

The Traveler

Final revision

Tired, worn, sick from the rain, the traveler comes home once again;
Inside no one is there for him, no one to greet him but the wind;
There's no sweet voice, no open arms, no one to see him but the stars;
Through thatched roof he sees them, bleary; the door creaks, loud; his bones are weary.

He observes his shaking body; frail, weathered, clothes so shoddy;
The wind, his only concubine, has made him weathered, lonely, shy;
She blusters through the walls and door, and through his feeble skin once more;
Raspy echoes fill his lungs; he wipes away phlegm with his cuff.

He feels he is made of tin, his chest a hollow, empty pit;
He feels hostile, void of hope, and doubts he'll ever be much more;
He tries to cry but finds that tears require hope for better years;
At barely smoldering hearth he stares as the wind blows ashes here and there.

He'd hoped the wind would be less harsh; last summer, it had warmed his heart;
"The winds of change," he thinks aloud, "may finally blow my fire out."
The traveler tries to find, in vain, wood to kindle fire again;
The stores of wood are all soaked through, his movements are too slow and crude;

He starts to speak, though no one's there, perhaps to nothing but the air:
"Take my spirit and carry it far, free from the ashes of this dead hearth;
Let me see once more the house where at Christmastime with joy we'd shout;
Friends gathered loyally at my side as year upon year would pass us by;

How far away they all seem now! Though still close to my heart somehow;
To feel a bittersweet embrace as into chocolate eyes I gaze;
While sweet strings play familiar tunes to passion under crescent moon;
And let me camp on hills of stone and sing for those who've kept me close;

Too long I've struggled with this wind; let her carry me off again!
And on the dark side of the moon, let me dance from dune to dune;
With feet that will not ache each day, oh wicked wind, take me away;
To stand on Saturn's lovely rings, and see the glory of all things;

Then take me to the underworld, and let my aching joints unfurl--
to rest with those who came before, to feel the warmth of love once more."

Yesterday (to you)

...and then, stasis. I write.

I don't know whether to call you or to leave you alone. Could it be something wonderful or just another letdown? It was never clear to me why you were there; all I could feel was the intensity of my heartbeat, dividing every moment into two as the gravity of your presence slowed my internal clock to the point that one moment could have been an eternity.

Have a good night--and then, stasis. I walk up and down the streets of my soul, singing softly to myself.

Oversleeping, not because you were in any of my dreams. I felt somehow more relaxed, as if your delicate fingers had continued to dance over the palm of my hand as I slept.

That's not my address. That's an old address. I'm trying to tell myself that it's an old address as I hear myself saying it. There is a dissonance between my thoughts and my actions. I realize I must be dreaming, so I wake up--and then, stasis. Rush to school.

Maybe I never properly said goodbye? I felt so utterly awkward looking into your sparkling hazel eyes, which seemed to change color like leaves dancing on branches in the shifting summer breeze.

Stasis. And reflection.

What I'm feeling now is only what I felt before I met you, yet somehow in your absence it feels painful. I can't possibly call you, not yet; you'll see right through me. I am the last golden leaf, clinging hopelessly to a snow-covered branch before I am carried away.

What would your absence feel like after a thousand yesterdays?

Sympathy for the Devil

Hi everyone. For the moment I have suspended the Spanish translation of my experiences in Costa Rica. There weren't that many readers, and I feel that there are more important things to move on to. I will try to provide translation, from time to time, of the topics discussed here.

One of my facebook friends recently posted a link to an article about the anti-Ethnic Studies law that went into effect on January 1, 2011. His initial comment on the post was the following: "People should be raging hard over this, this is an outrage and overtly racist agenda by the right-wing of the Arizona government."


A self-described political conservative soon chimed in, saying: "On one end I can see how it seems illogical considering first amendment rights, however, in public schools, there is no room for classes that promote one race over the other. This is to say that there should not be classes that say Latinos are better than everyone else, just the same as it would absolutely shameful if there were pro white supremacy KKK classes. This law bans those as well. I should say that classes that can still exist are ones that examine the differences between cultures, and the differences between the clash occurring in Arizona between illegal immigrants, legal immigrants, and the citizens of that state that are just fighting for the lawful enforcement of our borders and criminal laws. There shouldn't be just a Mexican heritage focus class, nor should there be a white heritage focus class. People both black, white, brown, whatever color, should be aware of everyone else and should try to learn as much as possible not just about themselves, but more importantly everyone else."

This comment irked me. Discontinuing Ethnic Studies is not merely illogical, it's wrong. It's wrong from a First Amendment perspective, and it is wrong from the perspectives of equality and solidarity. In U.S. schools, all class curriculums are based on the promotion of the histories and values of one race over another by telling history only from the perspective of the anglo conceptualization of the white race. It is important to distinguish this concept of "race" from the Chicano/Latino concept of "raza." The concept of raza unifies, even in its most elementary sense (see, for example, Vasconcelos 1925). In a broader sense, "la raza" as an umbrella concept includes Latino immigrants to the United States, Chicanos from north of the Río Bravo, mestizos from nearly every nation in the Americas, including both white and black residents of these countries, and the indigenous peoples of North America, Central America, and South America. In my experience, it also tends to include North American whites who are in solidarity with Chicano and other social movements. "Race" on the other hand is a concept invented by the anglo oligarchy of the budding United States for the purpose of dividing people into distinct social classifications on the basis of physical characteristics.

The concept of race is taught in public schools, both within the curriculum itself and through the everyday perceptions of dominant societal attitudes that children cannot help but absorb through their elder role models. The history and the perspectives of the KKK are, of course, discussed in public education, both openly as an example of a racism that was (but assumedly is no longer) extant in past decades, and more subtly through the academic doctrines of American exceptionalism, manifest destiny, "Judeo-Christian" philosophic perspective, and the ever-present fantastic construction of the white man's burden to "guide" and "educate" more "primitive" peoples.

Therefore, classes on white supremacy are not required because white supremacy is part and parcel of the public school curriculum in the United States, because the United States as a nation has been founded on the hierarchy of white supremacy. Ethnic Studies classes have attempted to provide a stark contrast to this curriculum by juxtaposing the dominant anglo historical paradigm with the stories and histories of people of color. The point is not to say that "Latinos are better than everyone else"--the only reason to use this as a argument in favor of the law that will ban Ethnic Studies in Arizona is to paint such classes as uniquely pro-Latino against a backdrop that imagines a supposed vacuum of education concerning white history.

The "citizens" of Arizona are not "just" fighting for lawful enforcement. They are, and have for some time been, exceeding the existing law in the interest of further castigating migrant workers from south of the border and, by extension, Latino people in general. This is not just about borders; it is really an issue of race. To be clear, this law prohibits all Ethnic Studies classes. The specific targets of this law are the original Chicano and Aztec inhabitants of that land, but really any non-anglo historical perspective was effectively and categorically criminalized on January 1.

As a teenager, I went to Lynnwood High School. There, we were taught that indigenous peoples were primitive and susceptible to smallpox. We were taught that racism effectively ended when Abraham Lincoln won the civil war. We were taught that "good" natives like Sacajawea wanted to help the whites explore [and conquer] their land.

We were not taught about the smallpox infected blankets that were given to the natives by whites in order to exterminate them. We were not taught that indigenous peoples possess highly scientific and detailed knowledge about the flora and fauna of their environments to such an extent that scholars have compared African and Native American shamans to "walking libraries," or that things like sustainable living and modern democratic governance were originally Native concepts. (To be fair, we were not taught anything about sustainability at all.) We were not taught that lynchings continued at an alarming pace well into the 1950s and 1960s, nor were we taught about the ongoing racially based socioeconomic inequality that still divides our nation today. We were not taught about the Chinese Exclusion Act. Jim Crow was a catchphrase for a series of laws that we were not meant to fully understand. We were not taught about the BIA's sterilization programs or about the continued genocide of First Nations peoples. In fact, we were not taught to think of Native peoples as pertaining to "nations" at all. We were taught that they were ignorant savages. Not in the same sentence, of course--that would be politically incorrect--but both of those words were used to describe Native people in my high school history courses. Finally, we were not taught about the widespread native resistance to colonization and about all of the times that treaties with Native American people (treaties are law, mind you) have been broken by the white U.S. government.

To use anglo law as an example of goodness is to remain safely inside a perspective that allows whites to think of themselves and their way of life as being somehow innocuous and objectively right. But the truth is that the U.S. and its laws have long targeted people of color as scapegoats for the detrimental effects of its own imperialism. To uphold a racist system of laws is to uphold racism.

Violence against Latinos has been on the rise for the last 10 years. People are being beaten to death, dragged behind trucks, shot across the border, starved in detention centers, and deported to other countries in spite of the fact that they are citizens.

The last time I checked, Europeans were immigrants to this continent as well, but everyone seems to keep forgetting that fact. In fact, the average Chicano or Mixtec person probably has more claim to this land, via bloodlines alone, than 95% of the "white" population of the United States. But we are supposed to assume that the downtrodden citizens of Arizona are "just" trying to get the "law" enforced. Meanwhile, they're also passing new ones, laws that limit the scope of history that can be taught to children--laws that promote fascism in the midst of an environment of ethnic hatred instead of democracy.

These laws bear a stark resemblance to the laws passed in the 1930s in Germany or the laws passed in the 1970s in El Salvador. They are the types of laws that legalize one ethnicity's existence at the expense of another. When my friend's facebook friend said that there is "no room" for Ethnic Studies, in my mind there was a strong connection to the Nazi concept of levensraum, which included the domination of both physical and epistemological space.

For this reason, I am sick to death of the blanket of silence surrounding these issues, issues that pertain to the rights to life, liberty and property (inter alia) of entire categorizations of people but are somehow not kosher fare for dinner table discussion. I am sick to death of hearing story after story of lives lost through murder, starvation and other forms of violence while hundreds of thousands of people have their bodies seized in an unlawful and illegal detention that runs contrary to the concepts of justice and equity for which the people have for so long struggled. And I am sick to death of hearing that all of this is being done in the name of fighting "illegal" immigration when such statements invariably come from the mouths of the white descendants of those hopelessly destitute European immigrants whose only hopes and dreams for their own future were inextricably bound to the statement that today still adorns the Statue of Liberty:

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
with silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

-- Emma Lazarus, 1883

The wretched hypocrisy of the European American descendants of the very same people for whom those words once held so much meaning is a licentious slap in the face to American ideals, yet at the same time it so clearly exposes the color lines upon which their opinions are founded. The minutemen want to (and often do) kill "illegal" (viz., Latino) immigrants while anti-immigration groups in Arizona want to stop "Mexicans" from crossing "the border" and influencing their culture. The only difference in their perspectives is the amount of physical force used; and, as Professor Devon Peña recently pointed out, the epistemological violence of the latter opinion is every bit as aggressive and destructive as the former.

To say that we should all just be equal with one another, integrated without distinction, blindfolded to the lines of division by which each of us is inexorably bound, while tortured Salvadorans and Guatemalans live in constant fear for their lives, their personalities irrevocably fractured by the interrogation and psychological warfare methods of the CIA and the elite ATLACATL battalion, and while Sheriff Joe makes immigrants march around town in their underwear like animals, to ignore all of this and to say that nobody really needs Ethnic Studies classes anyway, is to be complicit in the face of a quite clearly racist doctrine.

For as long as anglos continue an unwelcome and imperialist occupation of Aztlán, they must be made to realize that there are multiple convergences of identity and history that, if viewed through the lens of truth, would clearly give more legitimate claims to Chican@s and to Latino immigrants than to Jan Brewer.

But this is not the story that has been told in the school curriculum; it is not the story of American exceptionalism, it is not the horror story that has been conjured up by the confluence between anti-immigrant attitudes and the push factors of U.S. imperialist origin that force la raza to migrate from suddenly war-torn and impoverished homelands to seek work in the very territories that were once the exclusive domain of their own ancestors. It is not the story of the person who pays thousands of dollars to be dropped off in the middle of the desert only to be shot at and potentially die from dehydration, only to arrive in a land that entirely shuns their language, their skin color, and their history--if for no other reason than that this very history is a stark reminder that the birthright of this person, of this Chican@, was stolen from them at gunpoint by the U.S. government.

Estúpida américa, mira a ese chicano
con un gran cuchillo
en su firme mano.
No quire matarte;
sentado en un banco, talla crucifijos;
pero no lo dejas.
Estúpida américa, oye a ese chicano
que grita improperios en la calle.
Él es un poeta
sin papel ni lápiz,
y como no puede escribir, explota.
Estúpida américa, aquel chicanito,
que tronó en inglés y en las matemáticas,
él es el picasso
de tu costa oeste,
pero va a morir;
mil obras maestras,
colgando en su mano.

--Aberlardo Delgado

Post by Chaim Eliyah, 5 January 2010