November 13 Changed My Life a Little Bit, Forever.

Late Saturday night was a turning point for Occupy Portland.  Though history has yet to be written and it is still far too early to really understand the true significance of recent events, I already know for sure that I will never forget the early hours of November 13th.

Citing "safety, health, and crime problems", Portland Mayor Sam Adams gave protesters until 12:01 a.m. Sunday to clear the park.

I arrived at the Occupy encampment at 12:05 a.m. with intent to witness the night's events. I'd heard that a contingent of local clergy was going to bear witness from the adjacent sidewalks, and somehow that knowing emboldened me to head downtown myself. Expecting maybe a small crowd and a few die-hard protesters to make a last stand, I timed my arrival to coincide with the ending of an afternoon and evening of rallying events at Occupy Portland. 

What I found instead was far beyond anything I would have ever expected. 

Depending on the source, there were between five and ten thousand people jammed into the two city blocks that encompass Chapman and Lownsdale Squares.  By my own estimate, I'd estimate at least 8,000 people were present at the height of the action.  It took me twenty minutes to wind my way a block and a half through the densely populated festive-like atmosphere.  It took equally as long to finally close my gaping mouth: I just kept repeating "I can't believe this. I can't believe this. Where did all these people come from?" 

The place was packed.  Moreover, it was packed with amazing people. Smiling, talking, exuberant, wonderful human beings.  The crowd was excited, and I entered into a number of conversations during the first several hours. We were literally shoulder to shoulder, so conversation wasn't difficult. 

I spoke with bright-eyed students from PSU.  I spoke with a pair of newcomers trying to understand more about the Occupy movement.  I spent time with two inspiring sixty-something women recently back from a cross-country train trip to Washington, DC, where they had been among thousands of others arrested in front of the white house for their nonviolent protest of tar sands extraction and the proposed Keystone XL pipeline.

Then, at about 2:30 a.m., police made their first big move since my arrival.  I was standing in the SE corner of Lownsdale Square just adjacent to Main Street.  A continuous line of riot police stretched nearly two solid blocks up Third Avenue.  It was at 3rd and Main that the five mounted officers used their horses to make a run at the lines of peaceful demonstrators linked arm in arm, three to four rows deep. The mounted police repeatedly urged and kicked and pushed their horses into the brave and defiant human chain below.

As this chaotic and unpredictable scene began, an energy rose up from the crowd that I will never in my life forget.  A cacophony of shouts, a unified desperation of imploring voices, and a series of heart-stricken chants rocked the squares.  Rounds of "Peaceful Protest!" and "Shame, Shame!", rose up amid a powerful emotional backlash to the police attack on the nonviolent demonstrations.  Officers made multiple attempts to break the line of demonstrators, advancing direct charges with their horses, turning them around, spooking them, and stomping sideways, all in attempts to force protesters to break ranks so the battalions of riot troopers behind could enter the masses and commence with what I can only imagine would have been carnage.  It was a terrifying scene and a desperate moment.



But the line didn't break.  The line did not break.  For the rest of my life I will wonder that it did not break, for I saw with my own eyes the sheer power and size of those horses, and the force with which they were thrust into the tapestry of human flesh.  I can only stand in awe at the brave souls who withheld the attack and did not break rank.  Later I heard stories from several individuals from those lines who spoke of demonstrators whose toes and feet had been crushed by the heavy hooves of the equine assaults, of terror and pain as the horses were so bravely pushed back.

I would like to point out at this point that later on Sunday the Associated Press released an account the night's events.  One key sentence stands out among the rest: 

"Police numbers shifted throughout the night, but they showed no signs of moving against the protesters."

Also later Sunday, newscasters with Portland's major affiliates would note the admirable commitment to peaceful tactics from both sides throughout the night.  Video montages would show no footage of the horse assaults.  But I was there, and I know what I saw.  For some reason, the above video from the Oregonian seems to be the only evidence that the horses were, in fact, used against protesters, and that police were not nonviolent.

Following this aggressive action, literally hundreds of demonstrators streamed into the intersection of 3rd and Main - folks who thus far had obeyed official orders to remain on the sidewalk - and in turn commenced the truly remarkable - and peaceful - measured "push" of the police line a full block south up 3rd to Madison; where the line was held for the next 3 hours.

Ray Whitehouse/ The Oregonian

Thus commenced a period of relative calm. Several lines of demonstrators formed successive arm-linked chains in a face-to-face standoff with riot police at Madison.  From accounts I heard later, many in front line were women, some young, and some quite elderly.  There were also amazing conversations that took place across the line during those long hours. One man apparently placed a stone at the foot of each officer in the ranks and then said the words "I love you".   To each one all the way down the line.  I cannot confirm this as I did not witness myself, but I've now heard from three sources among the demonstrators that several officers wept.

Jamie Francis/ The Oregonian

The action began again at 5:00 a.m.  Twice it appeared that police were going to move in on demonstrators; once at five and again at 6:30.  We knew activity was close when an armored truck with mounted speakers pulled up behind the line of riot officers and made announcements, presumably dispersal warnings.  I never could make out the words.  I will do my best to relate what I remember from that period, though events here may not be strictly chronological.  Many things happened quickly, and I'll do my best to paint a coherent picture. 

By five a.m. there remained at least 500 to 600 demonstrators, a core group that did not appear to be thinning.  Among these could be counted roughly four groups.  The first held the police line, as previously described.  The second stood en mass protecting the SE entrance to Chapman Square.  I was on the sidewalk with this group.  The third group was comprised of witnesses occupying surrounding sidewalks on both 3rd and Madison. 

The fourth group was a crowd favorite.  The now infamous "PDX bike swarm" was a rag-tag assembly of several dozen cyclists who circled the three occupied blocks all night long.  Like valent electrons around a nucleus, our homegrown "bike brigade" went round and round and round... for hours and hours.  They were a tremendous boost, especially as fears of an assault mounted in the early hours Sunday.  Each time the tension would escalate and I was sure the canisters of tear gas would come flying in, our perennially circling critical mass of cyclists would come around the block again and help ease the vibe.  At each lap the crowd cheered as if the bikers were Olympians in the final stretch of a long race:  "Go Bikes!! Yeah Bikes!!!" Thank you, bikes!  They were our cavalry.

Through those tense final hours, our lively and dedicated crowd sang and chanted with all its might.  We knew the gas and batons might come any minute, and I think we sang as much to allay our own fears as to rally our spirits.  The best chant of the night, and possibly of my entire life, went as follows:

"You're sexy, you're cute, take off your riot suite!" 

Six hundred voices, shouting in unison at the top of their lungs in the wee hours of the morning.  What group in their right mind chants such a thing to fully-clad riot officers threatening imminent destruction?! That's right, Portland protesters!  As a side note, two nights later, with over 30,000 people watching the violent dismantling of Zucotti Park via livestream, I heard the same chant arise at the police line among the brave souls of Occupy Wall Street.  How's that for the power of social media?  I love my generation.

At around 6 a.m. the police ordered all demonstrators to vacate the intersection at 3rd and Madison, ostensibly because we were "blocking traffic".  Quickly the group complied, and hundreds of people flooded the sidewalks and spilled into Chapman Square.  Our movement left only the lines of riot police on Madison street, themselves blocking traffic.  Chants of  "Now it's your turn", and "We moved, so can you" erupted spontaneously.

Then the bike swarm circled by again, this time up a now-cleared 3rd avenue.  The stoplight turned red as they approached the intersection with Madison.  The bikes stopped for the traffic signal.  With a phalanx of riot police on one side and a park full of protesters on the other, the bikes just waited patiently in their middle lane for the green light, with not a vehicle in sight.  As boisterous cheers erupted from the sidewalk, the light turned green, and off they pedaled.  I will never forget the sight.

Soon after came the another warning from the armored police vehicle.  In the tense and silent moments that followed, one of the Occupy organizers gave a very moving mic-checked speech to the officers as we anticipated their assault.  Though I do not quote her word for word, following is my best recollection of the message she conveyed (via mic-check through the crowd, only adding to its impact):

"To those of you holding the line against the police, you are aware of the risks you are taking and of the potential outcomes of your actions.  We want you to know that we love you and that we stand behind you 100%.  And to the officers facing them, we want you to know that we do not only protest tonight for our own rights and the rights of our children.  We also fight for your rights, and for those of your children also.  If at any time you feel that you would like to put down your weapons and cross the line that those in charge tell you that you must not cross, I want you to know that we will welcome you with open arms."

Our crowd erupted with cheers and applause, and I saw tears streaming down shadow-lit faces; the emotion was palpable.

The police PA system came on again, but much of our crowd could not properly hear the words.  An organizer, using the entire crowd for a mic-check, informed the police that we could not hear their sound system.  She asked if they would agree to use the "people's mic" in order to communicate with us.  With no immediate response, crowd chants began anew.  Then someone rushed up to the original organizer to inform her that the police had attempted to engage the people's mic, but that our crowd chants had drown out their attempt.  She quickly quieted the crowd and addressed the police again, saying "We understand that you tried to contact us. However, we could not hear you.  We apologize and will be quiet so you can try again".

There was dead silence for a long fifteen seconds as the crowd of hundreds waited for an answer, no small feat.  But there was no response.  At this point it was becoming clear there was some confusion among the police and that we needed to take action to avoid conflict.  By grace and good fortune, a wonderful woman across the street, observing the action with dozens of others from the sidewalk, had the brilliant idea to mic check with us the following message (also not word-for-word):

"Now that it is 6:30 a.m. and dawn is upon us, I think it is safe to declare victory for demonstrators in preserving our park! (Met by many cheers)  I would like to show appreciation for all demonstrators involved peacefully tonight (more cheers).  Finally, let's all give a big warm round of applause for the outstanding service of the Portland Police Department!"

The crowd went absolutely wild for a full 30 seconds.  We cheered for the police with all our might.  An unbelievable scene, even in my memory, but it happened as sure as day.  We applauded the riot cops like none other.

At that time the bike brigade came around again, this time down Madison, and stopped at a red light on 3rd.  It was at this point that the police line must have received orders to stand down, for they suddenly broke rank and walked back onto the sidewalk.  As if on cue, the traffic signal flashed green and our beloved bike cavalry charged through the intersection and past the melting front line of the riot police.  The video below captures that moment:



I cannot describe the instant and euphoric jubilation that erupted in the SE corner of Chapman Square.  To the day I die I will never forget those next magical moments.  Strangers turned to one another and embraced truly and lovingly with strong hugs and warm smiles.  Small groups came together to chatter excitedly, discussing the events that had just unfolded.  No one could believe we'd actually won.

We had held the park.

As those packed on the sidewalk slowly, excitedly, made their way back into camp, some formed what I can only describe as an impromptu "victory tunnel": two people, facing each other, raised their arms and held hands, making a space between them under which people could pass.  A line of maybe 20 pairs formed instantly, and the hundreds on the sidewalk made their joyous march through the "victory tunnel" and into the park; singing, dancing, cheering their way home.

And then somehow there were Voodoo donuts for everyone, offered up in 5 gallon buckets.  Stunned, elated, exhausted, I ate a donut and was happy.  Prior to Sunday night I had by no means planned on getting arrested, and I know from follow up conversations that many others did not intend to, either.  But that night, somehow, as if by a strange and wonderful force, I found myself standing in front of Chapman Square with hundreds of dedicated souls- and we were together.  We knew we were going to hold our park.  One young man spoke for us all as he said to me, "I'm sick of this. I'm not going to take it anymore.  They're not getting our Park tonight!"

No matter that later that morning hundreds of fully armed riot officers swarmed our camps to "clean up", forcing the homeless out of their tents and into the streets.  No matter that Mayor Adams, barely two hours before such action, had given a press conference in which he spoke against the use of surprise force in the clearing of encampments.  No matter that when word spread of the increasing riot police presence and hundreds reassembled in the parks, that they were beaten and pushed out as the squares were fenced off from the public as the parks were "temporarily closed"... No matter.

The brave souls of Portland who stood together in Solidarity at 3rd and Madison on Saturday night are now my brothers and sisters forever, and I will fight with them, peacefully, nonviolently, using the weapons of humor and love, logic and truth - until we need fight no more.  We forged a bond that night, a bond like I cannot describe.  It was infectious, it was powerful, and it will only grow.  It was a realization, at the soul level, that We are ONE.  We are each other, and we can do anything to which we collectively put our minds - and our hearts .  I now know the meaning of Solidarity, because I felt it in my chest that night.

Solidarity is Love, pure and simple.

And you can't beat that with tear gas, mounted horse patrols, or an army or baton-wielding riot cops.

Bring it, 1%.  You've picked a fight with the most powerful force in the Universe, and your battles have only just begun.

Jamie Francis/ The Oregonian

A wealth of imagery via The Oregonian of late Saturday night and early Sunday morning here
Stunning photographs of the Sunday eviction and ensuing police violence here