Wednesday, September 17, 2003

 
Check out this new website. Misleader.org You can even sign up for a daily email of misleads and misdeeds!
soulspirals 11:56 AM

Saturday, September 13, 2003

 
Cancun Update from Starhawk

Cancun Update 9/12/03 Victory!

Itıs 1:30 pm and Iım so, so happy! We did it. We got through all their security, got right
up next to the convention center, and blockaded the roads for three hours, completely
snarling all the traffic in the hotel zone just as the delegates were out for their dinners.
All those scattered, disparate kaleidoscope pieces shifted and shook down into the
perfect, perfect pattern. And up until the moment we did it, I didnıt believe we could pull
it off.

Hereıs how we did it:

The day begins well, with the news that a small team has hung a huge banner that says
"Que les vayan todos/WTO Go Home!" on a giant crane outside the conference
center. They have been dancing naked three hundred feet up in the air, and the
authorities just donıt know what to do. I wake up feeling exhausted and sick, but the
news cheers me up.

All day we are meeting, planning and preparing. Over breakfast, Rodrigo and I make
up a new Spanish verse to one of our chants.
"Somos el viento que sopla
Al imperio que colapsa.."
"We are the wind that blows the Empire down." Iım still not sure if we have logistics or
communications or a tactical plan, but at least we have a song.
The Pagan Cluster meets in the morning, practicing the song in the convergence
space. We quickly firm up our logistics, and goes out to the park to do a ritual of
protection and success, asking for the way to be opened and for a bit of fog around the
eyes of the security personnel. The fog is necessary as we are all in our tourist garb
around the convergence center all day. At home weıve spent a good half hour
advising Karla on just the right shorts to wear with her blouse, and Josh on what to do
with his hair. I have this pale green pants suit that is truly the perfect outfit, it looks just
like something a tourist would wear in the tropics to pretend she was having some
revolutionary adventure in the jungle, but it actually has just the right pockets and roll-
up sleeves and fit to be practical action garb. Come to think of it I am having some
revolutionary adventure in the jungle.

The logistics are complicated, and the communication system is cumbersome, and I
wonıt tell you exactly what they are until after the action is over.. But the basic plan is
make our way there in ones or twos or small groups, on public busses or taxis or with
rented cars, and then converge at the action point at the agreed-upon time. Lisa and
Juniper and I look respectable but we also have Brush in our car and his best efforts at
looking like a clean-cut tourist boy fall short of the mark. Heıs wearing some kind of
dark brown pants that look as if heıs slept too many nights in them, and a dirty brown
shirt too heavy for the weather, and a string knit cap over his unwashed long hair, and
altogether he looks like someone who lives in the woods. But we want him with us,
because heıs brilliant and kind and we like him, and because of his excellent tactical
and scouting abilities.

Juniper and put our drums in the trunk, hidden under beach towels. We provide
ourselves with cover: Doritos, potato chips and Coke. We breeze through the
checkpoints, and park outside the Plaza Caracol, the big shopping mall right outside
the Conference Center. Lisa pulls up and parks the car right in front of a cop. People
are looking up and we see the giant banner, still hanging, with the authorities unsure of
how to get it down, or what to do about the climbers attached to it. We look up for a
while, admiring it, the start to walk toward the mall. A young man from Indymedia who is
walking around with his press pass hanging comes dashing up to Brush. "Hey, donıt
you remember me?" he says loudly. "We met in jail!"

The Security forces are looking at us and Iım hoping they donıt speak English as I
hustle him away. We wander around the mall for a bit, drink some coffee, wait out a
sudden rainstorm. As we emerge, another dreadlocked, crusty young Indymedia
friend comes dashing up to us to point out the state of the banner removal project
above. We shake loose from him, now truly sure our cover is blown, then try to talk our
way through police lines to go to our meeting point in the building that houses both the
Hard Rock Café and the Rainforest Café. Iım trying to explain to the security guard that
I need to get a T-shirt for my stepson at the Hard Rock Café, but since Iım pretending
not to speak Spanish he doesnıt really understand. Finally we give up and decide to
just go around the long way, back through the parking lot, across the street and through
a plaza, back across the street and through a pedestrian shopping alley, and then up
a metal stairway that is part of their new security installations, allowing them to
barricade the street.

Now weıre having a rather hilarious interlude as various groups gather, mill around,
and pretend not to know each other. Everyone seems to be in costume as surfers or
some sort of tourist, looking cleaner and more spruced up than normal. Even Brush
now has a new T-shirt he just bought in the mall. We carefully avoid catching each
othersı eye as we stroll casually from the café to the balcony, over to the gift shop,
down to the ice cream store. Lisa, Brush, Juniper and I spend a long time standing on
the curb in front of the cops discussing where to Œeatı, until we begin to feel suspicious.

Finally we decide to move the group on, to the area by the sacred Ceiba tree at the
Northeast side of the convention center. This means looking for people and trying to
decide how to speak to them without seeming to know them. I ask a whole lot of
people for the time. Some of them even have watches. For a short while, there are all
these little knots of people circulating, asking each other for the time and then asking
someone else again and it must be clear, weıre sure, that something is going to
happen, but it doesnıt, yet.

Juniper and Lisa head down the road to look for stragglers, and Brush and I head back
across the staircase over the road, through the alley and the plaza, across the parking
lot and behind the barricades to our sacred tree, where weıve decided to form the
group up. But no one else is there. Brush walks up to talk to a group of people, one of
whom turns out to be some kind of security guard, but very sweet and helpful, trying to
give us directions and ask us where we are going. "Where do you recommend?" I
ask, but he doesnıt know the English word and we are still pretending for some reason
not to speak Spanish, and we meanwhile out of the corner of my eye Iım looking for
others and nobody turns up, We are closer and closer to the time the action is
supposed to start, and I realize we have made a big mistake trying to move the group,
that they are all probably trying to find their way around the barriers and are now
scattered. We are right by our sacred tree and I go over and touch it for strength and
comfort, feeling sick at heart. I go sit down, close my eyes, and visualize a circle
spinning itself around all the action and the activists, bringing us together, weaving us
into a whole. But more and more time is passing, and Brush and I are still alone. We
call Lisa, who says sheıs on her way.

I see Luis stroll up and a few others‹then Rio and a group are getting into a taxi.
Elizabeth comes up to tell us that Rio says the location has been changed back to the
Hard Rock Café. I feel sick. Itıs two minutes to action time, I donıt know where
everyone is, I donıt know where everyone is supposed to be or where Iım supposed to
be, or what to do.

And then, a little way up the street, five people come out into the road and form a line.
The cars stop. We begin strolling, then striding, then running up to them. We skirt the
barricades and take the road. A security guard tries to stop us and we weave past,
stand behind the students, and begin to form a circle. Out of nowhere, others start to
join us. Some sit down with the students, others join in the circle. I whip my drum out of
the black bag thatıs covered it, and we begin to sing and spiral. Two big busses and
a mass of cars are stopped behind the students and the internationals on the front line
with them. The circle grows bigger and the line grows longer and we spiral and sing,
while the news media begins to gather.
"We are the rising of the moon,
We are the shifting of the ground,
We are the seed that takes root,
When we bring the fortress down?"
Now the news media are out in force, their big cameras in our faces, and crowds have
gathered on the bridge and the sidewalk behind the fences. We keep dancing. The
traffic is in the most glorious chaos, The convention center is in between two roads that
split into a circle here on the point of the island, and a group peels off and goes over to
blockade the second road. We start to see cops massed in front of us and hear
rumors that others are behind us, but we just keep dancing.

And then suddenly our Green Bloc friends appear. Erik and John Henry come up
through the police lines carrying two trees, a banana and an almond. They place them
next to our spiral, and we move the spiral over to circle them. They become the heart
of the dance, as the rest of the affinity group begins to make an ofrenda around them of
corn and beans and grain, arranged in a spiral. The convention center looms up
directly behind us: the fortress of power, and we have entered in behind the lines and
brought the trees of life and the sacred seeds. The dance grows, and goes on and on
until we are dripping wet in the sticky heat, and the sun goes down, and in the falling
dark we raise a clear, beautiful tone like a sweet trumpet blast that can blow the walls
of power down.
"Somos el viento que sopla,
Al imperio que colapsa.."
The students are chanting political chants in Spanish and the rhythms mesh. The
police have still not moved in, and now the circle grows even bigger, so we begin to
sing again and start a new, slower spiral..
"No army can hold back a thought,
No fence can chain the sea,
The earth can not be sold or bought,
All life shall be free?"
One of the Mexican delegates comes up to Rodrigo. "You know what," he says, "Iıve
been in those meetings for three days, and youıre right, they are bullshit. My boss will
probably fire me tomorrow, but I donıt care." He joins in the spiral dance,.
Our friends who have credentials from NGOs or media are now feeding us
information. Behind the wall, riot cops are massed. Down the street, they are putting
up barricades. Brush, Juniper and Lisa go out to scout, and call back to give us
updates. Our group gathers for a quick conference. "If you want to be sure to get out,
get out now," is the advice. Some leave, but most of us stay. The students are asking
for our solidarity, and while none of us want to get arrested we just canıt leave. This is
a powerful moment of nonviolent direct action, completely peaceful, completely
disruptive, and I am not going to walk away in the middle of it, whatever the
consequences.

We begin to group up and meet. The students link up in the road, and begin to discuss
what to do. Now weıre having an assembly in the road, a demonstration of democratic
decision making right under the walls of the closed, autocratic meetings of the WTO.
Valerie and Emily are both translating and facilitating, and doing an awesome job. We
send negotiators to talk to the government and the police. They come back saying
that if we leave voluntarily, we can go free. We decide to stay longer. They offer us
busses to take us away. We demand to be allowed to march. Juniper, Lisa and Brush
have been trapped on the other side of the barricades, and keep calling in, Lori
Wallach, one of the policy experts on the WTO from the NGOs, comes over and
passes on advice from the press. Maude Barlowe from the Council of Canadians is
trapped on the other side of the fence, wishing she could get through to join us.. The
discussions take a long time. Luke, who has been one of the major movers of this
action, makes a stirring speech from the front line about the wisdom of saying enough
is enough, and getting on with the next dayıs organizing. We continue to discuss, but
finally agree to get on the busses, with media accompanying us to make sure they go
where they are supposed to go.

We ride back to Cancun in a triumphal procession. The students pop through the
skylights of the bus, and ride on the top, terrifying me more than the threat of riot cops.
But they hang on, and we sing and chant and cheer through the long ride back around
the lagoon and back up from the airport.

We arrive at Ground Zero to cheers of joy. The students are dancing on top of the
busses, the Koreans and all the supporters are drumming and cheering and laughing.
I get out and give Gloria a big, big hug. Many of the students who did this action were
in the encampments with her and Lisa and me, and we are very, very proud of them.
Everyone is hugging each other and laughing and crying tears of pure joy. I can hardly
remember when else Iıve felt such pure, unadulterated happiness‹except maybe in
Seattle, when we shut the meeting down. It has all been worth it‹the stress and the
exhaustion and the sleeplessness, the fifty hours of meetings, the grueling work, the
moments of frustration and near despair. We have shown that all their police power
and weapons and barricades and fear mongering cannot, after all, keep us out, that
the voice of a determined people is a force to be reckoned with, that we cannot be left
out of their equations or excluded from their deliberations, that there is a power
stronger than force or fear.

One of the Koreans begins beating a rhythm on his metal drum, comes over to me
and motions that I should join him with my drum. We begin drumming together, and the
Koreans begin dancing. They are wearing circular straw hats against the rain, and
their matching beige vests emblazoned "No WTO", and they hold out their arms,
waving them gracefully like the wings of leaping cranes as they rock from foot to foot.
The students join in, and the rain comes down like a benediction. I pass my drum to
one of the students, ,and we are a perfect multicultural mesh of Korean gongs and latin
rhythms and sweating human bodies, dancing in the rain with complete, abandoned
joy.

At the end of the dance, the Koreans form up in the circle and sing a Korean song and
dance together. Then they motion to me that I should drum and we should sing. The
Pagans form a circle and begin our song, and others join and we do another spiral
under the moonlight, that gathers in all the energy and joy of our victory and raises it up
in a pure release of power. In the silence after, I drop to the ground and put my hands
on the earth. In many places, Iıve felt that this gesture of grounding embarrasses
people, feels too conventionally religious. But here it is perfectly understood. We all
touch the earth, blessing the Mother Earth, the Madre Tierra. The Koreans crouch in a
deep bow. I offer gratitude to earth and wind and sky, to fire and rain and the moon and
the courage in the hearts of all of our companeras and companeros who have brought
us this moment of victory.

Then the Koreans lead us over to the altar for Lee, which is covered with flowers and
wreaths and banners and candles. We offer prayers and songs, and light candles. As
each person places their candles, we sing a Celtic lament. When we end, the stillness
is profound, and potent, like a hovering indrawn breath in the midst of the labor that will
bring a new world to birth.


Starhawk
www.starhawk.org
(I've been posting daily updates there and at www.utne.com)

soulspirals 12:47 PM

Friday, September 12, 2003

 
Really. There must be better things to research and spend time on.

Lawyer to Sue Jews for Biblical 'Plunder'

CAIRO (Reuters) - An Egyptian lawyer said Wednesday he was planning to sue the world's Jews for "plundering" gold during the Exodus from Pharaonic Egypt thousands of years ago, based on information in the Bible.
soulspirals 9:30 AM

Thursday, September 11, 2003

 
Kyoung Hae Lee is dead.

According to the reports I'm reading from folks in Cancun this week for actions against the WTO meeting, this leader with the Korean farm worker's contingent climbed to the top of the barricades as his companions hoisted a symbolic coffin.

He carried a sign that read "The WTO kills farmers".

He stabbed himself in the chest with a Swiss Army knife.

He killed himself as many farmers have done.

This matters.

If any of us were still vacillating about whether the WTO matters, whether trade agreements affect the lives of real people, and whether we should look outside of our comfortable boxes and care and do something -- let this life answer that question.

Thousands of people are in Cancun now.

A demonstration model of working permaculture has been built. Protests are happening. Giant puppets of Mayan Gods are snaking through the streets. Drums beat. Jugglers juggle. Masks and costumes abound.

And so does the heat. The humidity. The police force. The barricades.

Many of these demonstrators risk deportation if they are arrested. Many may be facing police violence. This is not spring break.

This is a passionate attempt to create the world they want to live in. To demonstrate what is and what could be. To take back power and natural resources that should be our birthright. To say no to GMOs and to diminishing air quality and child labor. And to save the lives of farmers.
soulspirals 10:18 AM

Wednesday, September 10, 2003

 
For anyone who hasn't been following the Boondocks this week:




soulspirals 8:53 AM

 
Fliers to be rated for risk level

This article, from the Washington Post, is outrageous! It outlines the incoming security screening system, "CAPPS II" that will be used to color code ALL air travelers according to their risk potential.
soulspirals 8:21 AM

Monday, September 08, 2003

 
Mark Morford shares incredible wisdom in reply to a reader's letter, from today's Morning Fix:

To Erin C: Very simple. To avoid karmic meltdown and utter
disgusted nausea and suicidal tendencies and the bashing of one's
skull into the brick wall of cultural ignorance six hours a day: you
focus on you. You do everything in your power on a day-to-day
basis to crank your divinity and suck the big toe of your own
personal Jesus and discover that the god you seek is actually you,
is your true Self, and you beam that healthy sexy wet individual
robustness out to the world every goddamn day, minimize the
refined sugar and the garbage and the stomping of the planet and
maximize the orgasmic sighs and the organic highs and the holistic
everything. What, you want me to tell you to email your Senator?
As if. Kiss with everything you've got, love deep, fuck with full intent,
feel the divine's hot breath on your skin at every possible moment,
buy the best wine you can afford, read your ass off, hunker down,
scream your joy. There.

soulspirals 2:02 PM

Sunday, September 07, 2003

 
I rarely buy music. I download things when I'm on a particular hunt, but I rarely get new music. At last estimation, I've bought 3 CDs in the last 2 years. Weird, for someone who loves music, sings, and drums. Not weird for someon who's been broke for a long time.

So I'm going to break the trend. The last music bought was in December of last year, and that was two pagan chant CDs. The last time I bought music before that was before I moved to Ithaca (September 11, 2001). That was a CD called "The View From Here" by Suzanne Buirgy (http://www.suzannebuirgy.com/) which I purchased from her at a house concert near the beach in Los Angeles. It rocks. She rocks. The only other folks that have gotten me nearly as excited in the last five years are Rebecca Riots, who have since disbanded, but not until putting out four scrumptous albums that subvert the dominant paradigm.

The only folks, that is, until now.

I have become moderately obsessed with eastmountainsouth. In particular their songs "You Dance" and "Hard Times". Both of them can be heard streaming on their website - http://www.eastmountainsouth.com. I've heard them on three radio interviews now, and can't get them out of my head.

So next time I'm in town, I'm whipping out that Border's gift card and giving it some action - cause the website says its in stock, so why pay for shipping?
soulspirals 8:54 AM

Wednesday, September 03, 2003

 
I've been having a lot of life lately.

If I'd had less life to manage, I might have written more frequently. As it is, I have more to write about, but haven't been bothered to do so.

So a sumary is in order:

Partner's family = bad.

Moving again = bad

Having a cheap place to stay for a few months = excellent

Pagan Pride Day coordination = neutral

Local Reclaiming organizing = excellent

Building friendships = good

Cancellation of Pentacel of Iron class = disappointing

Full scholarship to Witchcamp = excellent

Installation of new RSS reader software = good

Harddrive reformatting = bad

Partner getting help for health concerns = good

And I'm having a lot of lust over new server options and software toys. Perhaps I'll be able to realize them at some point in the near future.

That's it for the check in. Perhaps I'll do better at keeping up with myself now.
soulspirals 7:55 PM