November 15, 2011 § 2 Comments
Occupy Wall Street was forcibly evicted last night: as I watched my Twitter feed explode with news about the police action, I saw reports of violence from police (including at least one being taken away in an ambulance) and media being kept out of the area. I saw expressions of surprise, dismay, and outrage at the police violence, at the force used to evict non-violent protesters.
The system that we live in is built on violence. The violence we’re seeing as various Occupations are evicted is different because people have organised, and dissent is visible and centralised. This means that violence is exerted overtly and against people who might not otherwise experience it, as well as those who are subject to it every day. As people who are white, who are middle-class, join the protests, they become subject to similar policing to that marginalised groups experience on a daily basis.
We often think of moments such as these as being unusual, aberrations. Moments when a mayor or politician makes the wrong decision, or a few bad apples in the police force misbehave, or (depending on where you’re getting your news) protesters push things too far by engaging in violence or overstepping the bounds of civil disobedience.
What happened at Occupy Wall Street wasn’t an aberration. That should be clear from the police actions at Occupy Oakland, at Chapel Hill, at Occupy Denver, at Occupy Cal, at Occupy Melbourne, at countless other occupations. And this isn’t only a recent phenomena. I’ve been reading Howard Zinn’s A People’s History of the United States, which records, over and over, people organising against desperate conditions and marching on or camping at Wall Street and other symbolic or actual centers of power. And, over and over, of these protests being broken up with violence and/or dissolved through cooption. The same history of protest and violent repression exists in countries throughout the world.
However, despite the regularity with which dissent emerges and is crushed or dissipated, moments such as these are in some sense unusual. Usually, the violence that sustains the system is invisible (at least to those who are relatively privileged), pushed to the edges of society. This doesn’t mean it’s not there.
We follow laws in part because of the threat of violence: direct violence in the form of police actions like those at Occupy, but also the violence of deprivation of liberty, the threat of the violence from marginalised groups (non-whites, young people, poor people) that will supposedly result if we don’t support harsh policing. The Australian political system, which I have seen so many people say is better than that in the US and not worth protesting against, is built on a history of genocide which ran up to the 1970s. Our two mainstream political parties use rhetoric around asylum seekers to try to gain support, contributing to Australian xenophobia and racism in the process.
The cheap access to material goods that buys the consent of the working class in Australia and other developed nations is also built on violence. Slavery continues to be used around the world, including in the US. We can afford to eat meat regularly because of the cruelty of factory farming. Those attempting to organise against sweatshop conditions are killed or intimidated in many places. Minerals in our shiny gadgets help to fuel vicious conflicts that we may only ever hear about in passing.
The violence used to break up Occupations is striking because it is visible, but it’s just the tip of the iceberg.
I want to end with something cheery. I want to end by saying: here’s what you can do. Here’s how you can fix it. You can, of course, take plenty of actions against the violence I’ve talked about here. You can take part in events like the National Day of Action Against Aboriginal Deaths in Custody. You can call your representative and tell them to start treating asylum seekers like human beings. You can call the offices of local councils when police move in to evict occupations. You can try to buy fair trade, reuse and recycle, join your union, pressure companies to sign on to codes of conduct.
More than this, you can try to imagine another world, a world that isn’t built on violence in the way this one is. And you can try to create that world now the way many of the occupiers are trying to, the way people have tried to over and over again: by taking action against discrimination, by feeding each other, by helping those who don’t get heard to have their voice heard, by setting up child care and free libraries and workshops and loving each other.
Don’t be surprised when the violence becomes visible, but don’t give in to it either.
October 15, 2011 § 3 Comments
I went down to see Occupy Perth today with some friends. I haven’t been to any of the planning meetings for Occupy Perth and my friends and I were mostly just curious to see what it was all about: how many people would be there, what people would be saying about their grievances and goals. Before the discussion started we were talking about some of the concerns we had about the direction of the protests, debating different ways of approaching the OccupyX phenomena.
The day started with a brief introduction and an open invitation for anyone to talk about why they were there, using the people’s microphone. Some people said things we agreed with, others said things we were uncomfortable with, but some of the people I was with also seemed to feel like there were important perspectives that weren’t being represented. And that was around the point where I realised (again, and probably not for the last time), that if we wanted points made, one of would have to make them.
I’ve done a bit of public speaking before, including giving lectures and conference presentations, but I was still nervous about saying something. Especially without having anything prepared. But I got up and talked, because it was important to me to bring up some of the ideas I wrote about earlier. And later on when debate started about whether or not to follow the march against CHOGM with an occupation I got up and spoke again, joined by my friend Claire. I don’t know if many people agreed with the points we were making, or found them useful. I hope that the latter was true, at least.
It was important to me to be reminded that there is space in Occupy Perth and other activism to get involved and help shape what happens. It’s easy to sit back and criticise the movement, to see it as something that needs to live up to our expectations before we decide whether or not to get involved, to forget that we have a role to play. I think that’s especially easy for people (including me) who aren’t part of the dedicated community that sustains a lot of Perth activism.
They are certainly times when it makes sense for some groups to stay out of activist spaces until their expectations are met. For example, I think that Aboriginal Australian activists have urgent reasons for prioritising their own struggles, and for being involved only in movements that they feel are working towards their goals. It’s also reasonable to expect that activists build spaces that are welcoming for women, queer people, and other marginalised groups.
People have been putting a lot of effort into making Occupy Perth an open and welcoming forum. It’s not perfect, but activism never is. Consensus decision-making is hard work sometimes and you won’t always get your own way, but engaging in the process means that at least your voice will be heard. If you think that what we have now is broken and needs fixing, if you see some chance that Occupy Together might be a vehicle for change, you don’t need to sit back and wait to see if it heads in a direction you like: you can play a role in determining how the movement progresses.
October 13, 2011 § 4 Comments
The Occupy Wall Street protests continue, and are now spreading to other places in the US and around the world, including Australia. In the process, some useful questions about solidarity and inclusion are coming up.
Many of those who support Occupy Together (or some of their actions) feel, or are judged by others to be, uncomfortably well off. I’ve heard people say that protests in Perth or other parts are Australia are ridiculous because we’ve got very little to complain about here. And in many senses they’re right – the median household income in Australia and New Zealand in 2007/2008 was around US$45,000* (adjusted for purchasing power parity). According to the (not-entirely-accurate) Global Rich List, households earning the median income are within the top two percent of global income. And, of course, in Australia and New Zealand we have access to a reasonably-good-but-not-perfect healthcare system and welfare state.
Similarly, there are people supporting Occupy Wall Street/Occupy Together in the US or elsewhere who may not be part of the one percent but are doing fine: good jobs, health insurance, a house and a car. Some of these people are wondering where they fit into the protests: whether they can legitimately claim to be part of the 99 percent, or even to be genuinely disenfranchised. As Sady Doyle writes in her excellent Biography of Class, people’s experiences of being part of the 99 percent are very different. For some, it means struggling to provide even the basics of life. For others, including myself, it means a standard of living that is incredibly high compared to that of most of the rest of the world.
The difficulty of knowing where those who are well-off fit in with the protests is exacerbated by the lack of clarity in the movement’s goals (which I discussed in an earlier post). It’s easy (but not entirely accurate) to see the movement as a cry for help from those in the US who are pushed to their very limits, and if we do it can feel dishonest or exploitative to become part of the movement – as if we are claiming to suffer in the same heartbreaking ways that so many people are sharing on wearethe99percent.
I don’t think this needs to be the case, though. We can recognise our own relative privilege while we support those who are struggling, as the two woman in the photos above are doing. We can use the advantages that our privilege gives us – money, education, connections, whatever else – to try to support change at the same time as we work to avoid eclipsing the voices of marginalised groups. We can recognise our similarities as well as differences with others in the 99 percent: even those who are well-off are often disenfranchised politically, frustrated by a system where citizens struggle to control corporate and financial power.
Solidarity also stretches the other way. Australians, New Zealanders, and others from ‘developed’ nations are supporting the protests, but so are people from other parts of the world, including China. I saw a poster a couple of days ago that said something like: ‘to the 99 percent in the US – we support you, but remember that globally you’re part of the one percent. Don’t stop once you achieve your goals nationally’. People around the world are moved at the stories being shared on we are the 99 percent, but we also know that there are people all over the world suffering. The crisis continues in East Africa, there’s worrying unrest in Egypt, there’s an encephalitis outbreak in India, the intervention continues in Australia**…
The world cares what happens in US politics in part because we care about others’ suffering, but also because what happens in the US has consequences for the rest of the world. The US plays a key role in shaping climate action, financial regulation, economic globalisation, and foreign relations. Hopefully we’ll find ways to support the protests there that recognise the differences within the 99 percent as well as the similarities. And hopefully the protesters within the US won’t forget the global 99 percent.
* There are probably better figures out there, but I don’t think these need to be exact to make the point. Feel free to supply corrections!
** And more, of course, but the list was getting a bit depressing.