When I joined Occupy (my first Occupy protest was in September 2011 in Savannah, I ended up on almost every camp in the East Coast) which I subsequently wrote a book about in 2013, my first book, entitled: Solidarity Forever? The Struggle of an Occupier, I was homeless, and full of grief, my sister was gone (she passed in early September 2011), and my niece, her daughter, was all I had left in the world to fight for. Occupy started on September 17th in New York, and spread by the next month from the occupations in Washington DC. Of the Occupy DC co-founders I knew personally, Kevin Zeese and Bruce Wright, were probably the most important. Kevin perished September last year and Bruce in early 2021. It is already towards the end of September, but I have held off writing about this time because of the pain, however listening to Kevin Zeese’s love of his life do a show on the anniversary, Dr. Flowers, it has inspired me to write this. To think of Occupy I have a lot of pain and grief, but also pride in what I did, how I put my body on the line, how my words and actions brought people to tears, whether our arrests, or willingness to sacrifice our lives, we felt a real revolution was happening.
We were arrested (the first arrest) in the early morning hours in my hometown of Boston (which was also my sister’s) of December 10th, 2011, later that day I was one of the two of the 46 comrades arrested allowed to speak, at the gazebo of the Boston Commons, where speeches were given in the first days of the original American Revolution, also where Howard Zinn spoke against the Vietnam War (he died a year before Occupy). I felt the spirits of those who stoked rebellion there before me as I spoke, in mid speech, I remembered a vision from earlier that summer when I was in Boston on my way to visit my sister in Vermont, who I did not know would perish a few months later, but which a dream warned me about later. The vision was of me speaking at night to a group of people at the gazebo, I did not know what the speech would be about or for what occasion, but I realized the vision came true. The brief pause when the remembrance of the vision came, stopped, and I continued reading the text I prepared that night, which I did via People’s Mic. I called for a New American Spring, like the Arab Spring, and talked of locking arms with my brothers and sisters and refusing to leave camp on Dewey Square, as bulldozers, police and snipers confronted us, we were all willing to die. The crowd went wild, Dewey was my home, and now I was homeless again.
There was talk of me being one of the leaders for the new camp, but all that went to hell. Our mugshots were on the front page of the Boston Herald, and we became targets, the state used all its abilities to divide us and sabotage us. By 2012, the infiltration, betrayal and slander of people I thought were my comrades, shaped me the next 10 years to be careful who I trusted in any group I joined. Many of the demons of Occupy follow me to this day, and I must fight those demons.
This year also is 20 years since the Afghan War, and the year we withdrew. My first protest, when I was 16, in September as well, 2001, was against that war. My niece beat me to it, attending her first protest visiting my mother in the Savannah area, for a BLM protest at age 12 last year, while I was in Jacksonville, FL, being tear gassed attending my own BLM protest. Activism runs in her veins. Her mother wanted to be a lawyer and fight for the oppressed. Both her uncle, mother and grandmother have taken part in activism. Hell my father her grandfather I have taken with me to my share of protests.
I made a promise at the grave of my sister that I would fight to protect women and children, and to be a better human being. This was a sacred promise I did all I could to keep during the movement, however betrayal and slander was inevitable, as is always the case with left activist politics in the US. Ingratitude is the norm. Activism is a sacrifice, many times not fun. I continue to follow heroes like Assange, for they deserve my support, have sacrificed, I see myself in them. However, on a positive note Occupy helped change the narrative on economic politics, exposed corrupt money in politics, and made people more open to Socialism, especially future generations. My niece can have rights I do not have, hopefully. In that sense I think what we did was not in vain. As my birthday in October approaches, I have some solace when I die someday, I believe, my life review will show when I was innocent, and people assumed I was guilty, that I was indeed innocent, and perhaps the souls of those who caused me harm will then know the truth when they go to the other side.
alrsuarez 