Gatherings: September 2000 -- Issue3

links for this article
September 2000 • issue 3

From the Streets
A.17 -- Washington DC
Text and Photos by Sally MacFarlane Neal

A.16 • 4 AM
RING, RING, RINGGGGGGGG--robot-wakeup call in my little one-star hotel room in downtown DC. It's A16--protest day; my heart is pounding, before I even hit the floor--what the hell do I think I'm doing here? Why didn't I listen to Jay, my oldest son who said, "Ma--you're too old to go fight the revolution", or Peter, who said, "remember, Mom, there are lots of ways to help get the job done, without putting yourself in harm's way."
I start getting dressed as instructed in non-violence training: cargo pants with lots of pockets for phone, and other protest-day necessities--preferably tight around the ankles so tear gas can't get in; wear frumpy old shirts and tops that don't stand out--that the cops won't notice as distinctive.

Next, review the contents of my backpack against the check-list given to us by the Non-Violence trainers: swim goggles for protection against pepper-spray, bandana soaked in vinegar secured tightly in its own ziplock--protection against tear-gas; water bottle, nutrition-bars, extra t-shirt, also in ziplock, to change into after discarding gassed upperbody clothing; change of undies, no ID, even as in labels on prescription bottles, credit cards; no address book, but a small slip of paper with cell phone #'s of other affinity groups in our Reclaiming cluster; small amount of cash, but not too small so as not to get busted for 'loitering', remove any thing that could possibly be construed as a weapon--nail file, leatherman tool. Make sure new toenail clippers are in right back pocket, easily accessible for cutting off plastic handcuffs. Write on arm: phone # of the Midnight Special Legal Collective for my one phone call from jail. Ohmigoddess!

Brush teeth, that's all; no smelly soap, hand or face lotion, shampoo, conditioner, etc., as it helps to grab and hold teargas and pepper spray.

5 AM:
UH OH, time to go; I head out the door of the hotel into the dark streets of downtown DC in time to get myself to the pre determined rendezvous point and my affinity group. No cab in sight, so I start walking--couple blocks down I say 'good morning' to a pair of cops walking the beat--wondering if they could hear my heart pounding; then as I turn the corner south on 9th, a homeless man comes out of a dark place, still wrapped in his overnight blanket, wants to strike up a conversation and maybe score some loose change, but I am too wound to even slow down for him; he easily gives up on me. Trying to look like any early morning fast-walker, I keep south to Independence Avenue and the corner by the Air & Space Museum, and there they are--the group members from farthest away, Virginia, Maryland, already dropped off, sitting calmly on the sidewalk waiting. We all talk quietly til the rest appear in vans, with volunteer designated drivers to drop us off as close to our assigned piece of the pie as the cops will allow. We are now a 'cluster'--three affinity groups of 7-10 people each--all witches, with varying degrees of connectedness to Starhawk and her San Francisco-based 'Reclaiming Society'. We are still imbued with the magickal energy of the previous evening's ritual at the All Souls' Unitarian Church, attended by at least 300 protestors, there to garner spiritual support from each other, the ancestors, elements, directions, gods and goddesses. Starhawk and various ritual participants had called on all of the above to give us courage, strength and clarity to do the job we had been training for all week. She was a little sleepy-eyed this morning, having gone straight from the ritual to the Mobilization for Global Justice spokescouncil to consense on the final plans with all the other 'spokes' from all the affinity groups. Others too had stayed up til the wee hours, packing medical kits for each AG, which we took turns carrying during the day.

March Making our way up the hill toward 19th and F, it becomes ominous--black police helicopters circling and/or hovering at the roof level, armed police observers on the building rooftops. We have now moved on into our alert, grounded, centered protest mode--seems like we are all a little in awe of the situation, even though some are veterans of previous protests. Chelidon calls ahead on his cell to the pagan cluster--being techno-pagans of the 21st century helps us stay in touch throughout the chaos of the two days to follow. We are talked onto our site where there are a couple hundred people already gathered--drumming, dancing, chanting, circling with posters. Soon we have formed a Super Cluster with the Teamsters and other civil disobedience veterans. Temporary steel barricades are everywhere with lines of riot-geared police behind--looking really mean. Their stacked up boxes of donuts, on which they discreetly munch, are somehow comical within the military-like milieu. I'm trying to imagine what it looks like at all the other blockaded intersections, protecting the 60 block radius.

Most of the official delegates to the meetings of the International Monetary Fund and World Bank have been bussed in with police escort in the early wee hours. But there are still some stragglers who we peacefully prevent from entering the streets and buildings behind us. I find myself being momentarily sympathetic with their frustration. At one point, a male delegate dives through our locked arms, knocking down some protesters. The cops rush to his help, pulling him through, while banging on the metal barricades with night sticks, undoubtedly to frighten us into thinking it could be our heads. We all point and chant, "The whole world is watching."

We came with balls of yarn which had been 'charged' at the ritual, to web and make sacred our protest space; this done, a transcending magickal deterrent and protection were now in place, symbolizing the interconnected web of life.

Thinking back on that day, it definitely fits the description of surreal: the weather is gorgeous--sunny, warm, and sometimes the atmosphere at our intersection is mostly celebratory; we share snacks and water, sing, chant, talk, while down the street in full riot gear are more cops massing to start up toward us--we're not sure why. The Black Bloc Anarchists move the dumpster (on which some of us had just been drumming) into place as a makeshift blockade as if to deter the police--they bookend it with two handy small parked cars.

A conflict arises between anarchists and the other protesters over our vow of non-violence, and that the dumpster and cars are more apt to draw the cops and cause violence. The anarchists argue that we need to set up this barrier to prevent a possible police advance. An amazing event followed--an impromptu consensus group formed, circled up, and with skilled, calm facilitating by Starhawk and David, consensus was reached: no more objects would be added to the barricade, and anyone who was so inclined could dismantle it. The police stayed down the street. Our webbing was the only decurrent needed.

Then suddenly the rumors telegraphed through the crowd that the cops were approaching--prepare for tear gas, they're going to disperse us! I fumbled into my backpack for my vinegar-soaked bandana; on it went--could tear gas be worse than this pungent burning odor? A big delivery of boxes to the police turned out to be bottled water--relief ensued.

Mid-afternoon sees a definite relaxation and attrition of the blockade lines. The spokescouncil of our cluster determines that victory be declared. We head for the grassy Ellipse, arriving in time to see the wonderful 'legally-permitted' parade. My affinity-buddy, Bee (more code names) who is a professional photographer--press pass, the whole deal--from Boston, keeps clicking all the way over, while still keeping her protective eye on me. Just as we'd all nicely crashed on the welcome grass, the sound of chaos and altercation erupted down the street on Independence Ave. Seems the tail end of the parade had taken the street and was going nose to nose with the mounties. Behind Starhawk, Zot, Tortuga, Chelidon, Froglet, Fireheart, and others whose code names I've forgotten, we made our way to the frontline, at which point Star yells to the crowd to "Sit down, sit down--the horses won't step on you if you sit down!" One person was already being treated for a broken leg from a horse kick.

The huge crowd sits in response, thankful for some direction. This brought calm until a wedge of motorcycle police, attempting to clear an escape route for the surrounded mounties, was unsuccessful. The riot cops moved into action--quickly and brutally swinging their night sticks to beat back the crowd. We tum-bled over one another to escape. All the pagan cluster made it safely through the day road-weary, hungry, tired. Magickal activism lives!

A.17
The pagan affinity group was slower to get started next morning; on my way to meet them I saw hundreds of riot police in armored personnel carriers and lots of newly arrived federal reserves. This did not bode well for the day. As we waited at our pre arranged site we got a call that some of our group had become encircled by riot police and so we took off to join them. Some got up to that front and I was assigned to stay back with the medical supplies, and snacks. The cold rain kept coming down on my not-waterproof windbreaker and a mild hypothermia set in. Occasionally, huge mobs of people retreating from tear gas came running down both streets on either side of the mini-triangle park in which I was ensconced. There was momentary fear of being trampled by the crowd a couple times, so I was certainly not opposed to lunch down the street at TGIF when our soggy AG had had enough.

Others were not so fortunate. Not til my experience in DC did I realize the true meaning of the term, Police State. Civil rights violations by police were rampant, even as Chief Ramsey went on local and national TV nightly to laud and praise the compassionate restraint of his boys in blue. It seems that while over ten thousand people were there to protest the unjust global policies of the IMF and the World Bank, the police's sole focus was to make the city safe for these corporate-owned institutions and their delegates. Ramsey had backup from the Pentagon, U.S. Marshals Service, U. S. Capitol Police and the National Guard--of Kent State history-making fame.

The protestors' commitment to non-violence remained steadfast; they were, as in Seattle, a well-informed, well-trained, knowledgeable coalition of diverse entities, come together to protest the environmentally devastating, inhumane, poverty-making consequences of the work of these institutions.

Multiple law suits currently pending against the DC police recount the numerous violent abuses against peaceful, non-violent demonstrators.

Early morning of A.17, a student photographer from Yale observed what appeared to be a civilian clubbing another--he called for police help while simultaneously photoing the incident, when suddenly the clubber--an undercover cop--turned on him with the same brutal force; he lateraled his camera to a buddy before getting cuffed, further beaten, and tossed into the wagon to be later jailed.

Unjust pre-emptive strikes and illegal mass arrests prevailed--1300 for the week. On Saturday morning, A15, police surrounded 600 peaceful marchers, ordered them to disperse, then prevented dispersing, and carted them off to jail! The lawsuits alleging multiple civil rights violations of those jailed, cite: detainees being denied access to our Midnight Special Legal Collective, to toilets, food, water, medicines, phone.

On the days leading up to the protests of A.16 & A.17, numerous trainings, meetings, planning sessions and info-dispensing took place at the official 'Convergence Site'-- the nerve center, housed in a big old warehouse, adjacent to a school in the north end of DC. The Ruckus Society served 3 nutritious vegan meals/day to anyone who wanted or needed, (up to 1000 meals daily) out of a tiny makeshift kitchen there, powered with a small propane stove. So, on the morning of A.15 the DC Fire Chief, attended by a flank of 60 cops invaded the site, ordering all to vacate subsequent to their trumped up charges of 'terrorist activity', citing ingredients for 'molotov cocktail'--paint rags used for posters and giant puppets, and the propane fuel for the stove; 'pepper-spray ingredients'--the chili peppers for the community lunch. This ludicrous exercise might have been laughable had they not proceeded to confiscate all personal belongings, backpacks containing personal ID and money, bicycles, giant puppets and posters planned for the legally permitted parade, herbal medicines, medical supplies for the street, food supplies, and shut down the building. The many folks on site attempting to retrieve their personal belongings were threatened with arrest. The raid was serious cop overkill, in addition to being a blatant violation of first amendment rights. It is horrific seeing how easily the city is turned into an armed camp where government force can be used indiscriminately and without recourse against innocent bystanders

With amazing speed, flexibility and resilience, the Mobilization for Global Justice relocated to a welcoming nearby church and was back in business that afternoon, coordinating last minute trainings and strategy sessions.

Further harassment by the police thugs continued non-stop throughout the city. I was attending a Legal Training/Jail Solidarity session at a nearby park, presented by 4 very professional members of the Midnight Special Legal Collective, when over the hill came about a dozen cops demanding us to disperse. They confiscated all the training materials including plastic night sticks used for training demonstration. I know I identified an undercover couple in our midst--infiltration is inherent with the movement--on the net listservs, at the spokescouncil, strategy meetings, training sessions, everywhere. I know my photo is in a file somewhere.

So much to say that time and space do not permit--stuff about how the press and police simply didn't 'get' the non-violence part--it pissed them off; and how decentralized consensus-based decision making happened right on the spot, in the streets--"but who are your leaders?" It was simply too far out of their experience that they couldn't deal with it.

From childhood, I have yelled about personally perceived injustices. Most times it's a lot easier for me to play ostrich because I feel so helpless to enact any remedy against the machine. Joanna Macy says, when feeling this kind of desperation, just do what you, as one person can do. So this is one time I put my body out there and was satisfied that maybe I helped push consciousness raising along a baby step. The IMF changed their agenda, and felt a need to speak out about their goal to 'minimize world poverty', blah blah blah; but we know that the corporate entity knows no compassion because decent living/working conditions for all beings, including a healthy living planet are a detriment to trade and big bottom lines. People worldwide have awakened to the fact that corporate global capitalism has allowed an unconscionable use of human and natural resources. The momentum of the discontent builds--Seattle, DC, Detroit/Windsor, next were the political conventions: Philly, J30, greeted "W" and the white boys in suits; LA, A25, and Al dressing down; Prague in September, World Bank's annual meeting (http://prague.indymedia.org/).

"Ain't no power like the power of the people, cuz the power of the people don't stop!" Ya Basta!

Sally MacFarlane Neal lives, works, and activates from her magickally sacred space near Northport.

issue 3 • september 2000

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	links for this article	September 2000 • issue 3
From the Streets A.17 -- Washington DC Text and Photos by Sally MacFarlane Neal
A.16 • 4 AM RING, RING, RINGGGGGGGG--robot-wakeup call in my little one-star hotel room in downtown DC. It's A16--protest day; my heart is pounding, before I even hit the floor--what the hell do I think I'm doing here? Why didn't I listen to Jay, my oldest son who said, "Ma--you're too old to go fight the revolution", or Peter, who said, "remember, Mom, there are lots of ways to help get the job done, without putting yourself in harm's way." I start getting dressed as instructed in non-violence training: cargo pants with lots of pockets for phone, and other protest-day necessities--preferably tight around the ankles so tear gas can't get in; wear frumpy old shirts and tops that don't stand out--that the cops won't notice as distinctive. Next, review the contents of my backpack against the check-list given to us by the Non-Violence trainers: swim goggles for protection against pepper-spray, bandana soaked in vinegar secured tightly in its own ziplock--protection against tear-gas; water bottle, nutrition-bars, extra t-shirt, also in ziplock, to change into after discarding gassed upperbody clothing; change of undies, no ID, even as in labels on prescription bottles, credit cards; no address book, but a small slip of paper with cell phone #'s of other affinity groups in our Reclaiming cluster; small amount of cash, but not too small so as not to get busted for 'loitering', remove any thing that could possibly be construed as a weapon--nail file, leatherman tool. Make sure new toenail clippers are in right back pocket, easily accessible for cutting off plastic handcuffs. Write on arm: phone # of the Midnight Special Legal Collective for my one phone call from jail. Ohmigoddess! Brush teeth, that's all; no smelly soap, hand or face lotion, shampoo, conditioner, etc., as it helps to grab and hold teargas and pepper spray. 5 AM: UH OH, time to go; I head out the door of the hotel into the dark streets of downtown DC in time to get myself to the pre determined rendezvous point and my affinity group. No cab in sight, so I start walking--couple blocks down I say 'good morning' to a pair of cops walking the beat--wondering if they could hear my heart pounding; then as I turn the corner south on 9th, a homeless man comes out of a dark place, still wrapped in his overnight blanket, wants to strike up a conversation and maybe score some loose change, but I am too wound to even slow down for him; he easily gives up on me. Trying to look like any early morning fast-walker, I keep south to Independence Avenue and the corner by the Air & Space Museum, and there they are--the group members from farthest away, Virginia, Maryland, already dropped off, sitting calmly on the sidewalk waiting. We all talk quietly til the rest appear in vans, with volunteer designated drivers to drop us off as close to our assigned piece of the pie as the cops will allow. We are now a 'cluster'--three affinity groups of 7-10 people each--all witches, with varying degrees of connectedness to Starhawk and her San Francisco-based 'Reclaiming Society'. We are still imbued with the magickal energy of the previous evening's ritual at the All Souls' Unitarian Church, attended by at least 300 protestors, there to garner spiritual support from each other, the ancestors, elements, directions, gods and goddesses. Starhawk and various ritual participants had called on all of the above to give us courage, strength and clarity to do the job we had been training for all week. She was a little sleepy-eyed this morning, having gone straight from the ritual to the Mobilization for Global Justice spokescouncil to consense on the final plans with all the other 'spokes' from all the affinity groups. Others too had stayed up til the wee hours, packing medical kits for each AG, which we took turns carrying during the day. Making our way up the hill toward 19th and F, it becomes ominous--black police helicopters circling and/or hovering at the roof level, armed police observers on the building rooftops. We have now moved on into our alert, grounded, centered protest mode--seems like we are all a little in awe of the situation, even though some are veterans of previous protests. Chelidon calls ahead on his cell to the pagan cluster--being techno-pagans of the 21st century helps us stay in touch throughout the chaos of the two days to follow. We are talked onto our site where there are a couple hundred people already gathered--drumming, dancing, chanting, circling with posters. Soon we have formed a Super Cluster with the Teamsters and other civil disobedience veterans. Temporary steel barricades are everywhere with lines of riot-geared police behind--looking really mean. Their stacked up boxes of donuts, on which they discreetly munch, are somehow comical within the military-like milieu. I'm trying to imagine what it looks like at all the other blockaded intersections, protecting the 60 block radius. Most of the official delegates to the meetings of the International Monetary Fund and World Bank have been bussed in with police escort in the early wee hours. But there are still some stragglers who we peacefully prevent from entering the streets and buildings behind us. I find myself being momentarily sympathetic with their frustration. At one point, a male delegate dives through our locked arms, knocking down some protesters. The cops rush to his help, pulling him through, while banging on the metal barricades with night sticks, undoubtedly to frighten us into thinking it could be our heads. We all point and chant, "The whole world is watching." We came with balls of yarn which had been 'charged' at the ritual, to web and make sacred our protest space; this done, a transcending magickal deterrent and protection were now in place, symbolizing the interconnected web of life. Thinking back on that day, it definitely fits the description of surreal: the weather is gorgeous--sunny, warm, and sometimes the atmosphere at our intersection is mostly celebratory; we share snacks and water, sing, chant, talk, while down the street in full riot gear are more cops massing to start up toward us--we're not sure why. The Black Bloc Anarchists move the dumpster (on which some of us had just been drumming) into place as a makeshift blockade as if to deter the police--they bookend it with two handy small parked cars. A conflict arises between anarchists and the other protesters over our vow of non-violence, and that the dumpster and cars are more apt to draw the cops and cause violence. The anarchists argue that we need to set up this barrier to prevent a possible police advance. An amazing event followed--an impromptu consensus group formed, circled up, and with skilled, calm facilitating by Starhawk and David, consensus was reached: no more objects would be added to the barricade, and anyone who was so inclined could dismantle it. The police stayed down the street. Our webbing was the only decurrent needed. Then suddenly the rumors telegraphed through the crowd that the cops were approaching--prepare for tear gas, they're going to disperse us! I fumbled into my backpack for my vinegar-soaked bandana; on it went--could tear gas be worse than this pungent burning odor? A big delivery of boxes to the police turned out to be bottled water--relief ensued. Mid-afternoon sees a definite relaxation and attrition of the blockade lines. The spokescouncil of our cluster determines that victory be declared. We head for the grassy Ellipse, arriving in time to see the wonderful 'legally-permitted' parade. My affinity-buddy, Bee (more code names) who is a professional photographer--press pass, the whole deal--from Boston, keeps clicking all the way over, while still keeping her protective eye on me. Just as we'd all nicely crashed on the welcome grass, the sound of chaos and altercation erupted down the street on Independence Ave. Seems the tail end of the parade had taken the street and was going nose to nose with the mounties. Behind Starhawk, Zot, Tortuga, Chelidon, Froglet, Fireheart, and others whose code names I've forgotten, we made our way to the frontline, at which point Star yells to the crowd to "Sit down, sit down--the horses won't step on you if you sit down!" One person was already being treated for a broken leg from a horse kick. The huge crowd sits in response, thankful for some direction. This brought calm until a wedge of motorcycle police, attempting to clear an escape route for the surrounded mounties, was unsuccessful. The riot cops moved into action--quickly and brutally swinging their night sticks to beat back the crowd. We tum-bled over one another to escape. All the pagan cluster made it safely through the day road-weary, hungry, tired. Magickal activism lives! A.17 The pagan affinity group was slower to get started next morning; on my way to meet them I saw hundreds of riot police in armored personnel carriers and lots of newly arrived federal reserves. This did not bode well for the day. As we waited at our pre arranged site we got a call that some of our group had become encircled by riot police and so we took off to join them. Some got up to that front and I was assigned to stay back with the medical supplies, and snacks. The cold rain kept coming down on my not-waterproof windbreaker and a mild hypothermia set in. Occasionally, huge mobs of people retreating from tear gas came running down both streets on either side of the mini-triangle park in which I was ensconced. There was momentary fear of being trampled by the crowd a couple times, so I was certainly not opposed to lunch down the street at TGIF when our soggy AG had had enough. Others were not so fortunate. Not til my experience in DC did I realize the true meaning of the term, Police State. Civil rights violations by police were rampant, even as Chief Ramsey went on local and national TV nightly to laud and praise the compassionate restraint of his boys in blue. It seems that while over ten thousand people were there to protest the unjust global policies of the IMF and the World Bank, the police's sole focus was to make the city safe for these corporate-owned institutions and their delegates. Ramsey had backup from the Pentagon, U.S. Marshals Service, U. S. Capitol Police and the National Guard--of Kent State history-making fame. The protestors' commitment to non-violence remained steadfast; they were, as in Seattle, a well-informed, well-trained, knowledgeable coalition of diverse entities, come together to protest the environmentally devastating, inhumane, poverty-making consequences of the work of these institutions. Multiple law suits currently pending against the DC police recount the numerous violent abuses against peaceful, non-violent demonstrators. Early morning of A.17, a student photographer from Yale observed what appeared to be a civilian clubbing another--he called for police help while simultaneously photoing the incident, when suddenly the clubber--an undercover cop--turned on him with the same brutal force; he lateraled his camera to a buddy before getting cuffed, further beaten, and tossed into the wagon to be later jailed. Unjust pre-emptive strikes and illegal mass arrests prevailed--1300 for the week. On Saturday morning, A15, police surrounded 600 peaceful marchers, ordered them to disperse, then prevented dispersing, and carted them off to jail! The lawsuits alleging multiple civil rights violations of those jailed, cite: detainees being denied access to our Midnight Special Legal Collective, to toilets, food, water, medicines, phone. On the days leading up to the protests of A.16 & A.17, numerous trainings, meetings, planning sessions and info-dispensing took place at the official 'Convergence Site'-- the nerve center, housed in a big old warehouse, adjacent to a school in the north end of DC. The Ruckus Society served 3 nutritious vegan meals/day to anyone who wanted or needed, (up to 1000 meals daily) out of a tiny makeshift kitchen there, powered with a small propane stove. So, on the morning of A.15 the DC Fire Chief, attended by a flank of 60 cops invaded the site, ordering all to vacate subsequent to their trumped up charges of 'terrorist activity', citing ingredients for 'molotov cocktail'--paint rags used for posters and giant puppets, and the propane fuel for the stove; 'pepper-spray ingredients'--the chili peppers for the community lunch. This ludicrous exercise might have been laughable had they not proceeded to confiscate all personal belongings, backpacks containing personal ID and money, bicycles, giant puppets and posters planned for the legally permitted parade, herbal medicines, medical supplies for the street, food supplies, and shut down the building. The many folks on site attempting to retrieve their personal belongings were threatened with arrest. The raid was serious cop overkill, in addition to being a blatant violation of first amendment rights. It is horrific seeing how easily the city is turned into an armed camp where government force can be used indiscriminately and without recourse against innocent bystanders With amazing speed, flexibility and resilience, the Mobilization for Global Justice relocated to a welcoming nearby church and was back in business that afternoon, coordinating last minute trainings and strategy sessions. Further harassment by the police thugs continued non-stop throughout the city. I was attending a Legal Training/Jail Solidarity session at a nearby park, presented by 4 very professional members of the Midnight Special Legal Collective, when over the hill came about a dozen cops demanding us to disperse. They confiscated all the training materials including plastic night sticks used for training demonstration. I know I identified an undercover couple in our midst--infiltration is inherent with the movement--on the net listservs, at the spokescouncil, strategy meetings, training sessions, everywhere. I know my photo is in a file somewhere. So much to say that time and space do not permit--stuff about how the press and police simply didn't 'get' the non-violence part--it pissed them off; and how decentralized consensus-based decision making happened right on the spot, in the streets--"but who are your leaders?" It was simply too far out of their experience that they couldn't deal with it. From childhood, I have yelled about personally perceived injustices. Most times it's a lot easier for me to play ostrich because I feel so helpless to enact any remedy against the machine. Joanna Macy says, when feeling this kind of desperation, just do what you, as one person can do. So this is one time I put my body out there and was satisfied that maybe I helped push consciousness raising along a baby step. The IMF changed their agenda, and felt a need to speak out about their goal to 'minimize world poverty', blah blah blah; but we know that the corporate entity knows no compassion because decent living/working conditions for all beings, including a healthy living planet are a detriment to trade and big bottom lines. People worldwide have awakened to the fact that corporate global capitalism has allowed an unconscionable use of human and natural resources. The momentum of the discontent builds--Seattle, DC, Detroit/Windsor, next were the political conventions: Philly, J30, greeted "W" and the white boys in suits; LA, A25, and Al dressing down; Prague in September, World Bank's annual meeting (http://prague.indymedia.org/). "Ain't no power like the power of the people, cuz the power of the people don't stop!" Ya Basta! Sally MacFarlane Neal lives, works, and activates from her magickally sacred space near Northport.
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