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How
to Cure Heartache
It began with heartache. My friend, Mike, gets curiously ambitious after romantic break-ups and seems to find solace in spontaneity. Like last year when he suddenly took off on a mammoth bike ride, peddling his heartache off down coastal Highway 101 from Oregon to San Francisco. This time, he wanted me to join him in the next heartbreak adventure: flying to New York City to protest at the Republican National Convention. As a cure for heartache, joining the protest made sense; at a time when life feels temporarily emptied of meaning, what could feel better than immersing yourself in a cause larger than your own? And, perhaps being surrounded with throngs of like-minded people would be a productive way to fend off feelings of isolation. It seemed like healthy-coping to me. I agreed to go. In the last issue of Eugene Weekly Lauren Williams poignantly expresses her political heartache in a letter to the editor. She writes of the time and energy that she put into getting people to the ballot box for the 2000 election and about how, when Bush was handed the presidency on election night, her "vision and heart were crushed." This election season, as she looks to pour her heart into politics again, she feels "a sharp fear of falling in love again" but, instead of succumbing to fear, chooses to love again. Many protesters feel heartbroken about the events of the past few years — 9/11, the loss of civil liberties, rollbacks in environmental legislation, the war in Iraq, the abuses at Abu Gharib — the list goes on and is overwhelming. Like Williams, however, many have chosen to be undeterred by fear. The RNC protests demonstrated that, rather than sitting on the couch shaking their fists ineffectually at the televised broadcast, dissidents are coping with their heartache in a way that would make any psychoanalyst proud, mourning their loss, getting connected, expressing anger, using humor, and making sure their voices are heard. The following are tips for coping with heartache that I gleaned from the protesters in New York City.
Mourning the Loss Despite the high level of creative energy and excitement in the city, aspects of being in New York are inevitably sad; the visible poverty of homeless people sleeping on sidewalks, the relentless commercialism epitomized by ads of too-young girls dressed to sell expensive jewelry, and most dramatically, the tangible void lingering where the World Trade Center once stood. While most protesters described their experience in New York in a positive light, there were some dark moments. Dan Chabarek and Carol Melia, members of the Eugene-based band Enemy Combatants were in New York to protest with music. Chabarek says that they use their music "to speak truth to power and to use biting criticism but with humor." But humor wasn't always easy to come by. At one point during the protest Melia was on top of a light pole filming a group that was going by with 1,000 flag-draped coffins representing Americans who died in Iraq. After a while she had to come down because she was crying. Several others cited the same march as the saddest part of the protest. If there is an upside to the sadness, it is that it has a powerful way of cutting across differences and connecting people. All during the protests, people hugged and conversed, bonding in a common experience of both loss and hope.
Laughter In the shade outside of the New York City Public Library, a group of well-heeled individuals sit around a long table sharing finger sandwiches and martinis. They agree to let me join their celebration so long as I guarantee them my undivided attention. I oblige and the woman next to me introduces herself as "Tiffany Golden from Riverdale." She wears a dignified red suit and speaks with a British accent. "Where is Riverdale?" I ask. Her expression changes from pleasant to looking like she just ate some expired liver pate. "Well, technically, it's in the Bronx, but we don't like to say that. It's just a Zip Code thing."
When I ask her what she considers the most poignant moment of the protest, she answers with conviction: "The vigil for corporate welfare. It was wonderful." Then she snubs me in order to gush with someone else about the beauty of the offshore labor situation. I look around awkwardly for someone who feels like chatting.
Across from me a man named Ollie Garck stares into a dish of caviar.
When I introduce myself and let him know I'm from Eugene, he breaks
character to tell me that he used to live in Corvallis. He explains
that he is part of the "Billionaires for Bush" protest. Billionaires
for Bush use satire and street theater in order to highlight the hypocrisies
and elitism of the Bush administration. Although they tenaciously cling
to character during their protests, their PR flier reveals that they
are a "grassroots media campaign that is changing voters' minds in swing
districts." Like many of the billionaires, Mr. Garck doesn't tell me
his real name, but says he got his start in political activism when
he worked for Health Care for All-Oregon and saw how much money the
pharmaceutical industry poured in against his cause. He feels that using
satire is an effective way of communicating with people. "It hits them
from a different angle," he explains, "that's why "The Daily Show" and
The Onion are so popular. People connect with humor." He views
satire as an alternative to the more serious chants of As I leave the celebration to seek other protests happening
around the city, a billionaire blows a curl of smoke into the air above
the linen table and declares superiority. "Anybody can carry signs,"
he says haughtily. "But not everyone can hold martini
Getting Connected Despite general fears that there would be division and conflict among the protesters and questions about whether "the anarchists" would create a bad media image of the "left," the prevailing feeling at the protest was one of connection. At the Progressive Tourist Bureau, a center for protest information and networking, I met Laura Stein, 23, who sat at a Kerry Village group. Kerry Village is a grassroots organization that works to gather and organize Kerry supporters by hosting house parties and distributing information. Stein confesses to having spent her college years being apathetic, but has recently engaged the political process with fervor. Her eyes widen when she tells me how she hosted a party for Kerry supporters and was amazed at the 80 people who showed up: "Every kind of person you can possibly imagine," she tells. Stein feels that the protests have really brought people together. "New Yorkers are usually self-absorbed and closed off. People are talking in the streets now. I love New York right now." Many of the protesters expressed similar familial sentiments about the gatherings. Ruth Von Antwerp, a middle-aged woman with a happy, relaxed manner, flew all the way from Ukiah, Calif., to join the protests. A school teacher who claims she "never takes time off," she set up her classroom on Monday and took the rest of the week off to go to New York. "My colleagues were supportive," she said. When I asked her if she was here alone, she looked at me like it was an absurd question. She waved her hand across the crowd of protesters gathering on 6th Street. "No! I'm with all of them!" A block away, Roger Donley stood on the corner wearing a shirt that read "Texans for Kerry." He arrived from Austin with a vanload of protesters on Sunday, just before the start of the RNC. Hailing from Bush territory, he describes the feeling of being in New York City as "a relief." He says that he is impressed by how many different types of people have been moved to come from all over to protest Bush and his policies. "With all of these protesters," he says, "Bush can't kill the American dream."
Getting Angry A sense of controlled anger permeated some of the protests. Stein (from Kerry Village) felt that anger was valuable for creating change. "You need an impetus to give up your free time," she explained.
Of the protests that I attended on Tuesday, anger could be felt most palatably at the "Stop the Detention!" march, an unpermitted gathering that proceeded from Columbus Park to the Federal Building. About 200 protesters marched past sidewalk shops stacked with discount flip-flops and colorful watches, carrying signs and repeatedly shouted "No one is illegal! No one is illegal!" and beating drums. They were mainly speaking out against the Bureau of Immigrant and Customs Enforcement (BICE) for illegal and racist detention of immigrants, but were also addressing abuses of all kinds. When they reached the Federal Plaza, several of the protesters crouched on the ground with their heads covered with black cloth and their hands tied in protest of the abuses at Abu Gharib. The protest was dedicated to the memory of Farouk Abdel-Muhti, a Palestinian human rights activist who died last July after being detained without explanation for 718 days, 250 of which were spent in solitary confinement. Before his seizure by a plain-clothed INS agent and police officer in his New York apartment in April 2002, Abdel-Muhti hosted a morning radio show called "Wake-Up Call" where he interviewed Palestinian spokespeople during the time when the Israeli military was invading West Bank cities and towns. For many, the timing of the arrest was suspect. I talked with Abdel-Muhti's attorney Shayana Kadidal, who looked on calmly as the protest grew rowdier. He said it was "encouraging to see that this many people are out here for the rights of immigrants." He cites immigrants as being "a vital connection from the U.S. to the rest of the world that might not think much of us." A 69-year old Manhattan man who calls himself "Jerry" seemed particularly inflamed during the "Stop the Detention!" protest, calling out the chants extra-loud. "I have to control my anger and keep my passion," he admits. "Passion is what we need." But then he adds: "We need more righteous indignation among the masses."
Finding Your Voice On 6th Avenue, outside a Fox news building, about 500 protesters gathered for the "Fox Shut-up-a-thon"— a whimsical event aimed at telling the media outlet where it could put its pro-war, pro-Bush spin. At 4 pm protesters turned toward the Fox building and began shouting "Shut up Fox!" It was here, at the Fox building, that I saw my first and only arrest. It was of a young woman wrapped in an American flag who had tied herself to a traffic light on the corner. Over her mouth she had a piece of masking tape that read "government" while a piece of tape covering her eyes read "media." She was arrested for allegedly blocking traffic. Nearby, a few Fox-lovin' counter-protesters stood near some flower planters, one holding a sign that read "Americans Love Fox." "Are you an American?" a loud anti-fox protester asked passerbys while pointing at the man's sign. When they said "yes," he asked: "Do you like Fox?" Time after time, the answer was a definitive "No!" As I walked away from the Shut-up-a-thon, it felt hugely satisfying to have dialogued with a medium usually experienced as a one-way communication of talking heads. Outside the Fox building that afternoon, it felt like Americans had spoken for themselves. From my perspective, the mood of the RNC protests was upbeat. The adjectives that people used to describe the protests attest to this: "exhilarating," "jubilant," "wonderful," and "inspirational" are among them. Even my friend, Mike, seemed to forget his heartache for a while, cracking an occasional smile and frequently looking around in awe while saying, "We're in New York!" My overall impression was of a town running normally, traffic moving in its peculiar crazed way, people having their morning coffee at their favorite cafes. Rather than of being the chaotic din I expected, New York felt energized and full of empowered and lively people. For me, the most dangerous part of my trip was being stuck with a broken seatbelt during the shuttle ride from JFK to Manhattan when our maniac driver slammed into car the front of him on the freeway. To those feeling heartache, either personal or political, I say protesting might be more therapeutic than Prozac, and is definitely better than lying around on the couch. There are big things happening in the world. Get out and make yourself feel better. Our country needs you. EDITOR'S NOTE: Chris Ammon is a graduate of the masters in journalism program at UO and is in New York City this week writing about the Republican National Convention protests for EW. Traveling with her is free-lance photographer Scott Harding.
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