I arrived at ‘Liberty Park’ around noon, and although there were a few hundred people there, there didn’t seem to be much happening, at least nothing I recognized. As I approached the park I saw the news crews scattered among the crowd. Absurdly they reminded me of pigeons darting between pedestrian legs.
Other than the news crews which infested the place uniformly, the “occupation” was much like a series of concentric circles, or layers of an onion. The police had barricaded each side of the park with metal fencing and jersey barriers so protests wouldn’t pour into the streets themselves, but now the cops seemed largely content to just stand around looking bored. Standing impassively, they formed the outermost perimeter, and although I didn’t spend any time among them, I didn’t see much that demonstrated their opinion of the situation. One thing I did notice, although it may mean nothing, is that the white-shirted ranking officers were the only police officers who hurried the tourists lingering to read the signs, or really spoke up at all. The beat cops did absolutely nothing. This may be a rank/responsibility thing, or it may show something else entirely.
The next layer in were the tourists; folks who just came (some from out of town, some locals) to look but not participate. I was surprised by just how many there were, and I got a vague sensation that many of them were supportive, but uncomfortable with joining in themselves. Instead, they milled about, vaguely circling the outer edge of the park, reading the colorful protest signs being held by the next layer inwards.
This outer ring was made up of protesters, most of whom did not appear to be sleeping at the park, with their backs to the park, holding up their signs (especially on the North side of the park, where discarded signs are arranged on the sidewalk), as if projecting their message out into the world. The signs themselves were as varied and diverse as the people holding them. Some were nonsensical rants against anything from the Illuminati to the Fed, but most demonstrated reasonable, if vague, concerns. On my first exploratory circuit around the park, I noticed one well dressed man with salt and pepper hair holding an extremely detailed proposal for bank reform. There was a crowd of people around him, leaning in to read each well thought out line. Clearly, not everyone at the protest was vague about what they wanted.
Beyond the outer ring of protesters with signs (and of course, this wasn’t in any way organized, it just shook out this way, like a centerfuge) can be found the beating heart of OWS. There were piles of sleeping gear, tables and bins full of donated food, an organized kitchen, Info booth, a booth of professional Life Coaches who had donated their time, a library with a few hundred books to lend, an arts and crafts area for sign making, oh, and a bunch of dirty hippies.
These are the guys that cable news likes to put forward as representative of the protest – smelly anarchists more interested in smoking weed than social change. Of course, while they certainly stood out, they were not as large a portion as Fox news would lead you to believe. Don’t get me wrong, there were some people who smelled as if they’d bathed in sewage, but only a handful among hundreds. Many were on the young side, as is to be expected in any event that involves sleeping on the cold ground (admit it, ye older generations, it’s not as appealing as it once was), but this was not universal. Some were unemployed or underemployed, and some (like me) were there on their days off. It was diverse, chaotic, exciting, and entirely bewildering for the first couple of hours.
There were lots of sights – musicians jamming, artists drawing, and even a few people trying to meditate despite the constant din. One rather serious looking yogi sat on a raised area of the park in lotus, chanting a mantra over and over. I got closer, trying to hear the words, but I only caught “ram” before I was forced to retreat due to the rather forceful odor emanating from him. I had wondered, before I got close, how he managed to score that nice raised area all to himself, but clearly his scent won it for him. Clearly, he’s not familiar with the first yogic observance, cleanliness/purity (Shaucha in Sanskrit). It became clear to me that several of the permanent occupiers were people who may have been on the street anyway, and decided to at least make a statement about it. Many reminded me of the yearly migrants who camp out in Tomkins Square Park. But again, they were the minority, but they helped bolster the numbers of those who held the park overnight.
That said, I must say again that these folks are 1% of the 99% - they are not representative of the movement at all, but they definitely stand out, to me and to the news crews. After all, throngs of regular people are much less interesting than anarchist freaks. But it’s the regular people that give the movement it’s passion and strength.
I spent about an hour taking all this in, walking around, listening to debates, before I finally settled on approaching the coaching booth, to see if they could suggest how I could get involved. The energy of the place was contagious.
I probably should mention that what I describe above was rather early in the day, just about noon. As the day went on, the numbers swelled, and what had been a din rose to a cacophony. By 5pm the crowd had swelled with people getting off work and students getting out of class. Like some kind of protoplasmic organism, the protest began to bud smaller groups (of mere hundreds) which marched off elsewhere, chanting slogans and flanked by police. I couldn’t tell if the march I witnessed was organized or completely impromptu. I suppose it really doesn’t matter.
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