#SwarmTheCapitol :: what a day

A non-political and also comedic post is coming tomorrow, but for now, sit with me in the shaky, dispirited place I’ve been since K and I left the Capitol around 2.

K, aka Thursday walking friend, and I signed on for today’s day of action as soon as we heard about it late last week. It was a Herculean organizing effort in just a few days with people from all over coming in to make our voices heard, and she and I wanted to add ours. My longtime resister pal, Julie, signed on too, as did another friend, Marne. K and I met up at 9:30a and headed to an Episcopal church in Northeast DC for the pre-protest training.

There were tons of people of all stripes there, the organizers and musicians were inspiring, tables were laden with shirts, pins, stickers and more, all of which everyone was welcome to, for a donation or not, the spirit of inclusion and purpose was pervasive. We sat on the floor behind an older man with hearing aids, an elderly woman with stickers on her cheeks, and an inspired woman wearing so much flair that the manager of Chotchkie's would have hired and promoted her on the spot. We papered ourselves with stickers. Reverend Barber and the Poor People’s Campaign prepared in the room next to ours.

I completed a form that would allow the organizers to track and support me were I arrested, and K agreed to be my contact and pick the boys up if need be. Marne found and plopped on the floor next to us. She has a tiny baby at home and came out for a few hours to do what we should all be doing. It was really good to see her. The organizers introduced the marshal's and outlined the plan of action: we’d go to the Hart Senate Building atrium for a silent protest and then head to the steps of the Capitol. Julie said she’d meet us at Hart.

Around 11:30, we headed out of the beautiful church. We were many. We chanted, hugged, smiled, power-fisted. We didn’t verbalize it openly, but we all felt a sense of hope and determination: how can people who say they want a fair trial NOT want to hear from witnesses? Witnesses and documentary evidence. Aren’t we told, as citizens when we sit on jury duty, to impartially listen to both sides, taking into account all witnesses and evidence? Of course we are. So why shouldn’t Congress?

Our path took us past the Supreme Court: Justice the Guardian of Liberty. We waited patiently in the security line at Hart. We quietly applauded the number of civil disobedients there. We took stock of the number of police folks, both Capitol and DCPD. We know the rules. We respect them.

we never could figure out why we were smiling. conditioning? enjoyable to do something so meaningful together?

And yet the increasing numbers of enforcement officers felt intentionally threatening. The Silent Swarm, everyone meandering around the atrium like silent dust motes on various currents, is the way you can “protest” in the Senate. And so we did. The police presence grew, Julie waited nearly 20 minutes to get through security, and finally we were told that once we passed the seemingly arbitrary police line, we couldn’t go back. To the Capitol we went.

It was a glorious day here. Blue skies, dramatic clouds. It was cold. A pro-democracy org handed out hats; K and I each took one and were grateful. Marne left, Julie walked with us, we saw another resister friend along the way. We met a woman using a walker who’d taken a 1am flight into DC. Young people with bullhorns, older people with canes. Moms with strollers, people who looked rigid with anger and heartbreak. I felt bits of all of them. I tucked a snack bag of almonds into Julie’s pocket and gave the woman with a walker a small packet of Kleenex.

As we walked up to the Capitol, straight on, I felt I was approaching the reaping in The Hunger Games: determined, worried, enraged citizens maintaining equilibrium and decorum while marching up to a giant white marble edifice guarded by vested, armed officers who seemed pissed before we arrived. We lowered our signs, our voices, our fists. We have the right to assemble and the right to express ourselves. But past a certain line, on federal property that we pay for and to which we send elected officials, our rights become fuzzy, obscured in a vortex of permitting, mood, private and public space, and the people behind the window treatments.

It’s not a good feeling. That feeling didn’t improve as we were pushed off of and back from the stairs and then back, back, back towards the Supreme Court by a thick line of police. It didn’t improve as those who remained on the Capitol stairs were arrested one-by-one and handcuffed with zip ties. It didn’t improve as the final protester, a person in a wheelchair, was pushed away toward the paddy wagon (even though we cheered wildly for their courage). It didn’t improve as we checked in on Twitter to hear of the bullshit arguments against every law-breaking activity perpetrated by trump being made by his shill cavalry of sell-out “lawyers.” Does no one care about oath? Rules? Right?

just before the arrest

that’s me, fist raised

It never improved. Is it democracy when a peaceful protester’s Demand Democracy sign is ripped from his hands as he’s walked away and arrested? As another protester is dragged down the stairs, mouth covered?

This evening, I held my boys tight, helped with homework, played with the cats, served dinner. Keep calling, acting, defending, fighting. She’s worth it.