Occupy Christchurch: Moving Forward

[An open letter addressed to Occupy Christchurch]

Tena koutou, kia ora koutou, na reira mauri ora tatou katoa.

We’ve been at this for a while now.

I know I haven’t been present very much in the last couple of weeks, but please believe that I am constantly reading, thinking, reading more, feeling things out, reading and thinking again. This movement grips me; I feel like I am a part of it, because I am one of those people who has been waiting, plaintively, for it to happen, for many many years. Now that it is happening, I feel as if I have been preparing for it for my whole life, and I can barely believe that the time has come for us to initiate the change we all know is necessary.

WHERE WE ARE NOW
We began with a Statement of Purpose for Occupy New Zealand. We’ve organised marches, rallies, picnics and free markets.

We’ve spoken to loads of reporters and even the NZ Police. We’ve engaged with countless passers-by on a plethora of issues.

Anyway, yes. We’ve been doing this for almost a month. The media and some members of the public still don’t know what the hell we’re on about, and to an extent, I think it’s not unfair to say that some of us are still a little… uncertain of the details. We all know that the system is broken, because of the blatant fact that there is poverty where there shouldn’t be, and there are rich people hogging all the wealth while these others starve and remain mired in ignorance and poverty.

What I mean is, I don’t think many of us understand the framework of mechanics that has caused this situation to come about. How many of us can sum it up in twenty words or less…?

So, the question begs: What’s next? Are we going to narrow down some discussion topics with which we can engage our community in more well-defined, coherent ways?

SYNTHESIS
Perhaps it’s time to begin better synthesising what we’ve been saying, by identifying and focusing on the main themes of our discussions so far.

Occupy the Discussion

I had a brilliant conversation with a retired entrepreneur named Bill down at the Christchurch Occupation earlier today.

Max Chubaba (an Indian-born Kiwi), Popx (an English-born Kiwi) and Rob joined us in moving to pin down exactly what it is that the Occupy movement is seeking to achieve, in real terms. When I explained that we were already doing it by engaging each other in this very conversation, he continued by challenging the motivations and philosophies that we have; and, in response, he stimulated us to articulate them in lucid and compelling ways.

One of the things I really appreciated about the exchange was that Bill began by questioning us extensively, not by piling in with his own views and opinions. He was genuinely interested in why we were occupying the space and engaging people in discussion.

Ain't no good reason for poverty in this world.

He asked me what were the issues we were rallying against. I opened with child poverty (one in five children in New Zealand lives in relative poverty). As we explored the reasons for poverty, Bill and I had a solid exchange on “Choice” as a concept; that is, why it appears that we, who are ostensibly self-determining and autonomous human beings who make decisions for ourselves, end up poor, or abusive, or stuck in the state beneficiary system, when instead we can ‘choose’ to do better?

His position was that we are all able to raise ourselves out of poverty, if we simply choose to do the work necessary.

My position in response eventually came down to the observation that even if we do have that choice, we may not be aware of it on a conscious level. If we are raised in an environment that makes us feel worthless, or unsupported, or that simply brain-washes us into taking a place within the societal system and not trying any further, then we are severely handicapped, and that choice has little meaning.

Keeping Occupied

As I type, there is a GA (General Assembly) taking place at the Occupy Christchurch event now being held in Hagley Park, here in Christchurch, New Zealand. We have a GA every few hours to bring the people here back together in between small discussion workshops, games of cricket, slack-lining and fire spinning. We even had some musicians bring a small generator and a stage, and they’ve been playing music for us pretty much non-stop. It’s a really fun, positive atmosphere.

We’re a rag-tag bunch right now, about forty people as at 9:30pm on Saturday night while a Rugby World Cup semi-final match between France and Wales distracts the rest of the country. Even so, we take heart in knowing that on the first night in Wall Street on September 17, there were only twelve people there.

We really have no idea where this will go, or for how long. Our protest is intimately linked to those now progressively going forwards in over 200 other cities across the planet today, besides those already established in New York and other places.

And that, I think, is reflective of the whole movement… we really don’t know where this will all go. There seems to be a feeling in the air that this is it: This is the moment. If we cannot effect real, meaningful change to our politico-commercial matrix with this, then just what, pray tell, do we have to do?

Today while the microphone was open, I stepped up to say what was in my heart. I said, “we have enough. It’s not about ‘overpopulation’—Don’t be fooled. Overpopulation is a myth. We have enough in the world, right now, to feed, clothe, educate and house every single man, woman and child on the planet. Not one person left out. And yet there are people starving, poor, and dying every day. And it makes no sense. That’s why we’re here. We want Justice; We want Decency. The current state of things is simply not fair. It’s not about population; it’s about distribution of resources.”

This is, without a doubt, the most important movement to take place in our generation. Hundreds of thousands, possibly millions of people are being moved to join us, in cities across the planet.

What will you tell your kids when they ask you where you were during the Occupations? Will you make your children proud? Will you create a world that will make your children proud?

Why is this movement important?

It’s important because it strikes deep into the heart of our natural desire for Fairness and Decency.

What are we so pissed-off about?

We’re pissed off that rich people can buy legislation for self-interested gains. We’re pissed off that money is more important than people. We’re pissed off that even today, when we have enough for everyone, there are still people who are hungry, people who are thirsty, who are homeless and uneducated. IT DOESN’T MAKE ANY SENSE.

We’re pissed off that people can be so greedy that they will watch people die while they line their pockets with worthless shit like huge houses and flash cars.

Those people do not represent us; and yet they make decisions, every day, on our behalf. They may not control our lives, but they do control how we live our lives. They shape our environment.

We have had enough. This is it. Now is the time. From where I view things, this is our last chance to make things right. With the entire world being moved to join this movement, I only see it as make, or break.

fff

I wonder where all this will go.

How Does It Feel To Burn?

I’m full. Overfull, in fact… I feel as if I contain every emotion that it’s possible to feel, all at the same time. I’ve spent a lot of the last day or so in a free hotel room, writing and journaling and moving with some concentration to make some kind of relative sense out of everything that’s happening, has happened, and is about to happen.

Fresh Air, Fresh Eyes

The other day I was out on-site for work with Matakana assisting Rusty, one of the scaffies, to erect an 18x8ft cantilever platform eight floors above 2nd Avenue. This involved jamming six uprights between the floor and ceiling in a rectangle, then attaching three diagonally placed supports out into open space, connecting them with horizontal bars, and then placing plywood & aluminIum decks between those horizontals, creating the platform. (We were, of course, tethered to the structure for the duration by lanyards that can take 5000 pounds of weight.)

Having erected the platform, we were up there zap-strapping some capture-netting to the handrails to finish things off, when Rusty turned and said to me, “by the way mate, I s’pose this is as good a time as any to tell ya: this is the first time I’ve done a cantilever platform, eh.” He then emphasized his smiling pride in his handiwork by stomping loudly a couple of times on the platform with both feet, eight floors above six lanes of fast-moving traffic, and punctuating this demonstration of self-belief by stating rhetorically, with a wide grin, “pretty good job though, eh?”

fff

Just before we’d suspended ourselves out there in the chill winter afternoon air, I had taken my wallet out of my back pocket so that I could put on my harness and lanyard. If I’d kept it in my pocket, there was a good chance I would have lost it to that six lanes of traffic. I swear to the world that I chucked it into my backpack, well inside the building, but bugger me six times sideways if it isn’t bloody there now. While I didn’t lose any cash or credit cards, that wallet did contain my NZ driver’s licence, my Canadian social insurance card, and my NZ and Canadian bank cards. More of a hindrance than a catastrophe; still a pain in ze azz. Last time I lost a wallet was about ten years ago, when it got stolen while in D.C.

Anyway, earlier today on Sunday afternoon, I pulled on my grey wool jacket and turned the collar up. I put some polypropylene leggings on under my jeans, and fired a new DJ mix across to my mp3 player. I laced up my shoes and locked the door behind me, setting off down West 1st avenue to Clark Drive, turning south in the direction of Vancouver Community College, back towards the site where I last saw my wallet.

I noticed something as I rounded to corner onto Clark Drive, and the tall glass and steel and concrete monoliths of Vancouver piled proudly on the landscape before me, mantled majestically by snow-smeared, cedar-dotted mountains just a few miles north—strong ramparts about the keep. As I looked up to the iconic East Van Cross standing in the bright, crisp slanted sunlight, and watched the breath condense before my face in the cool air while the sounds of Alex Levin’s smooth, deep breakbeat warmed my ears and stimulated my senses under my chunky headphones, I felt something new—Something fresh. I stalked with hunched shoulders across the Skytrain overpass as two Millennium Line trains crossed paths beneath me, and as the padded bass pumped confidently in my brain, the steel bars in the bridge sidings made the sunlight strobe judderingly over me at a low angle and a high frequency… and I noticed that I was smiling to myself. I noticed that I am feeling Good.

The East Van Cross

I Weep

Today is Remembrance Day in the USA and Canada, including where I now live in Vancouver. The day is a holiday in most of the country, allowing time and space for us to reflect upon the sacrifices of those fallen in battle during World Wars I and II, and other conflicts in recent history. Today is Armistice Day, the date in 1918 when war was declared to be over in Europe, heralding the close of four years of ceaseless killing of young men in muddy trenches.

This morning, along with a few friends, I attended the public service given in Vancouver’s Victory Square, where the city’s cenotaph stands.

In New Zealand, where I’m from, we take the 25th of April every year—ANZAC Day—as our day of remembrance. It marks the day in 1915 when Australian and New Zealand Army Corps forces were landed at Gallipoli, in the Dardanelles of Turkey, and suffered horrific losses in a catastrophic tactical blunder, before finally being evacuated later that year.

There are a couple of things that never fail to squeeze a few tears out of me. Human triumph against all odds or conventionality is one; the other is the sadness elicited within me by our loss of human life in armed conflict.

Neither Remembrance Day nor ANZAC Day are occasions to glorify war and death; they are times to cease fire, reflect, and remember the dead, and the reasons why we have, in their thousands upon thousands, sent them to die.