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The March of the Cannon Fodder

One of those irritating things about being an advocate for public life and public space is the horrifying regular appearance of people marching around in military uniforms. I was popping in to my office at 7th and Market and the streets were closed for the Veterans’ Day march. Normally I wouldn’t have thought too much beyond the usual spitting rage I harbor for the U.S. military and its corporate masters, but this was even worse: the three contingents that marched by while I pedaled in the opposite direction were all made up of high school ROTC or even 7th graders in uniforms… Lots of talk lately about fascism, and there’s no denying the basic truth of that. But when it’s staring me in the face, I was really saddened. Rage? I should feel rage, but I mostly just look on at what I consider to be a growing herd of zombies marching to the cliff’s edge, apparently blind to what they’re approaching… of course there are those of all fundamentalist stripes who think Armageddon and rapture are desirable and inevitable… Did you hear about that Lt. outside Fallujah who characterized the “enemy” inside the city as “Satan”?
My goal for the next few weeks (years?) is to promote the concept of “ungovernability” and seek to unleash the creative ideas that can make this a movement for a good life rather than just merely resistance.

Día de los Muertos

San Francisco has a very cool Day of the Dead procession every year. This year it fell on election night, which seemed strangely appropriate. I went as a plague doctor, a costume I’ve worn a few times now over the years, and always seems eerily anticipatory to me. I like being inside it, seeing so many familiar faces who can’t tell it’s me. As we headed out to drum and walk along (about 10 of us who had gathered at our apartment on Folsom) we knew the election looked bad. By the end of the night it got a lot worse. But the procession was its usual magical self, giving us all a chance to be in the streets, making music, enjoying the wild creativity of our friends and neighbors, and get some respite from the yammering madness that passes for news and reporting.

My pal Jeff Mooney, without whom I would not be able to fake being a drummer, kept me going on my snare after months of not touching it. He had a line at the end of the night that captured something rarely acknowledged but pulsing at the heart of a lot of so-called progressives, not to mention the general population: “The thought of giving up my fear terrifies me!”
Mary Brown had a fantastic portable shrine around her neck, dedicated to the amazing photographer Peter Palmquist. It was one of those delightful endless regression–or in this case endless progression–things. She had a picture of Palmquist from when he was much younger, placed next to a fake camera. Hundreds of people were taking her picture, which of course captured the photo of Palmquist, who died a couple of years ago in a car accident in Emeryville. So the collector of old photographs had his own image reproduced posthumously by the hundreds last night… a nice touch.
Loved the gamelan band, to whom we attached ourselves for a good long jam. We also traipsed around the edges of the Filhos de Gandhi contingent, as well as the Infernal Noise with Gold Trim Brigade (and realized that they were doing all prepared/rehearsed tunes, so we soon got out of their way). In contrast to the dark fear that seems to dominate the imaginations of so many other Americans, even people who live outside the Mission and continually buy into the notion that it is a very dangerous place, Día de los Muertos is one of the oddest and most fun syncretic rituals in this town. Once strictly for Mexicans and other latin americans, it’s largely attended by the alt-cult young white scene, many of whom bring along the kids. It’s become a very culturally specific San Francisco event now, and is only vaguely related to the original… which is fine by me!

After the Election

A palpable sense of shock and depression descended on a lot of my friends last night, once we realized that it was another mind-boggling public endorsement for insanity and barbarism. As Mona put it, “Ignorant idiots in the middle of nowhere are the vanguard.”
I was just shopping at the Farmer’s Market in U.N. Plaza and a guy went past me, blabbing into his cellphone. All I heard was “They speak the same language, but it’s a different country.” Presumably he was trying to explain what happened…
A lot of friends who came by our house last night after Dia de los Muertos to see the results seemed to expect me to have some cheerful and uplifting thoughts, given my well-known history of disdain for elections, Democrats, and this whole process.

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Democracy… sort of

Spectacular October weather here in San Francisco. Yesterday, Saturday the 30th, Med-o and I went for a late afternoon walk in search of a coffee. Up Cole Valley we strolled, and came upon a very odd sight: at Carl and Cole, clusters of campaigners for District 5 Supervisorial candidates jammed all four corners, clamoring for attention. As we drew closer, we learned that Ross Mirkarimi was there, as was Lisa Feldstein, and the big draw was Mayor Gavin Newsom hisself… we wandered into it with no particular idea of why or what we’d see… It was just a sunny moment of “real” democracy. Wasn’t it? Newsom was there to give a boost among the presumably “moderate” (i.e. rich) voters in Cole Valley for his guys, Andrew Sullivan and Nick Waugh (never heard of Waugh until yesterday).

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Halloween Critical Mass 04

Last night was one of the best Critical Mass rides in San Francisco this year. A great turnout, I’d put it between 2,000 and 3,000. Various co-conspirators planned ahead to direct the ride to the locked-out hotels, which went off beautifully. The police were largely a non-factor, though I saw a photo of one cyclist getting roughed up in the driveway of the Hyatt Regency, behind the pickets, so I assume he broke through and was manhandled for his trouble. Didn’t hear of any other real problems. Fantastic costumes all around, and the energy level was spectacular. But the best thing about this Critical Mass, in this pre-election, more politicized moment, was its unconscious manifestation of a new political subject that I’ve been referring to now for a while.

Perhaps that’s speaking too grandly, but I was reading the new issue of Greenpepper magazine on Precarity, a very interesting piece about the Bolivian working class. Back in the 1970s the tin miners and other industrial workers of Bolivia were famous for their militance, independence, and strength. They brought down a number of governments. But their power was diminished by neoliberal globalization and deindustrialization, undercutting the unions and the organized sectors of the class. Many of those communities were dispersed and one result was the growth of a “mega-slum” above the country’s capital of La Paz. By geographic quirk of fate, there are five roads leaving the capital and they all pass through this area, known as El Alto. Over the past decade, precarious workers who survive by selling things in markets, hustling various gigs, black market activities, and the cocaleros, the Cocaine growers, have become the backbone of the new indigenous social movements threatening the government. In fact, they have used their location, commanding the roads that leave the capital, to paralyze the country’s economy, gaining thereby a virtual veto over government policies.
Similarly, in Argentina during the December 01 uprising, unemployed seized freeways and blocked major highways to paralyze commerce and transport…
All this is to say that the new composition of work and production, spread widely through temporary and precarious employment (the hotel workers of Local 2 themselves are almost all immigrants from South America or East Asia), is giving rise to a new set of tactics for resistance and revolt. Rather than workplace occupation, the diffused nature of economic organization—globalization in a word—has moved our collective power from specific worksites to the arteries of economic life, the roads.
And voila! Critical Mass has been engaging in a mass seizure of urban streets for more than a decade. Last night’s ride, festive and zany with its Halloween theme, was also one of the most pointed and powerful expressions of class (albeit, cross-culture) alliance, perhaps relatively un-self-conscious, but nevertheless real. Young urban bicyclists, many of whom survive as members of the burgeoning ‘cognitariat’ and/or at the margins of steady employment, come together monthly to affirm a new way of living, a new way of being together in city life. Last night that monthly affirmation took a further step, expressing an aggressive and joyful solidarity with the locked-out hotel workers of Local 2. A new sense of comradeship and respect was established, at least for a few hours. Where it goes in the future, like all things associated with the magic of Critical Mass, is impossible to predict. But it bodes well.
Indybay has a bunch of cool pics and some reports. The New York ride seems to have been attacked by the police again, even though (maybe because) the police were themselves rebuked by a federal judge for their illegal seizure of bicycles in September, and their ham-handed attempt to get an injunction against Critical Mass. Check out New York Indymedia

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