Occupy Portland

My last digital editing class was last night, and the instructor let us out about a half-hour early. Instead of going straight home, I impulsively made a stop at Occupy Portland, our version of the Occupy Wall Street movement (yes, I think we can call it a movement now), sweeping the country.

I've lived in two developing nations and all over the United States, and I've never seen anything like this.

There was a mass meeting that started at 7. (Every day the participants hold mass, general meetings to form consensus on the most mundane to the most important things. If you agree on a point, they call for "twinkles!" and you're supposed to hold your hands up in the air and wiggle your fingers to signal you like the idea). I got there around 9:10, and they were talking about how to prepare for when the Portland Police evict everyone at 12:01 a.m. Sunday. (I should say that the encampment encompasses two parks, Chapman and Lonsdale, across the street from City Hall).

The people who spoke sounded really quite sensible. They all stressed the importance of nonviolence and brainstormed ways to to keep the movement going -- hold a mass rally, occupy another park in Northwest Portland, make signs and ride the transit system, and encourage people to ask about their signs -- there was none of the "police/politicians are evil" talk. Just the practicalities of taking down the camp -- arranging for nonviolent opposition, sitting down when police try to drag them away -- and regrouping somewhere else.

I noticed a lot of middle-aged, well-dressed people in the audience. Some wore trench coats and ID badges. Some wore comfy down jackets. Not everyone was the Portland caricature of long skirts, backpacks and dinky little caps. And everyone was respectful of the speakers, who were reading their suggestions from sheets of lined notebook paper at a microphone, while behind them, someone on a laptop projected their ideas on a giant outdoor movie screen. High tech meets low tech.

After a while my butt got cold sitting on the brick steps (I was freezing, in fact), and I decided to take a stroll around the camp. The smell hit me as soon as I crossed the street -- the smell of raw sewage, of garbage and probably human waste (although I didn't see any). But then I walked further and saw the most amazing sights: people gathered around a drummer, all chanting softly (Native American chants, perhaps?), a food kitchen doling out salad and lentils even at 9:30 p.m.; a medical tent (closed); a lending library (no one there at that hour), two guys playing chess in a tent labeled "AFCSME Local 88," with one guy wearing earbuds; tents upon tents upon tents upon tents. I passed a pregnant woman in a heavy sweater with a girl about Rachel's age on her lap, wearing a warm coat and clutching the same stuffed Curious George monkey that Rachel has.

I could have stayed there all night, observing and talking to people, but I'd promised Drew I would get home so he could go to the gym. But as I got into the car, the following thoughts tumbled through my mind:

--My daughter really, really needs to see this. (When I got home I begged Drew to take himself and her there, but I don't think he will)

--What purpose am I accomplishing in my life? What am I DOING?

--I could feel a palpable longing of everyone I saw -- a longing to belong to a cause bigger than themselves

--Americans will have no trouble surviving a terrorist attack or nuclear war. Mini-societies like the one I saw at Occupy Portland will flourish as soon as everyone realizes what's happened and that their former lives are torn to shreds, never to be mended

---I used to secretly chide my parents for not doing more during Vietnam or the Civil Rights movement (a former boyfriend of mine told me this great story once: His girlfriend asked her parents what they were doing during the Civil Rights era and they answered, "raising YOU."). But they were raising kids and doing all the normal things people do in the midst of great social change. Now I'M in that position, raising a kid and worrying about money and wanting a bigger kitchen and wondering if I'll ever get a raise -- and I'm not doing a bloody thing to make the world any better.

I've gotta work on that.