Let us give Thanks!


New week, Reverend Billy, The Stop Shopping Choir and other activists will make a road trip to give thanks in Missouri. We will give thanks for the organic Thanksgiving dinner that will contain no GMOs or other harmful substances that Monsanto produces. We will have that dinner somewhere near Monsanto in order to send a message that we won’t be cowed or fooled into believing Monsanto’s lies. Monsanto must be stopped!


We give thanks to the people of Ferguson, Missouri who are standing up and saying NO MORE POLICE BRUTALITY! Join us in person or vicariously through this blog.

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Two Shows

10406637_10205319486969319_4965871849416096898_n.jpgWe took the risk of two shows the same week with different scripts. Human Rights and Earth Rights. The people and the planet. Two things to save, facing two devils: Bullets from militarized racist police and invisible toxins from Monsanto. Eventually we will understand that not-killing each other with racist bullets is the same not-killing the whole biosphere demands... but we don't have the language for that yet.

Last night at Standing With Ferguson with Joan Baez, when my duties as host came, I stumbled at one point with a remark on Earth Rights where the topic should have been Human Rights, and I know I've done the mistake the other way around, too. Life on Earth is writing the script for us, and sometimes we don't get it. My own hapless method is to keep on shouting. Earthalujah!

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Hope

10473743_10152362026830974_2535047675241637137_n.jpgIn 2014, the people who have the old-fashioned kind of hope, as in the phrase, “I sure hope that…” – those are the ones who flip hope into hate. Sentimental love of class becomes oppression; hope for one’s race is soon racism; hope for one’s sex is sexism. 

Hope is the main product of Consumerism’s super mall. 900 kinds of hope are for sale; hope for youth, for good looks, for wealth, for convenience… When hope is a manufactured thing, yearning for something better is trivialized, and we become passive. We are no longer agile. We are not powerful. We are shopping. 

In 2014, they dare the passive consumers to re-dream their hope. Police wait to arrest the appearance of real hope. There is reborn hope in Ferguson, Missouri and the fearful cops are buying armored tanks and submachine guns. They don’t have a chance, not when real hope takes the streets.

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People's Climate March 6 Weeks On

safe_image-2.jpgWe were supposed to show the world that there are many of us... OK alright there are many of us. Many, many citizens who want to save the Earth from the fossil fuel industry and their partners in banking and government. There were not nearly as many of us in the Climate March as, say, New York's Halloween Parade, but who's counting? There are a lot of us who want to survive. On the other hand, the whole thing had a dated quality. We cannot hesitate any longer in this recreational protesting. Will someone give me an Amen?

Now six weeks on, we see that the Society of Spectacle swallows up all counter-spectacles. It was a permitted parade and the New York police routed us so that we would be entertainment for the Clinton Global Initiative. The neo-liberal czars watched us from the penthouses of the Sheraton Hotel on 7th Avenue. We were a street performance with a huge cast of characters, a sort of pornography for them. One of them was Hugh Grant, CEO of Monsanto, one of the most violent men in the world. Among the sponsors of the conference: the top polluters HSBC, Exxon-Mobil, Deutsch Bank, etc. The NY police routed us in a perfect square-shaped route around their hotel, over on 59th, down 6th Ave, and then west on 42nd. 

We should have broken from the march and rushed into the lobby of that "Davos West" hotel, then run up the steps to the VIP lounge to round up the CEO's and their politician toadies at their cocktails. Meanwhile, the Church of Stop Shopping wishes to honor the 25 arrestees at the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission, which rubber stamps climate-killing projects of all kinds. We especially applaud the art work they put at FERC’s front door, forcing the employees there to destroy towns and families to go to work. The heart of a social movement is expressive confrontation. Are the wind and waves and fires telling us to be polite? We must punish the sinners! Earthalujah!

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The Last Word

safe_image.jpg"Let me fulminate! Pound the pulpit! Shout at the shaking sinners! The End is Near! The Apocalypse isn't a Movie! Batten down the hatches! Our consumption is consuming us!" ---None of this works.

We are at the end of the impact of persuasion, memes, great graphics and punchy slogans. We now read the last word from the scientists in this new report from the United Nation's Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC). The science can be seen straining at the outer limits of their rhetorical map, with phrases like, "severe, pervasive and irreversible impacts for people and ecosystems." 

And if you read The Guardian piece, it is noted that the UN officials wanted to go farther, with phrases that actually said outright that we will die.

Conservative forces edited that level of preaching. But coming as it does after the Big Vanilla Smoothie of the People's Climate March, this report seems a rebuke to moderates who still think we can have a movement without direct action. Earthalujah!

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I Woke Up As A Wall

10676273_10152350256335974_3860291121167662144_n.jpgI woke up this morning only to find that I had turned into an old wall, overlooking a civic lawn or a field perhaps. My partner Savitri was nowhere to be seen but towering over the bed, and towering of me as a wall, was our daughter Lena, who had apparently designed this landscape while I was asleep. Now any movement by me to get off the bed was met with an astonished scream. "You're the wall! Walls don't move!" 

Lena was, this morning in her Hawking-Minelli mode; that is, she has the authority that comes from a working knowledge of the origin of the universe, as does Stephen Hawking, and on the other hand she is never far from a blow-out song and dance routine, in the manner of Liza Minelli. I could only ask Lena questions about the town she created, in which every little bunched up bit of blanket a bodega, every pillow the slope of a park. 

In fact I had to pee, but it was pointed out by Hawking-Minelli that WALLS DON'T PEE! Walls hold water back, Lena said. They don't pee they hold rivers back. Oh so I had a field on one side and a river on the other... Blinking out from my predicament while she was constructing her city, I wondered suddenly whether walls do witness the world around them. The world of last night's dreams had just enough proximity to Hawking-Minelli for me to ask the question, "Are the walls watching us?"

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A Call for Re-Wilded Citizens

1012268_10152339804295974_2088976537242628212_n.jpgThe old environmental movement evolves into something new. We are ready for the miracles of wild bravery. 

In a social movement that changes society. there needs to be a scary time, a Halloween, a time of beatniks, hippies, punks and gangstas. That is the way it has been in the United States. From the abolitionists to the Dreamers in the immigrants' jails, when someone started to become effective, they were urged to slow down and be polite. People told Dr. King "This isn't the right time!" and then they told Malcolm X "You're offending people..." We need that now, the polite self-effacing era of Bill McKibben needs to give way to the young black radicals of Ferguson, Missouri and the Pennsylvania grandmothers chaining themselves to fracking equipment.

The old issues are necessary talking points, but we're talking too much. "Environmentalism" can no longer exists as a stand alone movement. When we met at the New School this summer in the planning stages of the Peoples Climate March we had a rousing rally in the big hall, and then broke into our "issues" in different university classrooms with labels on the doors like "food safety," and "transportation," and "energy." There were about thirty such issue rooms. I went to food safety, hoping to meet some beekeepers. My class was twenty-two white people and an African American woman from Oxfam. And my classmates were very polite.

The activist wildness must come from a vision of all the issues being one demand. That is why Chelsea Manning and Edward Snowden have more to do with climate activism than the Wildlife Conservancy. The only issue is that life itself is in peril. That changes everything. Our climate march sessions didn't have a room for "Peace." Or "Children." Or "Consumerism" None of the issues embraced the whole thing the way the Earth embraces us with its super storms. So the climate march got off to a polite start, the emergency muted into a permitted de-politicized parade. The absolute opposite of the climate parade would be the children at the Texas border - and those children are where the Earth Revolution waits to be born.

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Home Life Takes Over Politics

10659396_10152335386015974_7593989940943388114_n.jpgWe are determined to leave our children with a healthy life on this Earth. The intertwined three "C's" - Consumerism, Capitalism and Church, must be wrestled apart, interrupted, and confronted with common sense hardass eco-love. The three C's must not return from the upheaval of compost until they utterly morph. A miracle! 

We do not have dominion over the wilderness or even the robin in the window. We cannot hate the "Big Other. " We do not love a "Big God" or "Big Money" or "Big Oil" because they subdue the beings that we fear. And another big thing: Monsanto is the Devil.

As far as I can tell, Lena's love for Savi must rule American foreign policy, the Halloween 2 Day Sale at Macy's, and all the cops hooked on adrenaline and John Wayne movies. Wars must be reduced to bad moods and then thrown on the forest floor to meet the ecstasy of a million one-celled dancers with big mouths. Amen!

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Occupy Lives

10616209_10152332506030974_5458668313937000273_n.jpgThe choreography of Consumerism can so easily take us into the dance of standing in line, sitting in class, waiting for jets, movies, clubs. And then the Earth calls us, flooding down from the space between dead skyscrapers, alive with lightning and thunder, birds and gusts of wind in the trees... How do we rise to harmonize with the wilderness that desperately comes to us out of the suffering of extinction, the climate apocalypse?

Tonight two Occupy Wall Street young radicals came to our home. The only idealism that can we can possibly do, all we can try to do... it was there in our eyes as we drank wine, as our children climbed on us and the thunder competed with the sound of jets in our windows.

Occupy Wall Street was 2600 tent cities in the centers of towns and then it was methodically taken down by paranoid police working for propertied rich. But can such a thing just vanish? As the Hong Kong young rise up, and before that Gezi Park and before that a thousand grandmothers standing up to fracking and before that mountaintop removal and tar sands and pipelines all the struggles - we know that in the souls of these people the super storms are stirring. 

Occupy Wall Street is right and existing power is wrong. Ordinary people will live together in their commons, and that is all OWS was, and all it ever needs to be. This is the only imaginable future. Living together by sharing people is the death of the neo-liberal elites, and the return of the life of the Earth. Floods and fire, drought and disease are violent, and revolutions are too, but justice is Peace.

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Language of Silence

1779233_10152328726830974_8769817661986376821_n.jpgSavitri and I woke up this morning knowing that today was supposed to be our day of direct action. After last night's performance with 23 wonderful acitvists-who-sing in the Stop Shopping Choir, we were just a few miles from a Monsanto office building in Cambridge Massachusetts, with all these courageous friends - what's the problem? The problem was that we were exhausted completely. We had no idea of what to do. We felt like Wily Coyote off the edge of the cliff. We realized that we were already falling.

Since about August 1st, we have not stopped. Jails and jets and stages and long drives and jails and stages. In Europe for the Edinburgh festival and Belfast, then California and Burning Man, then New Mexico, then a tour of the farmer's markets of New York, then the People's Climate March weekend, then jail for defending a beloved tree, then four new songs, the Ferguson and jail and The Hug, and now Boston and we are falling off the edge. We love our life but -- too much!

So the choir took over, circled up and ordered me out of my polyesters and collar. We listened to their decision-making, which came to down to stillness. We would not be our usual aggro selves at Monsanto. We would be meditative. Start over in our opposition to the invisible toxins of this monstrous company. We drove to the place and stood there in front of it and didn't move. Savitri handled the official reaction, but no one could move us. A doorway to a new kind of dramatic action opened for us. A language of silence. People around us gradually lost it. We kept thinking about what this company does. We visualized years of revolt against it. We saw an America returned to its original Earth.

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The Hug

safe_image.jpgThe United States is deeply militarized. They call it security but it is official fear on a grand scale. Paranoia is formally budgeted at unprecedented levels. The small town Mayberry RFD-like police force may have high-tech tanks, night-vision goggles, automatic weapons. For what? Your neighbor across the street? Is ISIS seducing our daughters? 

Sister Dragonfly hugged a grandfatherly cop in Ferguson and six million people have witnessed the image of that hug in a rainstorm in Missouri. Dragonfly is a San Antonio and Detroit native who suffered racism traumatically. This was not a sentimental moment for her, it was heart-wrenching. She was sobbing after the encounter. But now a week later, it is clear that her famous hug with the Ferguson riot cop, one Sergeant Wood, is precisely the sort of leap out of the comfort zone that each of us must discover.

We know that this kind of flight into risky human contact is the only way to make change. The power institutions have dictated our alienation from each other. To love across the divide is an act that is discouraged by society at this point. To love is to break the rules. We feel like fools, acting alone. And so today's required courage is completely embarrassing. We are called upon to be fools for love. 

In our church shows, we always tell the audience, as we did yesterday in Boston - "Each one of us will be called upon to take our personal direct action. We will move beyond ourselves, to create something new." Dragonfly and officer Wood did that, and now each of us must do it, in duets and in symphonies of surprise love.

 

 

 

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Rick Piltz

10407255_10152325153175974_5553530182214429328_n.jpgRICK PILTZ passed suddenly in Washington this morning, but Rick lives on in the fight of the climate movement. Once the science officer in the Bush White House, the reluctant hero blew the whistle on a practice of lying about climate science at the highest levels. Rick was the one who found that science reports about global warming were edited by an employee of the petroleum industry, adding phrases like "warrants further study" when the original summary would say "warrants urgent response." Thus the American people were kept in the dark about the seriousness of the Earth's crisis by Big Oil's infiltration of government.

After communicating the redactions to the New York Times's Andrew Revkin, the story appeared on page 1, June 8, 2005. Rick quit before he was fired, and had the foresight to protect himself through contact with Government Accountability Office. Thereafter he concentrated his efforts at the organization Climate Science Watch. Through the darkest days of domination of the debate by Fox commentators and the media practice of promoting climate science deniers to achieve a fair balance of views, Rick Piltz was the Earth's talking head. Time and time again he appeared opposite those in the pay of the same fossil fuel front groups that he had originally exposed.

He did this for years and years, waiting for the rest of us to catch up. And if some of us have mixed feelings about the Peoples Climate March, I am glad that Rick Piltz, the always-ready journey-man waiting in the wings to testify for the Earth, witnessed the outpouring of humanity that marched that day to demand action from the governments that were so intractable during his service. Maybe they still are, but Rick's life gives us a fighting chance. Now the Earth has called him back. Oh Rick, when I'm back at Blue Mountain at the lake, listening to the loons cry their echoes against the Adirondacks, I'll see you in the canoe, gazing out, listening.

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Reflections

14908641634_f9ed486b6c_z.jpgWe hope that Dragonfly's bravery (and the sergeant's too - I don't think hugging is in his riot protocol) is a help to everyone in this struggle. It is humbling that 4 million folks have seen the pic. Judging from the 7,000 comments, there are passionate calls for no more Michael Brown or Eric Garner tragedies. There are calls for the kind of Peace that the iconic hug helps us imagine.

Can we go all the way to reconciliation, to the forgiveness exampled to us in South Africa? A lot of us would say, "Now is not the time, now is the time for structural change." When we were there with the world's clergy on Oct 13th - "Moral Monday" - there was confession, forgiveness and redemption in the air. The ministers, nuns and rabbis were definitely militant, too, but theirs is a softer revolution than some would like. My own feeling is that we have to be disarming to emotions as well as guns.

There is a trick here that we would need to discuss with Dr. King... Presenting in the media a grandfatherly cop who undoubtedly has a family that fears for his safety, risks humanizing a white supremacist structure that can't be tolerated or cooperated with. Although it seems possible that in conversation in a trusting setting that this officer might even be, in some sense, "on our side." He looks to be close to retirement age, and who knows what's going through his mind here? He did a brave thing, with the wisdom of being older and unafraid, apparently, of official reprimand. 

You can see in some of the photos, a much younger cop, in his 30's staring at him with surprise. Let us hope that the 25 or 30 years this younger man will be on the force that he will remember this hug and be less afraid of the black majority of his town. (And have African-american police standing with him who help him become, truly, a "Peace Officer.") Did he learn something when Dragonfly physically contacted the "skirmish line" and the older man responded like an old friend? The struggle continues.

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I'd Rather Hug You Than Hate You

10644257_10152318469240974_2681708337121433161_o.jpgWe hope that Dragonfly's bravery (and the sergeant's too - I don't think hugging is in his riot protocol) is a help to everyone in this struggle. It is humbling that 4 million folks have seen the pic. Judging from the 7,000 comments, there are passionate calls for no more Michael Brown or Eric Garner tragedies. There are calls for the kind of Peace that the iconic hug helps us imagine.

Can we go all the way to reconciliation, to the forgiveness exampled to us in South Africa? A lot of us would say, "Now is not the time, now is the time for structural change." When we were there with the world's clergy on Oct 13th - "Moral Monday" - there was confession, forgiveness and redemption in the air. The ministers, nuns and rabbis were definitely militant, too, but theirs is a softer revolution than some would like. My own feeling is that we have to be disarming to emotions as well as guns.

There is a trick here that we would need to discuss with Dr. King... Presenting in the media a grandfatherly cop who undoubtedly has a family that fears for his safety, risks humanizing a white supremacist structure that can't be tolerated or cooperated with. Although it seems possible that in conversation in a trusting setting that this officer might even be, in some sense, "on our side." He looks to be close to retirement age, and who knows what's going through his mind here? He did a brave thing, with the wisdom of being older and unafraid, apparently, of official reprimand. 

You can see in some of the photos, a much younger cop, in his 30's staring at him with surprise. Let us hope that the 25 or 30 years this younger man will be on the force that he will remember this hug and be less afraid of the black majority of his town. (And have African-american police standing with him who help him become, truly, a "Peace Officer.") Did he learn something when Dragonfly physically contacted the "skirmish line" and the older man responded like an old friend? The struggle continues.

 

 

 

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The Climate Movement Needs the Ferguson Revolution

10698589_10152320183020974_4418978345319682358_n.jpgThe Goldman Sachs-friendly “cap and trade” scam. How does that look now? The phantasmagoria of benign billionaires. Where is Richard Branson’s veggie-powered jet? Then there are green jobs, green shopping, green malls, green war…. years of this... the Big Green Stall. And then came the Peoples’ Climate March last month. 

I’m typing this on the F Train coming into Manhattan from Brooklyn, and I remember a sign from the PCM that graced these blurring walls. It said “What puts bankers and hipsters in the same march?” Bankers and hipsters? It is language like this –- denying that there is any opposition at all –- which makes me afraid that the march was part of the Big Green Stall. (I hope not! We sure had a good time! It was like carnavale with honey bees!)

I read some of Naomi Klein’s “This Changes Everything” in The Nation. I felt like she could title it: “The Climate Revolution for Dummies.” She left me feeling that I’ve been avoiding the great fact of the Earth’s crisis. There is something huge that we all know but can’t say out loud. 

Here it is: An elite that holds economic power must have its money and power taken from it. Period. That is what leaving oil reserves underground means. That is what cutting emissions means. The Climate cannot be stabilized without seizing the assets of the fossil fuel industrial complex, which will send waves of disinvestment out through Wall Street and beyond.

And that is what is happening in Ferguson. I’m writing this on the 76th day after Michael Brown was murdered in cold blood by a Ferguson cop. The struggle in Ferguson is for power. White governments and white police forces are having power taken from them. They cannot institute a three year phase-in of “Diversity” and “Community Sensitivity Training.” The city must relinquish power to the community now. Economic, legal, political power has killed their youth, and the demand is not just to stop the killing, but for the mayor and sheriff to step down, the local college to stop, traffic to stop when it gets in the way, the churches to open their doors to people…

Over 76 days the black youth of St. Louis have kept this issue alive before the world: the killing must stop. The power that creates these murders as a part of its idea of governing is now turning that power over. Meanwhile, while as the clock ticks down, a parallel and competing society insists on governing itself.

I’m not doing Ferguson justice, because I came to know something visceral about taking power when I was in Ferguson and saw a second government created before my eyes in a torrential downpour surrounded by day-glow militarized riot-ready police smacking their night sticks on their shields. The new government was made by dances, speeches, prayers, silence, and the rhythmic recitation of names of the dead with the numbers of their young ages. 

A reader migt think that this is not a real government. Incantations, public confessions, sobbing in the rain and raising a fist in not governing. Let me say “You had to be there.” Or no, “You ARE there.” You are there if you are ending the power of the oppressor that seeks to control you. Imagine what this sergeant is going through, embraced by Dragonfly from our church. He may feel that the power is shifting in a basic way, from unconditional and implacably political love. His life is turning in a new direction. 

The Climate Revolution won't be a parade with permits. Bankers and hipsters alike will by hugged by visionaries with that mix forgiveness with demands are not negotiable.

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Baggage Shows Up

10623499_10152314839010974_8697134862249566380_o.jpgAfter a day in Ferguson and out at Monsanto World Headquarters, my baggage shows up. Deposited on our doorstep without an explanation. Because there isn't one. There couldn't be one. We saw the duffel bag loaded on to the plane in Philly, then in St. Louis everyone got their bags but me. 

There is no question that the man at the baggage assistance desk was a cop. His idea of welcoming us to St. Louis was to call in the dog-sniffing unit. The smiling canine officer even introduced us to his dog, a brown lab named Linda. Did she sniff my bullhorn for gunpowder? Drugs? No, looking back on it – we think that they knew that there was a convergence this weekend; that the Ferguson activists asked for others to travel here. The cops wanted to know where we were staying, that’s all, the three Church of Stop Shopping folks, with our suspicious protest paraphernalia, tri-pods, polyester suits, pointy white shoes. It is that simple. We had to give them our address to get our stuff.

It is 71 days since Mike Brown was murdered. People are here from all over the world, responding to the invitation of the local activists, who are exhausted heroes, worn down and then rising again with love and anger. It is the gravity that some of us felt moving through us like a wind in Zuccotti Park, in the Wisconsin capitol rotunda, in Tahrir, in Gezi Park. 

Why do these places become our moral stages? So often they come to our attention from suffering and murder. History has ripped open the totalitarian fabric, the shopping and policing, the surveillance and invisible toxins… There is an opening here and the government and corporations don’t control what is happening. Everyone finds this moment in time, these few weeks, absolutely full of a kind of love. 

Today a couple hundred of us stood in a parking lot in a big circle and practiced seeing clearly into our extreme periphery; practiced sensing someone behind us; ran through each other carrying imaginary circles around our bodies that made it possible to not hit anyone. The dexterity of a radical crowd! We memorized names of people around us, hugged them, then dervished around them, creating the strange aerodynamics of a crowd surrounded by riot police. Growing the nimbleness of direct action!

Officer, come with us into this loving direct action. We will take your baton and gun. Fall into us. Float up on us. We are surprised by our emotions. Mike Brown and Eric Garner and all the lynchings give us instructions on how to live in a state of fierce survival and love is the active ingredient. Come with us. You will steal our things and lie to us if you insist on your false security, your constructions of tense fear. But doesn't part of you want to fall toward our vivid family?

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St. Louis Cops Seize My Bullhorn

10680001_10152312299325974_4905973648299755724_o.jpgWe land in St. Louis, texting our Ferguson friends as we walk from the gate. And we went to the baggage claim, and the cops claimed my bag!
Of course it hadn't occurred to me, coming from the World Bank protest in DC, that my little duffel bag on wheels has what looks like a START-UP ACTIVIST KIT: a bullhorn, double AA batteries, elvis hair goop and make-up, "Tree Spiker" the memory by Earth First founder Mike Roselle, and spare clothes and Theo's seven ft. collapsible camera tripod.

We saw the cops and the sniffer-dog coming in and kept waiting for the old duffel to pop down the conveyor belt. Nothing. It gradually, very slowly, occurred to us, that my baggage would be inadmissible to this new nation state of Ferguson.
This is the bizarre police problem that we've been fighting in NYC for decades. THIS IS NOT A CULTURAL WAR THAT WE SHOULD BE FIGHTING AND ANYWAY YOU ARE POLICE AND THE CONSTITUTION IS YOUR SCRIPT. 

If I have a bullhorn in my luggage and that is a cultural signal to you that I might be capable of speaking to a gathering of citizens, exercising the most basic 1st Amendment right of expressive politics, that doesn't matter to you under the law. You do not have the right to declare Ferguson a 1st Amendment-free zone. You serve the United States Constitution, as do we all. You can determine very quickly that there is nothing illegal in my things, and let me do my work.
Anyway, I didn't come to Ferguson to preach. I came to learn. I preached yesterday in Wash DC against the World Bank, with the worldwide myriad of culture that cried to those bankers from the heart. What an amazing experience. I don't need a bullhorn to talk about it.
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After The Marching

1235208_10152298506490974_8620826639035075389_n-1.jpgI walk along Central Park West 2 weeks after the Peoples Climate March. Buzzy, lonely people in bubbles of glass on wheels are talking to their dashboards, crossing Manhattan at 4 mph. Naomi K. says tell new stories. The story of the climate march can't be 400,000 people. We know that. That is only a view-count, a moderately viral click count. Our shattered attention span can't hold it. Maybe it'll be algorithmed into Utube's "What To Watch." But it's not a story. Stories stick to you, like old river mulch.

I'm standing on 59th, jay-walking the march route. I'm in the middle of the exhaust fumes of the bubbles. Where is the Earth's story here, the tale of interdependent life, of many living things? My eyes stray over to Central Park. Tell me the story. Earthalujah. Tell me. Do you trees remember our march? "Yes, the drought was over. The canyons filled with a rushing river. You were loons, frogs and wild bees and herons with banner-like wings and river otters..."

I want to run into the trees and then circle back into the traffic with the trees deputizing me as an honorary American Beech, with blackbirds singing in my eyes. At this point I'm so weirdly seductive, the car people are emerging from their rolling product pods. They are swimming up into the canyon. We take the elevator in the Time Warner building up to the glassy executive suites and sprout leaves from our foreheads. Scare you. Change you. Tell you a new story. "Nobody told you your 60 story glass building is empty? Your people have joined a media cooperative led by Chelsea Manning. Follow me. I must baptize you now into a living ecosystem. Can you sing, "Take Me to the River. Wash me down."

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World vs. Bank

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Mourning the Loss of Bendy Tree

10689591_10152279255935974_7526692743979938648_n.jpgTomorrow Sunday Sept 28th, 2:30 to 3:30 PM, we will remember Bendy, at the place where she lived in Tompkins Sq Park on the downtown edge, at the oval. The elm tree was healthy and unusually shaped, with a trunk that leaned to the east. Falsely called “structurally unsound” and “rotten” by an anonymous sign that preceded the chain saws, we have not been able to get to the bottom of why the tree was killed. The much-loved Bendy Tree was not in danger of falling down and posed no danger to anyone. She witnessed our comi-tragic efforts over the course of her 130 years, in this park that is the stage of the real-life play called the East Village.

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