A radical ritual begins in Trump Tower. New York City artist/activists Reverend Billy and Savitri D. of The Church of Stop Shopping scribble towards freedom under the gaze of the Secret Service. June 6th marks their 12th day of free writing in the POPS (Privately Owned Public Space) Community Garden on the 5th floor of Trump Tower in midtown Manhattan. The Garden is public space and protected by the First Amendment. Around mid-day, most weekdays, they write quickly for 45 minutes in long-hand. The project will continue until the ritual is completed. If you are interested in joining, RadicalRitual@Revbilly.com.
AMAZING - I'M TELLING YOU ITS BETTER THAN GOD, AMERICA OR TRUMPS WALL. When I wake up in the morning I walk out in the dark and listen to the birds. I promise the singing that starts up in the dark that I believe in the Earth's life, this completely mysterious force that creates everything. If I start there, then the sun rises and fighting the battles of the world falls into place. Loving life means sheltering the immediate life around me, my daughter and my life-partner, my neighbors and the Stop Shopping Choir. I love the soil and water and sky, the living beings of the Earth.
From that foundation of life, fighting racism and sexism and consumerism comes naturally. Those things are essential to life. Its not like they are second or third in a list of priorities, because when I wake up and love life, the absence of fear immediately faces down these "isms," which depend on fear. In the Life faith, justice isn't an add-on, its basic to consciousness. I get into trouble if I start my day with systems forced on me in my youth, like Christianity, Capitalism, and Patriotism... These systems begin with a Trump's wall, a defense against unfair life, which after all has death waiting within it. My experience is that if life is trusted from the first moment of my day, then living makes sense. Earthalujah!
TRUMP IS BEING PAID MORE TO DROP THE PARIS AGREEMENT THAN TO KEEP IT. It is hard to imagine that someone would run for president for this reason and this reason alone. Think about it. He likes his sexism and racism - he even likes his incompetence - because the most unimaginable thing of all is hidden behind these evils. He is a pathological capitalist. The suffering and death that he causes are simply his work, he is ready to adjust to the pain of others, even children, because his only measurement of experience is making money. He is the ultimate Frankenstein of the stop and shop culture. He is paid more to kill children with rising sea-levels and drought, disease, floods and wildfires. He is paid more to trigger an apocalypse than to listen to science or the wise elders of earth cultures. He will die rich and many will die poor. That's the art of his deal.
To return to reality is radical! And it is time to be radical Americans again!
Dear "The Earth Wants YOU" faithful: We were railroaded by management at our home-station WBAI a couple months ago and have been preparing a new kind of half-hour offering, with much of the same features, the "News from the Natural World" and "Extinction's Got Talent" - and continued co-hosting by Savitri and myself. We may not return to the Pacifica world, but we have many friends there from being active in that community since the 90's. We do feel that there is the need for a kind of public talk about the Earth's crisis that we don't have. We have humor and music and our citified earth religion... watch for our re-emergence from re-evolution! Earthalujah!
Nehemiah and I will join thousands in the city swallowed by the sea. Monsanto made gains as oil gangsters take over the Environmental Protection Agency, but science is closing in on the toxic corporation with scores of smoking guns. The worlds most popular pesticide Monsanto's RoundUp and its toxin Glyphosate - CAUSES CANCER WHEN USED AS DIRECTED. And industrial GMO agriculture doesn't produce more produce than the regenerative farming. See you in the streets!
In this photo by Brennan Cavanaugh, we sing the memory of our Trip to Trump Tower last Tues. We sang last week in a public garden that the city insisted the Trump company build into their tower, as a trade for zooming up 20 stories higher than the limit.
We sing here, remembering the moment that we implored the honeybees straying in the blue sky above to come down to our fake corporate garden, somehow start life up here on the ledge of baby-shit-pink granite and little toy Japanese maples and the dozens of secret service and cops - come to our glorified balcony jutting from the 5th floor, of edge on the ledge.
Melania is the queen locked in the tower of the castle - how old is that myth? May the sacred feminine burst from her penthouse prison. And Barron, did you hear our gospel ringing up through the glassy air-shaft? Come to us Barron and run away with the circus. Its prodigal son time...
We are singing to the honeybees in the sky to take Barron and Melania on their backs and come down to our flowerless garden. We will take down the patriarch together. Earthalujah!
Windy ancient feeling this morning. I made my way through the joggers to get into the thick canopies of leaves in the park. I have to find a forest to hide in. It really is like escaping into the womb. The undulating waves of leaves remind me of the soft wall of a woman, who lets her lover cross the border.
Isn’t that the antidote for today’s violence? No wonder the hippies kept shouting “Peace and Love.” The invitation to that erotic burst of the senses seems to break down the nations and corporations and churches and armies - those wall-makers that give us the perma-wars, the racist occupation of our cities, the fossil fuel extraction from the Earth…
We worry that we can't counter these dark forces, but then I see all these mothers and children. When a mother-to-be accepts the love and that seed comes alive, then her body’s safety surrounds the new life. This is a secure peace directly from love. Mothers push their babies down the sidewalks, and that love is already out in the violence, but a small, portable space where the official madness cannot reach.
We know that violence awaits the children as they grow up. Peace through hate, the current American policy in the world, awaits us all. That ‘s where Mother’s Day comes in. Founded by Julia Ward Howe in the 1880’s, this day was an activist push for peace by women. Oh, the fingers and tongues in the leaves of the forest!
It is the darkest of times; it is the brightest of times. A mentally ill President slouches toward the nuclear suitcase to mistake a Twitter feed for the big one. But he can see in the windows of the Oval Office, out in streets, the 99% and the Black Lives and the Kayaktivists and the Pussy Power and the Dreamers and the Water Protectors at Standing Rock.
This succession of startling movements are the seeds of our revolution. The pattern over the five plus years since Occupy Wall Street is one of peaks and valleys. Up in the visionary light of a life-saving rebellion and then down into the aftermath of months and months of organizing, meetings and marches and rallies… We’re entering that valley again now, headed for a hangover, as the daily rallies slow down.
Senior officials in the Church of Stop Shopping believe that a miracle is hiding in plain sight. What these uprisings all have in common is something we need to know by heart. They all share a quality of vigorous generosity.
We’ve been to all of these American revolutions, and they really date back to the taking of the Wisconsin state house in March of 2011. When the pizzas were delivered to the Madison rotunda and the delivery guy said that people in Tahrir Square paid for them long distance – that set the tone. These were real communities with gift economies, instant practical traditions, and lots of music.
Remember the peaks of these revolutions and we can solve the let-down and slow-down. Here’s our idea. Put the spirit of these uprisings into a small container. We call it Naïve Activism. Our activism is tailor-made for this long walk through the shadow of death. We use the blueprint of the big protests: 1) take the space 2) pop the hypnosis 3) and for god’s sake be kind. Let’s call it “rapid deployment love.”
Here is our under-10- minutes ritual for banks that finance fossil fuel extraction. We (5 or 8 of us) enter the lobby of Citi, TD or Wells Fargo—each is heavily invested in Dakota Access and other pipelines. We lay down newspapers. One of us dressed in white lies down on the papers clutching a symbol of the Earth, a rock, a branch, a wing… We pour an oily concoction (safflower oil and graphite) upon this prostrate person while we sing and preach and film. We hand out flyers about good banks and bad banks. Then we clean up and, help the human Jackson Pollock to the door, and disappear down the subway steps.
These are meant to be “spiritual trespassings”. We’ve gone banking this oily way three times in the last month—it’s quick and dirty. We’re making a simple point. We’re a small overture to the Earth’s invasions of the institutions that are want to kill Her. Yes, bankers —there is another movement about to move. The Earth is coming! The Earth is coming!
If there is a look of dismay and horror on the face of the bank manager who watches the splattering oil hit the body and the piece of nature—that manager is seeing over Trump’s wall! Just when she or he is wide-eyed, be gentle. We want to help. We have the laughter and the music. We are the stranger at a protest that accidentally bumps into you. We both share that moment of mutual forgiveness. Radical!
I can hear someone lamenting that it is naïve to think that a trillion dollar bank would change its policy because of such small-scale protests. Of course, nothing impacts banks. Not the marches arriving from 500 years of struggle through the Middle Passage and the Trail of Tears. Not judges or juries or federal agencies or Presidents. Not even the threat of the end of life on Earth. Nothing touches banks except the people who walk right through the front door.
Zuccotti Park, Ferguson and Standing Rock. Each began on a modest scale and each was called naïve, at the beginning. An urban pocket park, a stretch of sidewalk in front of a police station, tipis by a river in North Dakota. People came from great distances to go to these spots, and they immediately pitched in. How can I help?
Something about that community-making, without the supervision of corporations, was key to why when people heard about it, they wanted to join up. This was called naïve, illegal, selfish, violent, divisive… but it was just love working hard and refusing to leave.
Here’s our small gesture. We accept the oil on our body. We offer you the information. We clean up. Does that feel familiar somehow? Have a deju vu quality? In these dark times, we remember the light on the high ground. It’s just people saving each other’s lives. Radical!
Why is the stain of the oil giving us such a jolt? We all notice it. Today when Amadeus lay back on the floor of the bank and the crude oil stains her, the security guard shouts into his walkie-talkie like she's a new species of vampire.
Al is rumbling in his low voice, “Take your money out of TD. They put 360 million into the Dakota Access Pipeline…” David pours the anointing oil, the blood of the Earth on the vampiress…
An investor at a desk in the corner sat there with his head in his hands like he’s going to be sick. Police cars drive by on 14th Street; no-one gets out. The bank manager accuses us of defacing her bank with our flyers. But the tellers - they are smiling. And we are harmonizing, “Earthalujah!
This is our fourth Oily Banking action, and we invite you to try it. We leave in under ten minutes, cleaning up after, throwing a coat over our walking drip painting. The action is a sticky gash in hushed altar of banking. That blind gap between us and the fatal crimes that our money becomes is religiously maintained. It is an information gap but it is also a deadening of our feelings. It is a virulent form of fundamentalism.
To collapse that gap, to make the oil run and stain our spotless reclining body; Oh! this is our promise to the Earth to mind our money. This is our invitation to the Earth to speak to us.