I HAD A DREAM THAT THE STOP SHOPPING SINGERS HAD AN ORGY AT THE COLLISION OF THE CIRCUSES. Savitri and I were walking through the old tent as big as city blocks and very old like from another century. I was missing my blue enamel shoes with the clouds. There was a terrible emergency in the air but a great feeling that made you belly laugh.
Savi said look at all the lion-tamers walking around, cracking their whips, and no lions. I could see that this circus was a collision of circuses and the animals all got away. People rushed by like they had to do a task, a job. But others stood there with a long thought, like they had 90 childhood backyard memories in a row. Then we walked up to our friend Nehemiah, the music director of the Stop Shopping Choir. I was reminded of the space-shot announcer who said, "There has been a malfunction, obviously." There was a landscape before us. The choir was making love to itself in the ring of the circus. Nehemiah was very concerned, but in a gentle way. He would start conducting, and then stop with his hands still afloat. The thing is, the singers were still carrying the melody, nice harmonies rose from the pumping bodies. It was an orgy deep in thought.
A panting singer was quoting Rumi. Someone sang in a falsetto: "I am individuating as I do this." Savitri and Nehemiah were laughing like they were laughing the last laugh of a long work day. Meanwhile, the aroused were testifying. "I am Anna! I am Rafael! We are all strangers!" We wondered what that meant. We are all strangers. Bare shoulders and backs covered with sweat would appear and then go down into the hills and valleys and moving legs and stretching fabric.
There were whimsical comments rising out of this commitment to extreme physicality. A group was rising now on the south end of the sex family. They were starting a funk thing and pulling the moaning people to their feet. People were still connected but they weren't complaining. The singers tried to march while writhing like waves. Now it was part orgy and part parade. I realized that we were going to Monsanto with this undulating army. Nehemiah was moving them toward the brilliant light.They had a six part harmony going with a James Brown beat on the two and the four. "What do we do? We do with you? Do to you with this power? -- What do we do? We do with you? What do we do with this power?"
Here’s how we’re thinking about 2015. Monsanto is the Devil. The Honey Bee is the Hero. That hasn’t changed.
We want to move close to the beating heart of the Great Poisoner. We have confronted their office buildings, exorcised and eaten organic in their frontyards and lobbies until uniformed men walked toward us with an expression on the faces like they bit a piece of bad meat. Their poisons radiate to the trees and grasses of their manicured corporate-scape, and then out into the adjoining ecosystems. We want to sing radical music in the organic farms that are at risk downwind. Our notes will catch their spoors poisoning the minds of EPA officials, dining on Monsanto money, as glyphosates and neonicotinoids flood the water, air, and soil of our loved one.
Move upwind into them. Defeat their stories. In 2014 we sang past their security, climbing the stairs into the drone lab where they – working with the Pentagon – hope to replace the honey bee with the Robobee. We outed them into the pages of the New Yorker and Village Voice. We talked softly to their hapless scientists. The workers at Monsanto are parents. Their consumers have nieces and nephews. Monsanto is surrounded by people who have a crush on life. Never has such a huge company been so vulnerable to life’s revolt. We want that pied piper job. Sing and change, preach and de-toxify… walk deep into their marketing. Upwind in the poison. Defeat their stories.
Watch the video from the activist archives. http://vimeo.com/4988483
This is the Westfield Mall in Shepherd's Bush, London. Back when we still wore robes, in 2009, we incite ascending layers of law enforcement to wrap around us. as we shout "Stop Shopping children! It's time to slow down your consumption!"
Note the level of panic at the cameras, in this case the videographer is Richard DeDomenici, a popular performance artist and comedian in the UK - harassed by security men who seem to be the rugby players who didn't make the team. The aggression that is released by the interruption of shopping is an important key.
Eventually, as we came to understand the violence that is organized by the big box economy, the sweatshop products/union busting/fossil-fuel-centric/saturation marketing of the Walmarts of this world - this response became less bizarre. These are the underpaid renta-cops on the front line of a very deep army. By the end, we were confronted by the local bobbie captain, who knew what a performance artist was, and knew we'd been on the BBC singing about the sins of shopping.
As the "speaker's corner" in Hyde Park languishes, Westfield Mall, the biggest mall in England, sweeps everyone into a fake commons where expressive citizenship is disallowed. The heartbreaking testimony near the end by the store worker lady, who says "American has scads of malls and we don't have any - we love Westfield," shows us the difficult terrain we are hiking here. How do you confront the mistaken love of "The New?" We must raise "The Earth" to that level of attraction for the average predator Human. Quite a job.
We are looking back at the progression of our anti-shopping because of the recent breakthrough at the Ferguson Black Friday. "Hands Up! Don't Shop!"
First they came for the druggies who tried to make their fantasy economy away from the bigger killers, but I did not speak out, because I'm white with powder cocaine. Then they came for the immigrants, flooded by Clinton's subsidized corn and dragged screaming by ICE from their homes, and I did not speak out, because I'm sitting here waiting for my Mexican cook to bring me my pasta special. Then they came for the poverty-dizzied young from zip codes like Bed-Stuy and the Bronx, fed into the for-profit prison pipeline, and I did not speak out, because where do you start? It's a national operation run by Wall Street. Then one day the Earth came for me, the ocean turned to acid sweeping through the streets, and I cannot protect my family, because America is declared a permanent emergency, and the cops and soldiers are the same guy, jailing us in our upstairs apartment, and no-one is left to speak for me because permits to speak in public are rationed by Chase Bank.
Stopping traffic and stopping shopping. All the people walking away from work or walking away from looking for work - that's very good work. The atmosphere is getting some time to heal. Cops are patrolling crowds instead of hunting black men. We can keep doing this.
Demanding safety and nonviolence in our pubic life will take time. Evolving racism out of policing, giving violent cops desk jobs or unemployment or jail - this will take years. And let's protest for years and years because it is so healthy for us all to stall this toxic economy.
Protest should be what we do every day. Make an economy out of thousands walking on the highway, bring mobile gardens and sun-powered vendors and moveable libraries and organic toilets on wheels. Politicians and their employers the CEO's need to be stranded, screaming at us from their windows, unable to stop the large out-door crowds who love to sing together their rhymes about nonviolence.
We are distracting bad cops and stopping products usually shipped 3,000 miles for Christmas. Thank God consumer confidence is so down. This is wonderful for the animals and plants, water quality and the soil. The police are violent and racist, but so is the economy that they are trying to protect. It was based on corporate growth, and that is death. Protest and things will get better.
The Long Black Friday made sense a week ago in Ferguson, not just to young people but, surprisingly, to an older coalition of justice workers and Christians ministers who called for the cessation of shopping throughout the long Thanksgiving weekend. This is scandalous to the corporations. “Black Friday” is this weekend that establishes the retail profits for the year, as in, the company “Goes into the black.” But politically this is a savvy and long overdue move. The proposal confronts a decades-long drift toward a trading in of shopping for freedom.
Now we see die-ins in Macy’s in New York after the Eric Garner grand jury decision. Disruptions of the hypnotized state of holiday browsing continue in Walmarts and Targets throughout the country. These decisions to concentrate on big retail happen instinctively. They are crowd-sourced. People know that the privatizing of our commons is a key to what has gone wrong in our country. Congress is a corrupted commons. Shopping over-runs our local park.
Our nation was founded with surging anger that filled the streets and squares, the places that are owned by all of us. The project of neo-liberalism in recent decades pulls funds from the government agencies that maintenance such places and then turns these stages for celebration and sorrow, volunteered entertainment, mixing of strangers in the urban tradition – over to the control of local businesses, socialite ladies, wealthy “conservancies.”
Gradually the old sites for gatherings of freedom-fighters, like Union Square in New York, have been smothered with police and big retail. Union Square, the most important 1stAmendment site for a series of social movements that have shaped American life – from the first Labor Day parade to the huge peace marches after 9/11 – is shut-down as a public space. It is run now by a group of 50 rich and super-rich in a glorified “Business Improvement District” or BID, with a private police force that I have seen boss around the real police.
The commons was destroyed and we were steered into the money-making environments of malls and chain stores. In many cities, corporate retail is the only place where people can meet. It is the “center of town.” Once there, we are bombarded with the concentrated fire-power of corporate marketing. Instead of trees and wrought iron and the sculpted stone of old buildings - we suffer the seductions of super-models 50 feet tall sporting jewelry and underwear.
The police and courts went along with this shift to private property. Shopping rose to a religio-economic status above all else. Our prosperity and freedom depended on it, according to a series of presidents from Ronald Reagon to Bill Clinton and finally to George Bush’s famous statement after 9/11: “If you love your country you go out shopping.”
Expressive politics has become impossible. Either we are burdened with endless permits for gathering and amplified sound or we proceed in the fear that to exercise our basic freedoms puts us at risk of arrest. In most cities it has become routine that large numbers of police rush to any gathering of citizens of any kind. Respect for the police has fallen off in parallel to the disgust we have for politicians, as both professions seem to work for the rich and the corporations. The United States Constitution does not seem to be their script. The public’s freedom is no longer the goal. The public is something to manage, to push into de-politicized consumption.
The vacuum in public space has left police without any countervailing force. The rough democracy of speeches and music, the speaker’s corners, were always important for civic pride. There needs to be a balance of power with the police, or they will rule the streets absolutely. Unaware of the rights or feelings of their constituents, police and courts now have the power to decree a citizen’s death, because of what can only be described as their cultural isolation from the lives of the people that they swear to protect.
It makes sense to take the corporations up on their pretend public space. Force them to take the public role they are incapable of. Then re-open again our own commons, which waits with its 1st Amendment protections. Public space must be public again. The police who walk that beat must work for all the people.
Racist cops murder African Americans. The revulsion brings us together in transcendent scenes like last night on the bridge. Three years ago we had Occupy and three years before that the mortgage fraud scandal and world-wide recession began. Meanwhile, American drones slaughter families. And climate change kills the poor every day.
This keeps happening and each time the issue is life and death. A starkly violent issue comes to the center stage and suddenly a large number of us respond. Now we have this present moment, where racist police and court systems have exposed the government and corporate elite, evil unbroken since slavery and the collusion of fear-mongering and profiteering. We must not forget this, as we so often have with these historic justice events. This is murder by a subculture of fear and machismo, a culture that is unconscious of its violent privilege. We can’t rotate this issue away, enroute to the next one. We can’t default back into conveniences, entertainment and on-line dating.
These murders are a symbol of systematic violence against the powerless in all its forms, including poisoning the Earth and economic violence. Our time is running out. We will have to stick with the unforgettable issues and build our response for the longterm. This current uprising is the place to start. This issue can’t be put in the past by putting a few cops in jail and changing some rules. We can’t let up until the cops help us put the CEO’s in jail and big money is out of government.
The business plan of capitalism is the end of us all, but we won’t violently overthrow the corporations and the governments. We will tell new stories. The ground upon which we all walk will need to shift, meanings of words change, values must radically change.
This phrase, “Hands Up! Don’t Shop!” was shouted by crowds of young people in Ferguson when we bussed there on Black Friday. We learned so much, can you imagine? --- that the Church of Stop Shopping would be a part of this. Hurting small retailers is not the point, but the big boxes and malls of St. Louis are the shaping force in that city, as racist and violent as the police. The sweatshops and factory farms, with their minimum wages, the privatized commons and marketing hypnosis, the corruption of governing and theft of taxes, the colonial wars and poisoning of the Earth… Well, Walmart and Monsanto and Chase repeat again and again a horror story.
But that is it. Consumerism shapes stories. When everything is commodified, then we are passive, standing in line before the machines, and reality is dictated to us by the rich. The ringing of “Hands Up! Don’t Shop!” through the night, by rhythmic fist-pumping teenagers and mothers and ministers and teachers… is telling a new story, and the soldiers and their Desert Storm surplus armor cannot stop the rising up from obedient consumption.
Finally the plot is changing. Are we listening?
How obvious does it have to be? We have uniformed officials in our midst who have permission to murder. We can march, we can scream, we can sue - but what will it take? The law enforcement profession has drifted so far into their delusional world. They are a subculture, talking to each other in their private language, unaccountable to the larger citizenry.
(from a sermon last Thurs in Ferguson)
"Wars against people of color in other lands, racists police departments here, same thing. They will stop now. Citizens must rise up. Amen? Rise-up-alujah! 10, 20 years from now when your children are grown up, you will remember this moment, this turning point in American history. We are here. The bullshit stops here. We're not afraid. We're not hesitating. We will stop shopping at your super malls. We will stop giving our tax money to racist police. We are changing now."
Of course I was late for the bus. I believe that I was so nervous about going to Ferguson. My body shut down and tried to convince me to stay home. I pushed past the pain and dragged my luggage to the subway and then on the M14 bus that would take me to the tour bus. I MADE IT! I climbed aboard and off we went to the heartland of America. It was a quiet ride for the most part. By the time it was midnight, most of the choir was sound asleep. Those of us who were still up shivered in frustration because the heat shut off and it was unfixable. Later that night, frayed nerves, machismo and other unfortunate circumstances caused a major schism that almost threatened to stop our travel to Missouri. Feathers were smoothed, angry voices softened and the bus rolled on.
We arrived in St. Louis, Missouri, tired, cold and aggravated. Food and a short moment of rest put us in better spirits and we quickly went off to do what we needed to do to get our activism in gear.
Some of us went to Ferguson, the rest of us went to a church that provides food and other services to the homeless. The place is called The Haven and the magic of doing good for others worked on us. I have never seen such togetherness and organization! The young people in our choir are powerhouses of talent. Food was prepped, cooked and finished in a short span of time. Organic food that made my mouth water just at the smell of onions sautéing in a pan. Turkey, root vegetables, pies, salads and whipped cream made from the cream of a jar of raw milk was just some of the savory and sweet products of our labor.
We finished up and drove back to the hotel. On the way home, I was able to see the St. Louis Arch rising high into the clouds. It looked surreal, like something out of a fantasy film.
The next day, we converged on the hotel dining room and ate loads of hot breakfast food. We weren’t sure if we were going to be able to eat enough during all our activities, so we ate and we ate well.
Monsanto is the devil
Why were we walking over a mile in the bitter cold? Why were we serving loads of wholesome and organic Thanksgiving food to people at the front door of Monsanto headquarters?
The Bees, lovely pollinators, honey makers and part of Mother Earth’s circle of life. How can we possibly have an existence without bees? Monsanto thinks that the Earth doesn’t need bees any longer. Monsanto feels that their robot bee can do what a real bee can. Because Monsanto feels that way, they don’t care that their herbicides and pesticides are one of the things that adversely affects the continued lives of bees. Some bees become disoriented. Some bees die.
Standing out in the bitter cold eating food that honey bees helped provide is not a huge sacrifice if it will help honeybees endure.
Reverend Billy preached, mostly to the already converted but maybe the young police people who stood guard over Monsanto’s domain heard something that that will make them throw out their Burpee seeds and buy heirloom seeds from farmers that do sustainable farming. COOK ORGANIC, NOT THE PLANET!
We were joined by farmers, activists and we happily chowed down on the best Thanksgiving feast anyone could possibly have.
Reverend Billy led the choir in song and after a proclamation of thankfulness from each and every person in attendance, we hauled our frozen asses back into the bus and move on to the next activity.
Mama Cat is a physically diminutive woman but when she speaks, she is a ten foot amazon! She runs a kitchen at St. Jude, African Methodist Episcopalian Church. She feeds not only the homeless in Ferguson, Missouri. She also feeds the activists who are protesting police brutality in Ferguson.
To see her shining brown face talk to you is to see radiance!
She brings out the best in people. As I talked to her, she took my hand and started singing. I was too much of a coward to run away but I desperately wanted to. She sang to me and indicated that she wanted me to join her. I was EMBARRASSED! I sang with Mama Cat and my fear dissipated. As I happily ensconced myself behind the food serving area, I watched and listened as Mama Cat nicely but FIRMLY dictated her rules for being in her kitchen and dining area. She cleared out the media that was not invited but crashed the dinner. Mama Cat put things in order smoothly and efficiently.
I loved the food that we cooked. It was organic, healthy and it tasted fabulous. However, I needed some down home food to make it a real Thanksgiving for me. So, you know that I had to have some of Mama Cat’s macaroni and cheese and her stuffing. MMM, MMM, MMM
The singing continued throughout dinner and the energy grew and grew. By the time, it was all over, we were ready to go out to the nearest Wal-Mart to protest the store being open on Thanksgiving evening. I guess Wal-Mart knew that being open on Thanksgiving was not going to be popular with some folk because the place was crowded with police and their dogs.
We went inside and basically just wandered around until somebody started chanting loudly and bravely. Chants that conveyed the message that shopping is taking away what times that families can share together. There is something perverse in the fact that one of the only days that you can stay home and chill out with your family and friends, instead you choose to spend your money on stuff.
The police herded us outside and told us to get away from the store because it’s private property.
The beautiful black and tan German Shepard barked ferociously at us, baring its teeth as the policeman struggled to keep him from attacking. The dog was out of control and the policeman finally took him inside of the vestibule of the store to calm it down.
More policemen gathered and pushed the protesters further into the parking lot away from the store. They threatened to arrest us if we didn’t leave the parking lot. Still we chanted. We chanted for no shopping, we chanted for Justice. We chanted in the cold November night in defiance of the policemen’s threats of arrest. We told them exactly what they were, lackeys for Wal-Mart. Some shoppers walked past us and laughed as they merrily headed into Wal-Mart to spend their money. Eventually we did disperse. Some of us continued on to other stores to protest. The next stop was Target and the protesters filled their shopping carts with a multitude of expensive stuff and converged at the check outs at the same time. All the “shoppers” then realized that they forgot their wallets. They held up the lines for a long time and disrupted the shoppers who really wanted to buy stuff.
This went on into the night and eventually Reverend Billy and the rest of the choir made it back to the hotel without getting arrested. We had a regular hootenanny of a party in one of the hotel rooms. It was good to hear music and singing. I went off to bed early because I’m not the young whippersnapper that I used to be. I like my rest, gosh darn it!
In the morning, a fine breakfast was had by all and we were treated by Reverend Billy’s Uncle.
We would soon depart from the hotel but first, we took a ride over to Canfield Green apartments to pay our respects to the memory of Michael Brown. The memorial was at the place of his death on the street. We gathered together and sang. A trumpeter joined us and when we finished our solemn songs of mourning, the trumpeter insisted that we live in light, that we sing of the new day, of the continuing life that we are all blessed with. I wonder if Mama Cat is married because if she isn’t, she and the trumpeter would make a fine couple. They would make a strong pair of positivity and determination.
So, we left. We assembled in our seats on the bus and rode back to NYC with no mishaps and no impulsive spending of money at the road stops along the highways.
We arrived in Manhattan at eight in the morning and we gave each other hugs and kisses before we parted ways.
I tried to nap that day but it wasn’t happening. I had to work that night and I was not happy. It wasn’t so bad but I wrote an e-mail stating that I would not be performing at the Sunday show.
Billy wrote me back, he texted me, he called me and when I got up Sunday morning and saw all his entreaties to get me to come, I finally decided that I can do it.
We all came, the choir that went to Ferguson, Missouri and those that didn’t.
The show begins, we sing, Reverend Billy preaches, the energy is gathering, building! By Billy’s sermon, we are on fire. Reverend Billy’s words are like fuel on the fire. We dance, sway, acknowledge that one must always have a conundrum. Billy leads us into a frenzy that just doesn’t end. The show ends and we wished it went on, and on. Being in Missouri truly affected us and it showed on that stage. It’s like the trumpeter said, it’s about life. We have to be in the present and not sink in the mire. Don’t despair, we have to have to love, laugh and be strong enough to let somebody lean on us and we have to have the warmth to give.
Our planet dying is serious business. A person being killed in the street by the police is not a joke.
We can despair or we can join our brothers and sisters to demand positive change.
I’m so glad to be in the choir with all my brothers and sisters who show me every day that we can lead the way to a better life.
What an awesome trip! I am so blessed