Yesterday, Occupy’s one-year anniversary prompted many to weigh in on whether the movement is dead, whether it will affect the upcoming elections, whether it has accomplished anything besides mildly annoying the people who work on Wall Street (one of those people — my sister — assures me the recent use of vuvuzelas by some who wave the Occupy flag is profoundly annoying).

As I’ve observed and compulsively analyzed Occupy over the last year, the movement has inspired in me an amazing sense of ambivalence.

But yesterday morning, Occupy was just what I needed: a space to celebrate my freedom to express the political and social frustrations I inadvertently build up everyday (provided I was willing to risk a few hours in jail).

I got up at 5 A.M. and biked to a small park in Manhattan’s Lower East Side before work. From the looks of things, about as many Occupiers as police officers had gotten the memo about this early morning bike meet-up. It was just one point of entry to the events of “S17.”

At 6 A.M., I saw 20 protestors and 20 officers, give or take a few. Unsurprised, I guessed it mirrored the ratio of cops to protestors hanging around Occupy’s still-active Google groups and Facebook pages.

The Occupiers greeted and recorded one another, shared jokes and breakfast and plans for the day. Someone’s old portable radio played soft classical music to ease us into wakefulness.

I borrowed a white polar bear hat, some makeshift paws, and a white jumpsuit from the crew biking down to meet up with the “Environmental Bloc,” one of several larger themed groups that planned to converge on Wall Street as people got to work.

“Wall Street is drownin’ us,” read a sign that a fellow member of my endangered species carried around his neck.

The phrase reminded me of an article I read in the New York Times the other day about floods that could paralyze New York City in the near future as a result of climate change. Apparently, city officials get “high marks for environmental awareness,” but lack a sense of urgency.

After about half an hour of watching from across the street, a White Shirt (a police officer of high rank) approached with a few of his colleagues and pulled out a prepared statement. Breaking a rare moment of Manhattan calm, he began,  “You are all charged with blocking pedestrian traffic.” I looked around, realizing the intersection of Canal and Essex was still sparsely populated and quiet. “Please leave the area immediately or you will be arrested.”

The polar bears gladly cycled off, trailed by our own police escorts. We got hoots and waves as we led them towards Wall Street.


 
 
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