Lessons on Community, Security and Privilege; Protesting the Inauguration in Washington D.C.

author : Wally Cuddeford topic : impeachment

by Wally Cuddeford

I admit, I first got the idea while watching Fahrenheit 911. I watched the video from GW's first inauguration and I thought "Why wasn't I there? That was where I needed to be!" I decided to book a flight to Washington D.C. for the week of January 20, 2005.

I had heard of local groups going there, but I decided to go alone. While many people told me not going with a group would be a mistake, in retrospect, it was the best decision I could have made.

There were several rallies in town that day. I attended the one at Malcolm X Park. Medea Benjamin spoke there, as did Father Gerard Jean-Juste, David Cobb, David Rovics, Aidan Delgado, and many others. We folded up cardboard coffins to take on the march toward the inaugural route.

We were a couple thousand strong at least. I had a lot of fun leading chants I knew, and learning ones I didn't by letting others use my megaphone. The march was excellent and peaceful; I saw no coverage of it on mainstream TV.

We arrived at a park near the parade route. There was a festival like atmosphere of protest. People had elaborate costumes and signs. There were radical cheerleaders, and people were supplying free soup.

From there, I followed some people toward the parade route. I was not allowed in the "Red Zone" because I had a backpack with me. I asked the guard, jokingly, if I could bring my megaphone in. He reluctantly told me there was no rule against it.

I stayed just outside the perimeter barricade with many others. Some people on top of a bus stop were burning American flags (I respect one's right to do that, but I think it's alienating and self-serving). That started a big commotion. Once that had run its course, people in the crowd started saying that somebody discreetly dismantled part of the barricade. We wanted to take it down and rush the opening.

I used my megaphone to encourage everyone to come as far forward as possible. One panel of the barricade came down. The police tried to put it back up. I was pushed right up against it. I didn't want them to put it back up, so I stuck my arm out, obstructing them from reassembling it. They violently unleashed their batons on my arm. Normally, I guess you're supposed to withdraw your arm when they do that, but I'm defiant. I kept it out there for a little while longer.

At the time, I was disappointed. I was obstructing the reassembly of the barricade in the hope that people would take the opportunity to rush it, but they didn't. They stepped back and watched, to some degree in horror, as I allowed myself to be beaten up so badly. I realized later how I couldn't have asked for anything better. One barricade panel is insignificant (especially when the police can rely on the excuse of "defending the President"). What I really should have been hoping for was that the whole world would step back and watch in horror as I got assaulted by police, my only crime being one of non-violent obstruction.

An Anarchist medic looked at my arm and said I had no broken bones. She bandaged me up, gave me a Clif Bar, and asked that I leave, because of my injury and because the police learned I'm a rebel-rouser. I said I'd stay a little while longer. I hadn't come all that way to miss everything.

When I returned to the crowd, two more barricade panels came down over to the right. Nobody ever crossed the barricade line, but the police started shooting pepper spray anyway. I tried withstanding it while screaming into my megaphone, but it got into my eyes. The same medic helped me again and suggested I leave for the day; I did.

Two people from the crowd helped me out because I was completely blinded. While I was stumbling away, drained, blind as a bat, trying to regurgitate the pepper spray I ingested, I was interviewed by a representative from Gannett News.

As I was telling curious people about what happened to my arm, I readily admitted that I stuck my arm out in obstruction, saying that I was going to tell the whole truth. Somebody pointed out that another part of the whole truth was the police would not have stopped assaulting me. As he put it, they would have taken a chainsaw to my arm, because getting it out of the way was their only consideration.

I was taken back up to the park where the march had ended. People I didn't even know bought bottled water just for me and offered rags doused in all kinds of concoctions that are supposed to neutralize the sting of pepper spray (vinegar mixed with cider worked well). I got so much help from people. It was the first time I ever remember truly feeling the help of a whole community of people.

I watched coverage on television that night. All CNN showed of the protests was a three second clip of a fight. They said "There was one minor scuffle between protesters and police." Since I personally was in two, I knew that was a lie. That's akin to "Three out of four dentists prefer ( . . . )."

I was arrested at 11:30pm that night. Because of possible legal action, I don't wish to discuss the details of the arrest at this time. For now, I will say this: In my assessment, the arrest was completely unjustified. While in police custody, they repeatedly claimed they didn't have any ice packs for my prior arm injury. They also refused to let me speak to a lawyer before deciding whether to pay a fine or contest the charge. It was my first time being arrested.

I chose to pay the $50 fine, because it was not an admission of guilt, and because I could not stay long enough to contest the charge. I did not have enough money on me to pay it. I was about to make arrangements to pay it at a later time when my public defender announced someone had agreed to pay it for me. Present in the courtroom was someone from the J20 law collective. They were there to support all the protesters who were arrested. They forwarded me the $50 and arranged a ride to pick up my possessions before the office closed. If they had not done that, I would've had to stay through Monday and extend my accommodations. That was the second time I ever felt a community of people had come to my rescue.

This was a profound learning experience for me. I had my white male privilege revoked for a day, and only partially at that. I recognize that being a white male from a relatively privileged background skewed my experience. To me, jail was a strangely liberating experience. To many in this country, it is a cold, unfair reality.

Privilege warps peoples' minds. Whether it's wealth privilege, race privilege, gender, gender-identity, sexual orientation, age, leadership privilege or never-had-to-actually-fight-in-a-war privilege, it distorts one's view of the world. Privilege fosters truly half-baked ideas and the reduction of the real suffering of real people to a theory (or worse yet, to simply inconsequential status) in the minds of the privileged.

Every time I explain what I learned, it sounds so obvious. I think "Of course privilege warps peoples' minds. That's not an insight." It is, at least in the sense that I've never heard it said so frankly. Perhaps it's something that simply needs to be experienced.

I was explaining this to a friend who has never seemed particularly political before. He agreed, but asked me "If privilege warps peoples' minds, why do we allow leaders, who by definition enjoy leadership privilege (if not other privileges), to make all our decisions?"

I learned so much there and I'm still learning a lot upon reflection. I also had the most fun I'd ever had in my life. All this for only $250 for the plane ticket and $100 for lodging. People ask me how I flew so cheap. I tell them I bought my tickets early, even before the election.