EduClaytion

How to Survive A Riot and Rock the G20 Summit

The day felt ominous as I drove into town to see firsthand what this international summit would do to my hometown. I had never driven past the neighborhoods of my life and parked at my college knowing that in a few minutes I would be surrounded by the most powerful leaders of the world and thousands of protesters, some armed with pooh bombs and water guns filled with urine, poised for confrontation. I hoped my investigative journey would be excrement free. As I discovered, things could get so much worse.

I arrived a loner, critical of both protestors and leaders. I wasn’t after any kind of useful message, only an interesting experience. I was going to get an early start to my day but then realized most of the protesters probably wouldn’t be awake before noon. Just kidding radical friends of mine. I figured things would heat up closer to the president’s arrival, so I parked my car and began hoofing it into town as Obama exited his plane at Pittsburgh International.

I decided to operate under an alias, KB4. The name sounded subversive and radical enough; although the initials stood for Kenjamin Bradford IV, epitome of the privileged establishment.

Flashing, emergency lights and militaristic personnel greeted me at every turn. Camouflage Humvees were parked where roadside vendors normally set up shop. An eerie silence filled the whole town, but swells of the storm beyond rose in shouts every few minutes. The warnings I’d heard the day before crept in. Things could get serious for anyone in the wrong place at the wrong time. I took a breath and moved for the commotion. This is it, I thought, into the belly of the beast.

***

If you were to just happen upon the town this week, unaware of any kind of summit, you’d have a great sense that something was about to happen. So much preparation, yet so little activity in the heart of the city as if someone thought hey, in the interest of fixing all the problems of the world, let’s shut down commerce and education for a couple of days so we can talk things through.

Everyone wanted to be heard, yet it felt as though no one was listening to anybody else. I was only there to listen and had nothing to say, yet the stakes for that kind of disconnect felt almost higher, as if I might be an enemy to all by being sympathetic to none.

I decided to start simple and approached a Japanese couple. I asked them why they had come to Pittsburgh. What motivated them?

“You know Steerer?” asked the old man.

“Steelers?” I said.

He nodded furiously, pointed to Heinz Field, and said, “Oh Biga Ben. Biga Ben!”

Good Lord, I thought. It’s like Roethlisberger has replaced Godzilla. I moved on.

***

A while later I found the radical epicenter. Only a loner could slip into the sketchy masses while shouters and officers stared each other down. Something was going to happen.

I used a childhood rhyme to pick the random person to approach. I had one shot at being marginally accepted. He looked at me. Good thing I dressed down. I smiled, nodded with an approving sneer, and offered my fist. I could only think of one word ambiguous enough to disarm his apprehension. “Solid,” I said.

“True,” he said back.

“What’s your name bro?”

“Tailpipe,” he said.

“I’m KB4.”

He cocked his head. “Like the Chris Rock movie?”

“No, that’s CB4.” Oops. “Are you getting anywhere?”

Tailpipe snapped his chin at the guarded street. “Not against these pigs.”

“Well, it’s probably better,” I said. “You wouldn’t want to get that swine flu.”

I don’t think Tailpipe appreciated my sense of humor. He stepped back from me and started to say something when shouts exploded to our right. The front line surged and smoke began to fill the air. He pulled a bandana over his face and offered me his backup.

“Put this on!” he yelled.

The smell almost knocked me out. “Ugh, what is that?”

“It’s vinegar fool. Keeps the gas from affecting your breathing. Don’t you know anything?”

I thought I was a pretty smart guy, but in this setting I was lost. Rubber bullets whizzed past me. People scattered everywhere. Those near the front tumbled and disappeared beneath a cloud of smoke and waves of arm tackles and batons. I wasn’t going to learn anything here, and I doubted the police would believe anything I had to say, especially with a bandana soaked in vinegar wrapped around my face. I ran.

***

The next day during the parade, I stood to the side, surrounded by cops. I heard a voice yell above the others from the crowd.

“KB4!”

I looked out and saw Tailpipe amidst the marchers, arm raised and smiling but also confused. He seemed to wonder what I was doing on the wrong side of things. He had felt a connection to me because we had experienced something together. We never named our causes, but that didn’t matter. He just wanted to connect with others who stood on the same side as him. It wasn’t about being right but being active, being a part of something that mattered.

The irony is that protestors, cops, and presidents alike all feel the same pinch of despair during the tough challenges of life. We all feel it, want to do something about it. Yes, there are some creeps out there focused on evil, but there’s also a lot of folks who just want to go on record as having tried to participate. Like me, they just want to somehow be a part of the action. We sit in our living room and hear about thousands of people being slaughtered in the Sudan and millions more suffering in real poverty and wonder what can we do? We’re tired of talk. We want solutions, not more debate at another summit.

As for protestors, isn’t honest action better than self-aggrandizing show boating. Stop pretending that the way you accomplish your goal or support your cause includes predictable aggression, property damage, and criminal activity. The people in the world who truly make a lasting impact are rarely seen or heard. They struggle anonymously, selflessly giving themselves away to people who offer nothing in return. No cameras follow the true activists. They don’t need to join a cause because they live a life of impacting change.

Tailpipe continued to look my way as he marched on. I could see his expression falling. He wasn’t just doubting my sincerity; he was questioning the reality of his cause, a fragile and hollow shell barely holding up the self-proclaimed damned. I looked at the line of riot police separating us and thought about what it means to stand in the gap as an ancient prophet once put it.

As Tailpipe’s arm fell I realized that I did have a cause. It had nothing to do with the vague and rambling protests of the marchers or the shrouded agendas of conference delegates. My cause was the lost, the doomed and the damned, people like Tailpipe. I arrived looking for an experience from an event that offered me nothing, but I was wrong. This land of confusion is also one of opportunities. Everyone needs something.

I stepped between two cops and joined Tailpipe because sometimes the destination we’re marching toward can change.

Ever been caught up in a riot?

September 26, 2009 - Posted by educlaytion | Humor, Life