A world where that doesn't happen: Activists respond to police raids

[Ed. note: The following is an excerpt of a speech that Starhawk, a well-known activist and radical, gave to a group of about 500 activists gathered in Powderhorn Park of Minneapolis in the aftermath of raids on the homes of anti-RNC activists. Because the raids had just occurred, and rumors were flying left and right, the mood was understandably tense. Starhawk was responding to a concern, expressed by many at the gathering, for the safety of the children of activists during these shockingly aggressive police raids. The sections surrounded by brackets were indecipherable on my recording, but I think the overall speech is well worth the few words we can’t understand.]

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"I have been through a lot of these things, I think I’m pretty tough, but I started crying when it really hit me that we’re really here in Minnesota, the place I was born and the place where my family has radical history going back to the thirties talking about how we’re going to get little children out of houses where police are drawing guns on them. That’s something that should make us all really angry.

It’s [our job] to make a world where that doesn’t happen, not here, not in the third world, not in the black community, or the poor community, or any community [..]. I’m willing to bet that in some ways we have [made that world] by being here, because our job here is to show to ourselves, to the world, to the Republicans, that there are some people who will stand up against a world like that. Even after 8 years of the Bush and of Homeland security, of the removal of our civil liberties, that we’re strong and that even if one of us gets out on the street Monday, that is a victory.

We’re strong but we’re also human we’re also vulnerable and part of our vulnerability and part of our strength is to acknowledge that this stuff does hurt us, I just want to say that all you who had guns pointed at you […] let’s not be so tough that we can’t acknowledge that we have emotions and we have feelings and let’s be fair to one another around that.

Think of our great, powerful allies. We have allies around this city, we have allies around this country who are hearing this news on email who are reading it and looking at it, who are with us. If you have friends back home, if you have friends around the country who don’t know what’s going here, write and tell them, take a few moments today and let them know. Have them start calling the mayor and calling the council and bringing pressure from across the country to have this stop."

Welcome to Minnesota: Out of town activists pulled over by police at gunpoint

A van full of activists from Texas was pulled over on Lake st. and 11th ave. in Minneapolis by police with drawn shotguns on Saturday afternoon.

Police ordered them out of the van at gunpoint, where they were handcuffed and searched on the busy sidewalk across the street from a dollar store, said Estaban, one of the detained activists. They didn't search the van.

They were released after between 15 to 20 minutes, an observer said.

The activists had been followed all the way from St. Paul by two unmarked cars, allegedly from the Ramsey County Sheriffs Department, they were also assisted by Minneapolis police, Esteban said. Also present were transit police and K9 units.

Esteban said the police didn't give a reason for the stop, or for their tactics of drawn guns. A policeman at the scene said the detainment was due to "bad information."

Raids on activist spaces and homes in days before RNC

UPDATE: 1:30 p.m., Saturday Aug. 3o, 2008.
The RNC Welcoming Committee reported that another house, at 951 Inglehart in St. Paul, has been raided. They say that there are currently two arrests, although police haven't yet verified this. Earlier in the afternoon, an ally of the RNC WC, although not a member, was arrested while walking down the street on the corners of Franklin and Clinton avenues in Minneapolis. Law enforcement is also using city inspectors to condemn the raided properties. The houses on 23rd and 17th avenues are currently being boarded up due to code violations. In St. Paul, Council Member David Thune intervened with the city housing inspectors to help activists reopen their convergence space, which occurred around 1 p.m.
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In the last 24-hours, local law enforcement raided an anti-RNC activist convergence space in St. Paul and three houses in Minneapolis where activists were staying, arresting four people in all, at least three are being held on charges of conspiracy.

At each location so far, Ramsey County Sheriff deputies working with local police and fire, have seized computers and literature, as well as testing substances in a mobile lab. Representatives from the Department of Homeland Security and FBI were also reportedly present at the raid on the 3500 block of Harriet Avenue.

At the raid of the Convergence Space, which took place around 10 p.m. on Friday night during a movie viewing, around 65 people were ordered to lie on their stomachs on the floor and detained in plastic handcuffs. All were released after police collected identification information and took pictures of detained activists.

Raids on activists' residences in Minneapolis started around 9 a.m. on Saturday morning. They involved houses on the 3200 block of 17th ave., the 3500 block of Harriet ave., and the 2300 block of 23rd ave.

The warrants gave police the right to search for "bomb-making" materials, which includes many commonplace household chemicals including soap flakes, paint, bleach, electronic devices like Mp3 players and communication devices, according to legal observers. The warrants for the Saturday raids also explicitly listed that police pursue "media in whatever form."

Ramsey County Sheriff Bob Fletcher described the RNC Welcoming Committee, group running the convergence center, as a "a criminal enterprise made up of 35 self-described anarchists who are intent on committing criminal acts before and during the Republican National Convention," according to a statement released Saturday morning.

Activists from the RNC Welcoming Committee also held a press conference Saturday morning on Harriet Island where they portrayed the raids as police harassment and the law enforcement allegations of chemical weapons as smears.

"This attempt to portray us as criminals and destroy our credibility has already backfired as evidenced by the masses who have come to support us," the RNC Welcoming Committee statement said.

"The convergence center is simply a gathering place and is not used for illegal actions – it is a place for workshops and trainings. Tonight we were watching films and sharing food."

Representatives of law enforcement refused to comment on the house raids until noon on Saturday when they said spokesmen would be available.

Activists and residents in Minneapolis will hold a community meeting on Saturday afternoon in Powderhorn Park to discuss the raids.

Debacle on top of debacle: Promoting a CD release show

To preface the tour blog, why not tell you about our recent experience of putting out a record? Not the dull stats, but the exciting world of promoting it. Something we've traditionally been horrible at, which recent experiences have confirmed.

I'm suspicious of bands that glorify themselves. Almost every time you see an article about a band with a picture of them backed up against a brick wall staring into the distance-- you can be 90% sure they suck horribly and for long distances. To me, there's a thin (and maybe imaginary) line to straddle between being a DIY band selling screen-printed beer cozies for $3, and a silly indie band paying some promoter to harass radio stations about your generic song.

Sometimes though, being DIY just means your friends are cheap.

We didn't do a photo shoot. Instead, we focused on promoting our CD Release show at the Hexagon. Our friend Emiwee made an awesome poster with a spray painted stencil which we hung up in our version of everywhere; the collective co-ops and Extreme Noise. We impressed ourselves by even putting it up at the Wedge.

Next step: harass all media. They're used to it though, usually done by prettier people than us. Only the City Pages bit, and that's why I feel bad about what I'm about to do, which is buy them the linguistic equivalent of a ticket on a Canadian Greyhound (think about it for a second before you ask).

Barbarians at the gate: that's what big media gets for being wrong in this age of interactivity.

The preview for the show made the A-List, something we've never done. We were happy about it. It's nice to know people notice, and I suppose the City Pages has to take a day or two off from hyping Atmosphere.

The text though, contained some weird shit. The preview was pretty standard music critic metaphor about "boots grounded in folk, a wagon full of punk flair, and lyrics full of political steam."

Alright, I'll buy it.

But the part that gets me is the following:

"If you can catch the speeding lyrics, you'll raise your fist to phrases like, "You and I will never be free 'til every boss is dead and buried," and "When the world ends, I hope that he comes back and puts a gun to every fucking cop's head." Yikes."

I agree with her, it makes me scared of us. But it's a very old song about religious and military fanatics conspiring to end the world. Glossing over every word we've written in four years, the cop thing takes the lines out of context and makes us sound violent when it's really about how religions use the threat of violence to coerce people. Perhaps a subtle distinction, but a real one nonetheless. Here's the real next line:

"When the world ends, I wish the ones who ended it will pay, but they've built enough guns and churches to blow us all to judgment day. For the rich men's sins they're willing to make a sacrifice, but why's it always got to be us who die."

That's a much fuller, stranger picture of the issue. Perhaps still incendiary and offensive, but certainly not a song about cop-killing.

But obviously, media doesn't always present you in the best light. What's to be done? I just don't want to get shot by off-duty cops.

On a happy note, Le Toile Magazine blog, staffed by beautiful Croation women in sparkling capes, gave us a nice and accurate preview. I can't wait to go on tour and get the hell out of this blinding glare of publicity. Ha.

Taking a break from being boring: Chokecherry's Tour Blog

I'm going to take a little break from my serious blogging endeavors; slanted analysis, conflict-of-interested based music reviews, and extremely biased interviews. Why? Because I'm going on tour with my band, Chokecherry.

But because we normally keep a blog on tour anyway, I thought, why not post the Chokecherry blog here?

What fun, right? Actually touring for a punk band is 23 hours of boredom, lots of weird smells and hangovers, and dogs that are questionably friendly -- with one hour of nightly fun. However, in retrospect, sleeping on a urine-covered floor in Cincinnati is much funner than one might think.

Please expect profanity, debauchery, and most likely, despair.

We will certainly torture Tall Bob by waking him up before noon, and it will be hilarious to us. You won't fully understand, at least not until we post the pictures of him sleeping in wicker chairs much too small for him.

We will wear earplugs, not for the blisteringly loud shows, but for our bandmates' snoring.

We will slip lower on the rung of beers, from the already questionable PBRs and Black Label's of the world, to Miller and Fat Cat. Really, we'll drink whatever we can find.

We will be like the CNN of 70s country and 80s punk. Please join us.

Commentary: Democracy: Just a bad Reality-TV show?

"The co-producers of a bad reality-TV show."

That's how Slate Magazine's Jack Shafer refers to the hordes of journalists who'll be coming to the Twin Cities to witness the tightly-choreographed charade of the Republican Convention. Shafer asks why the media wouldn't just save a bunch of money and boycott it, since all the big decisions are already made anyway? He comes to the conclusions that journalists like the shmoozing and boozing.

True, I'm sure. Not being a paid journalists, in booze or cash, I wouldn't know. If anyone were offering, I would discuss either proposition, preferably over a drink.

But from what I see, the convention is mostly a symbol, in this case for an increasingly alienating political process that is itself increasingly choreographed. The convention is a symbol of a democracy that, regardless of the outcome of the election, will still be in a pretty sorry state due to years of war, the public's paralysis since September 2001, and lessening economic power for most people. And by democracy I don't mean the one-vote every four years system of big-D Democracy. Most people who want it will have their choice in November: Pepsi or Coke. I'm talking about the democratic culture. The power people have over their own lives, their workplace, their neighborhoods, their social lives, and not just in dry legislation or voter turnouts.

The shining example of the social compact between government and the people is the Bill of Rights. It doesn't, though, guarantee any of these rights. As we can see from recent Supreme Court decisions or Congressional Legislation, the separate heads of government can collude to represent their own interests or the interests of the powerful rather than the rights of normal citizens. It is, and always has been, people's responsibility to stick up for themselves when they're getting stepped on.

For that reason a symbolic convention attracts the malcontents, the people locked out of the power structure; that's where the interesting stories come in. It's journalism's job to seek out truth and report it. What a great opportunity for journalists to play the role of the Fourth Estate by contrasting the big-D Democratic theater inside the Excel with the little-d democratic chaos outside, exactly why the convention and its surrounding hoopla shouldn't be ignored by the journalistic establishment.

Apart from all the high talk of journalistic responsibility, the conventions are an opportunity, as former Strib reporter Molly Ivins said, to remind those in the media that the only real questions are "Who's getting screwed" and "Who's doing the screwing?"

The heterogeneous bike threat: Response to anti-bike blog at City Pages

When I read last week's Sunday New York Times article about an increase in conflicts between bikers and drivers (in the fashion section!), I thought, "Finally, someone documenting the ongoing harassment and danger that bikers experience."

That's not how City Pages' Bradley Campbell took it. He did the KSTP dance by arguing that Minneapolis has very few incidents of cyclist harassment (after an exhaustive search, no doubt), but that the ones we do have are the fault of cyclists, not motorists. All because he's seen some riders float through stop signs or ride the wrong way on one-ways downtown or around the University.

The obvious response is to argue about the dangerous conditions for bicyclists: aggressive and inattentive motorists, dangerous intersections, and stats that say most collisions are the fault of motorists.

However, I've gone over all that before. Instead, what really bothers me is Campbell's attitude that bikers are some homogeneous group.

As a longtime bicyclist, I also resent most bicyclists, probably more than he does. As soon as nice weather shows up, they start clogging the streets that I've come to think of as mine during the long winter. I can generalize better than most about all the idiots who ride non-motorized two-wheelers. As well as articulate, for the benefit of journalists like Campbell, the dangers these bikers pose to good citizens.

Lance Armstrongs
These are the people dressed in padded shorts and fluorescent helmets dotted with power-gel logos. Their favored habitats are paved bike trails and the clothing aisles of bike shops. Usually only seen between May and August, they see biking as less a form of transportation than a sport of dominance. Because of this, the main danger they pose is to other bicyclists as they imagine themselves to be engaged in a Tour de France-style competition that necessitates passing at high-speeds and a hairs-breadth, all in order to win an imagined race. Although they look harmless, their dependence on performance supplements, along with their entitled upper-class origins as lawyers and MBAs, can make them volatile and dangerous. They give bikers an undeserved reputation for wearing bright colors.



Students
This species of bicyclist can be found in the University districts of most cities between September and December. Their favored bike is their childhood mountain bike, usually called something like Toxic Charge, which they secure to the railings of staircases with a 3-digit combination cable lock, and which they often abandon after the first snow of the year. Often, these riders can be observed utilizing cell phones or I-pods while in transit between classes. Because this species hesitates to ride on streets, it poses the greatest threat to trees and lamp posts, with which, because of their inattentiveness, they often collide.

Bike Messengers
This species can best be recognized by their clipped toe shoes and odd little bike racing hat, like a baseball hat with a shorter bill, usually advertising a company that produces brake cables. Odds are they've affixed a weathered cards from a race a couple years back in between the spokes of their preferred ride, a fixed gear, which they are able to discuss at exhausting length. During daylight hours, they can be found on the streets of downtown, while at night they congregate in Northeast Minneapolis, as well as gathering in masochistic rituals called Alley-Cats. Overwhelmingly male, their topics of conversation usually revolve exclusively around bicycles, bicycle accessories, and bicycle tattoos. Typically, they follow common sense traffic rules, but won't hesitate to run a stoplight if there's no oncoming traffic. A dominant sub-genre of the species, "Bike Nerd," they feel entitled to their space on the road, and won't hesitate to misuse a U-lock by smashing a tail light. They pose the greatest threat to taxi drivers.

Hipsters
The hipster can be found in Uptown Minneapolis between the months of June and August. Typically, the females of the species can be recognized by their colorful vintage coaster bikes, weighing sometimes up to 100 pounds, and sometimes ornamented with front handlebar baskets. The males can be distinguished by comparing them to the most recent Urban Outfitters ad. At the smallest sight of inclement weather, they retreat to vintage station wagons and Volkswagens, often ornamented with "One Less Car" stickers. They gather sporadically at events like Movies in the Park.



Activists
This genre of bikers can be distinguished by messenger-bag patch (ex. "This Bike is a Pipe Bomb") and Carhart pants with attached Nalgene bottle. They ride a variety of bikes, usually low-end and badly maintained lest they transcend the activist sub-genre into the messenger genre. They do, however, put great emphasis on the freight capacity of their vehicles, often attaching a rickety cart in which they transport crates of half-rotted, dumpstered green onions. Another sub-genre of "Bike Nerd," they pose the greatest threat to aggressive drivers because of their excitement to find someone who wants to finally discuss Car Culture. They gather in monthly theater performances opposite the Minneapolis police called Critical Mass.

Bike Punks
This species of bicyclist can be distinguished from other sub-genres of hipster bikers by the bulge of large amounts of canned beer in their bags, accompanied by a slightly garlic and sweat smell. They typically surround their residences with piles of broken bikes and worn out tires. While favoring road bikes, or in some cases, two bike frames piled on top of one another, they usually deign to wear helmets or safety gear, instead muting their clothing-- often the very same clothing the above hipsters purchased at Urban Outfitters, if a couple generations into the secondhand cycle-- to distinguish themselves from those who might be accused of giving too much of a fuck. Typically riding on the street and with the flow of traffic, they commonly disregard what they see as redundant traffic signals. Concentrated largely in the strip of Minneapolis between the West Bank and Powderhorn, they can be found on the street year round, usually between the hours of 9 pm and the 3 am. Because they are often inebriated when biking their dog along the street, they pose the greatest threat to cats.

Lumpenproleteriat
The final major species of Minneapolis bicyclist contains grown men with DWIs riding their daughters' bikes, recent immigrants, and generally people who can't afford any other type of transportation. Usually riding on sidewalks, they don't care about bike lanes, bike racks on buses, or Car Culture. They really just want to get the fuck out of work and home as quickly as possible.

Show Review: Rock'n'roll ghosts : Birthday Suits and Strut and Shock at the Turf Club 9/4/08

I rarely cross the river to St. Paul to see bands. It's just too long and hilly a trek by cycle when Minneapolis offers such a smorgasbord of entertainment, all catered to your particular mood. (Only have five dollars and a couple lukewarm Tallboys? Go to the punk show. If it sucks, hang out by the bathroom where people always congregate and schmooze. Feel like sneering at some generic indie rock? Well that my friends, is what Uptown is for). Digressions aside, I will, however, ride in a car to St. Paul. So last night I happily clambered into Tall Bob's Ford F-something50, and with our little friend Emiwee squeezed into the middle seat, we set out to what Bob promised would be the premier event of the evening: Birthday Suits and Strut and Shock in the Clown Lounge of the Turf Club, and the presentation of an early 70s Canadian surf movie upstairs.

The Turf Club channels rock'n'roll spirit better than any bar in Minneapolis. That old raw-styled rock'n'roll. In Minneapolis the best we get is weird art rock, weird punk, and weird americana. Good Minneapolis shows are about dancing and singing along or soaking in the scene while listening to something unique, it's not always ruckus, but it's usually interesting. Maybe it's St. Paul's working-class style, but rock'n'roll still lives there, and people go out at night to specifically track it down.

What a strange juxtaposition for a Monday night: Upstairs a couple people watched a plotless Canadian surf film, or the Twins' massacre Seattle, while downstairs a lot of boys in plaid shirts and ladies with choppy haircuts drank beer and packed into the Turf's Clown Lounge.

We were sitting at a booth across from the infamous photo booth trying to stuff a pitcher of Premium, which Emiwee insisted she was upsold on, into our glasses, when we heard the echo of a band wind its way up the stairs. The vibrations of the bass drum shocking through the floor for the couple songs started to remind me of The Replacements, certainly not in actual sound, but in sloppy, exuberant aesthetic. After topping off our drinks we went downstairs, through the curtain, and into the lounge. Upstairs, on the main stage, the show would have seemed empty, but the Clown Lounge was comfortably packed, like a good house party or giant basement show.

Strut and Shock were playing, the room, never too empty, was comfortably filled with good-looking Turf regulars. Strut and Shock are a four piece with such respectable antecedents as the Selby Tigers, they play garage styled punk with some riot grrl and 90s influences. Every couple lines, the singer yelped in a garage-y scream, the best in the cities I'd say. The band rocketed along. The light in the basement was kind of orange, and the band smiled as they played, it reminded me of my first experiences seeing bands in the late 90s, the energy and excitement.

Then, Birthday Suits played. They feature former members of Sweet J.A.P, the high energy Minneapolis band of the mid-2000s. Birthday Suits is in the same vein, maybe the energy is even more packed in and frantic with only two members. Both caterwauled, guitaro slashed like a mixed-up THin Lizzy, drummer pounded away. Then guitaro howled and hopped on the table in a heavy sweat. It was rock'n'roll trance time, which works with their garage punk sound, but I always feel a little uncomfortable about the spectacle at first. Performing is always the part of rock'n'roll I have the most insecurities about, I like punk enough that I don't always feel comfortable just standing and watching. But the music was good, the energy was high. Why worry? No one really danced, but we watched. It was a good rock'n'roll show, at first straightforward, buttoned-up like St. Paul, as it got later it let loose into a ruckusy performance.

Afterward, we went outside while Bob smoked. We ran into some people we knew, then somehow got sidetracked down desolate University Avenue to Big V's. There were drunk barflys giving Emiwee the questionable and long-winded compliment that she is beautiful but that no one notices, there was a noisy improvisational jazz thing blaring away on stage with only the other band gathered around, there were shots of blueberry schnapps. Then a drive home, because, at 2 a.m., with a few beers and a couple shots of blueberry schnapps in your belly, and even after a night of rock'n'roll magic, no one wants to bike up all those stupid hills back to Minneapolis.