While in New York, I decided to check
out the Occupy Wall Street protest, since Jose was off of work, he
joined me. While in Europe, I saw that all the Republican
commentators were enraged by it – and were still enraged by it. I
wanted to see if gatherings in Zuccoti Park could actually block
people from going to work and to see if the OWS was the real deal.
When we went down to Wall Street, we found that Zuccoti Park was not
even on Wall Street. We walked a couple blocks North from there, on
Broadway, and finally found Zuccoti Park. What we found was
monstrous, it was devastating, it was revealing just how onerous and
powerful Soros and his elite cabal of America haters were – you
know, the guys Glenn Beck swears are backing it. We saw a whole line
of metal boxes along the side of the road. Clearly some sort of
bunkers or shades used to hunt poor, hungry brokers. We looked
closer, in much disbelief. The bunkers were cleverly disguised as
hot dog vendors, complete even with an Armenian or Mexican (or
something similarly hairy) trying to sell us some “100% beef” hot
dogs. This was clearly a conspiracy. The rest of the park was
empty, save for one guy in a dirty hoodie, wearing sunglasses,
despite the morose weather. He stood next to a box and a lot of
pamphlets about Occupy Wall Street.
 |
| Zuccoti Park and the Occupy crowd |
“So this is Occupy
Wall Street, is it?” I asked. To be honest, I was a little
disappointed. I was expecting more than hot dog vendors and one bum
looking guy.
“It is. Well, most people took the day off or are gathered at the atrium,” he said. When he spoke I could see his missing teeth and smelled something like dead rat on his breath.
“The atrium?” Jose asked. Now it sounded like we were on to something.
“There's a building just down the street we use for the General Assembly to meet.”
“The General Assembly?” I asked.
“They make decisions on things.”
“On things?”
“Like points of objection. Our agenda. Actions.”
“Actions?”
“Like if we're going to do a bicycle ride protest or make t-shirts.”
I was getting bored. These weren't the Communist revolutionaries I was expecting. It was clearly a bunch of uneducated hippies and homeless people that collected enough money to continue doing things they thought were productive – which means, doing things unproductive, since we are talking about hippies and homeless people. “So what exactly is the point of Occupy?” Jose asked.
“We're raising awareness, man.”
Were we going to have to batter this guy with a crowbar before he gave us some sensible information? I was about to break down and yell at the guy, thinking that it might be the only way he'd make me aware of what exactly he was raising awareness about. “About what? Raising awareness about what?”
“About how the government and Wall Street are married. How their working together to steal money and jobs from the middle and lower classes. About how they have to stop working so closely together and have to be separate entities.”
“Hmmm, that doesn't sound very Fascist or Communist. You sure you're working for George Soros?”
“We're not working for George Soros. We take collections from all sorts of people, but no one but the General Assembly dictates what we do. And the General Assembly is open to anyone who wants to join.” Okay, maybe it did sound like a bunch of commies, just stealing buildings and occupying them. “We pay for the building by donations. Would you guys donate?”
I grunted and was growing bored. How all these pundits had obsessed so long over the "occupiers" was beyond me, but I think their obsession had given more credence to the movement than it was worth. Jose threw some dollars into his box. We left the the plaza and went on to a New York sandwich shop, having a sandwich more local than a Subway – which was an altogether better way of spending time than talking to bums on the street. I ordered a Reuben, one of my favorite sandwiches, which I hadn't eaten in some three years. It's a bit surprising, since I've been traveling through places renowned for sauerkraut - and other cabbage dishes - and meat. We talked more about this business of writing books and about the interview that I had that night with the Fellowship.
The interview was held at some posh hotel on Madison Ave. It wasn't an overly fancy place, but I imagined that anywhere on Manhattan island had to cost a fortune. Not only that, but the Fellowship had paid for my flight from Ukraine, too. They must have meant for some serious business. After leaving Jose, I went on to my hotel room and settled in. No good channels or free internet, but the room was more than comfortable. I didn't need the heating, since New York was having some weird, hot and rainy weather going on in the middle of February. I had to strip off my jacket and sweater as soon as I had landed. It was time to get ready for some schmoozing.
“It is. Well, most people took the day off or are gathered at the atrium,” he said. When he spoke I could see his missing teeth and smelled something like dead rat on his breath.
“The atrium?” Jose asked. Now it sounded like we were on to something.
“There's a building just down the street we use for the General Assembly to meet.”
“The General Assembly?” I asked.
“They make decisions on things.”
“On things?”
“Like points of objection. Our agenda. Actions.”
“Actions?”
“Like if we're going to do a bicycle ride protest or make t-shirts.”
I was getting bored. These weren't the Communist revolutionaries I was expecting. It was clearly a bunch of uneducated hippies and homeless people that collected enough money to continue doing things they thought were productive – which means, doing things unproductive, since we are talking about hippies and homeless people. “So what exactly is the point of Occupy?” Jose asked.
“We're raising awareness, man.”
Were we going to have to batter this guy with a crowbar before he gave us some sensible information? I was about to break down and yell at the guy, thinking that it might be the only way he'd make me aware of what exactly he was raising awareness about. “About what? Raising awareness about what?”
“About how the government and Wall Street are married. How their working together to steal money and jobs from the middle and lower classes. About how they have to stop working so closely together and have to be separate entities.”
“Hmmm, that doesn't sound very Fascist or Communist. You sure you're working for George Soros?”
“We're not working for George Soros. We take collections from all sorts of people, but no one but the General Assembly dictates what we do. And the General Assembly is open to anyone who wants to join.” Okay, maybe it did sound like a bunch of commies, just stealing buildings and occupying them. “We pay for the building by donations. Would you guys donate?”
I grunted and was growing bored. How all these pundits had obsessed so long over the "occupiers" was beyond me, but I think their obsession had given more credence to the movement than it was worth. Jose threw some dollars into his box. We left the the plaza and went on to a New York sandwich shop, having a sandwich more local than a Subway – which was an altogether better way of spending time than talking to bums on the street. I ordered a Reuben, one of my favorite sandwiches, which I hadn't eaten in some three years. It's a bit surprising, since I've been traveling through places renowned for sauerkraut - and other cabbage dishes - and meat. We talked more about this business of writing books and about the interview that I had that night with the Fellowship.
The interview was held at some posh hotel on Madison Ave. It wasn't an overly fancy place, but I imagined that anywhere on Manhattan island had to cost a fortune. Not only that, but the Fellowship had paid for my flight from Ukraine, too. They must have meant for some serious business. After leaving Jose, I went on to my hotel room and settled in. No good channels or free internet, but the room was more than comfortable. I didn't need the heating, since New York was having some weird, hot and rainy weather going on in the middle of February. I had to strip off my jacket and sweater as soon as I had landed. It was time to get ready for some schmoozing.
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