Revolution and Arrest

I am an addict. Whether it’s groups of women singing “We want the morning after pill” in front of the FDA headquarters or it’s papier mache figures of Blair as Bush’s poodle in front of Downing Street I feel that same shiver down my spine - that same rush of the drug of impassioned causes stright into my blood stream. Each time I witness a protest a part of me feels that despite there being something wrong with the world (which has generally cuased the protest) - the mere act of coming together in unity for a common cause is downright beautiful. There seems hope for any world that can create a community for an afternoon just based on the connection of a shared belief. So, my instant immediate reaction on Thursday morning as I rounded the hill was giddy joy. Hundreds of students and workers - drums, colours, billboards, chants - in an array of sparkling noise and heartbeats. We sat shoulder to shoulder on the road into campus - forcing the University to listen to our voices for three hours - while a throng of other protestors climbed the hill to the West entrance to block the entire campus off completely. Cars honked their horns in solidarity and one by one speakers would come to the loudspeaker.
As always once the high of the sprawling crowds has died down inside I began to analyse and overcome the seductiveness of this established unity. I began to see the glaring hypocisies in my own lifestyle and wonder at all of us. There is a joy in fighting the system, a joy in leading a struggle “against the institution”, “against the authority” - an addiction even. Protests are fun and liberating in their own right, but the cause that you are fighting must and has to stay central.
One worker told us about living one day with a bed to sleep on - instead of the ground, and a pillow to place his head on instead of a rolled up towel. Another asked us why we go to university - and then told us that it was so that when we signed a petition our signatures would mean something. One guy that I spoke to really struck me, and what he said has haunted me ever since. Juan’s a maintenance worker - he has been at Santa Cruz for 20 years. He told me that it was so important that we students were all here - because us being at the protest in support of the strike meant the university would actually listen. He said that our voices mattered more, were worth more than the thousands of workers who went on strike that day. The idea that somehow we are considered as people with something more important to say sends another shiver down my spine that undoes the joy of the protest unity. Yes - we march in solidarity today - but later that night us students go back to our safe, beds, most of us have two pillows rather than jsut a rolledup towel. I frown at myself for the addiction I feel for protests - because they are rarely as simple or as unified as they seem. As we considered - as a collective - whether we should continue the road block - and risk arrest as the police threatened - or whether we should stay seated as a statement of unity with our service workers - 90% of which earn less than living wage. I guess that’s when the real questions were asked.

Would I allow myself to be arrested - and risk the deportation and loss of my visa status that would go along with that?

Was I there for the romantic idea of standing up for people’s rights or there in true unity - ready to put something more than just a day of my life on the line? Where are my boundaries? How do you balance what you gain from not getting arrested (in my case the possibility of ending my year at university in Santa Cruz) with what I would gain from being arrested (symbolic significance for the cause) ?

In other words - do I just have an addiction for protests - or have I thought through the reasons I go to each one and what I’m willing to sacrifice to make democracy happen and to help create a world where my voice doesn’t count more because I am a white, middle class, educated westerner, and where Juan doesn’t have to thank me for helping amplify his voice to a level where the people in power actually take note.