It’s about a 3 hour run up I-5 to Seattle from where I live; a little less if people have been being good about NOT achieving wet stain status and Washington State Patrol isn’t hiding under/around/behind anything they can whilst blasting away with LIDAR.
Seattle also happens to be home to the popular takeover of a few blocks in the funky Capital Hill neighborhood, known as CHAZ, or the Capital Hill Autonomous Zone. (The name CHOP, or Capitol Hill Occupied Protest, is also used).
Unless you have been under a rock the last week or so, you’re aware that the media has been pumping out all kinds of dopey, inaccurate, or plain FALSE information about CHAZ as well. Everyone’s favorite very stable genius got in on the action with the requisite tweet or two, faux ‘news’ has photoshopped phantom armed persons into photos of barricades, and the rumor mill has spouted things that are dumber than the shit I took just now. (Google and find examples of this idiocy for yourself).
I wanted to see for myself, so I set off for Seattle armed with a camera, some lenses, water, snacks, and a fresh charge on my Ebike’s battery. Traveling at a rate swifter than several unladen african swallows, I arrived in Seattle late this afternoon and began dealing with the most serious and virulent threat that ANTIFA has yet posed to the west coast of the good ol USA: They took up all the close/easy places to park!
Once I found parking (horror or HORRORS, it was 4 whole blocks away!), I hauled the bike out, tossed my camelbak over my shoulder, plopped my helmet on my head, and zoomed off to infiltrate CHAZ. After navigating some traffic on the narrow streets and some construction (Yes, even ANTIFAs have to deal with that), I arrived at one of the scary check points the talking heads have warned me about:
It wasn’t very secure….or scary. Most of the barricade consisted of an easy-up and some repurposed bike rack…and art. LOTS of art. Immediately upon entering, I was approached by some ANTIFA goons! A happy, bubbly woman in her mid 20s or early 30s nonchalantly said hello as I navigated the barricade, and asked how I was. I told her I was great and was just here to see the truth for myself and support everyone there. She said “Great!” and politely asked I walk my bike so I didn’t crash or risk hitting any of the thousands of people there, then said “If you need anything, just grab it out of the hospitality tent behind me”. (You can’t see from my photo here, but that easy up is full of snacks and water and had some street medics hanging around in the shade.) I locked the bike up and walked on.
It looked like a party–a slightly tense party. Contrary to some media reports, Businesses were open and enthusiastically serving, with lines were coming out of their doors. Other than the woman at the barricade and street medics (volunteers who are from the crowd or organized volunteer groups), there was no organized presence or “staff”. This is very much a DIY undertaking, including emergency response and traffic control.
While it looked (and in some places even felt) like a party, A number of people had taken pains to make it VERY plain that having a dandy time on a summer Sunday was NOT why this was going on.
Streets were filled with people-thousands of people. They were talking, making speeches, listening, teaching, learning….and just relaxing. For me, and I think most of the crowd there that afternoon, we were awed and quietly walked on, taking in the fact that we were all there, together, and seemingly united at this one historic place and time.
There was a bit of obvious partying too, but most people appeared not to be interested in having a beer or smoking a joint in the middle of the street merely for the sake of doing so without getting annoyed, accosted, cited, or arrested. The few places I DID see a large knot of people drinking, smoking, or enjoying the pots were in purpose built relaxation areas–and there were a LOT of conversations going on, with a few people who did not look like they’d normally hang around seated together.
While social distancing was NOT possible, perhaps 75-80 percent of people I saw were all wearing masks. Several of the hospitality and street medic boots were selling or gifting masks to those who did not have their own as well. PSAs to wash or sanitize hands, wear a mask, and avoid the ill were all over, courtesy of poster artists, grafitti painted on walls and the boards used to cover some store windows.
Speaking of those windows….
So many stores were boarded up, but still open. A great many of them had signs supporting the protesters and inviting them into retail spaces for water, bathrooms, or shelter. Some signs were smaller handwritten or typed papers taped in windows, but many of them were large poster size pieces of purpose built poster stock. There was even a (small) billboard.
Many windows were covered with full size sheets of 1/4 – 1/2″ thick plywood, nearly all of which had been taken over (or, I imagine, given over) to serve as canvas for a great deal of art, of all kinds.
Art had crept onto other surfaces and into other mediums as well; one a street corner a man stood and played slow and mournful jazz in front of a store covered in painted, postered, and chalk’d window coverings.
Closer to the heart of the Zone, the atmosphere changed, from tense party into reverent celebration. A block long stretch of stores, all boarded up, had been transformed into a massive public memorial to those killed by police. In front of the Seattle Police precinct, where protestors had forced the city to retreat, a funeral service was being held (Bottom photo).
Then someone yelled FIRE. I looked around and saw no smoke, and thought “Oh shit, I left my gas mask at home…is this the cops come to take their house back?” Then I remembered I left my gas mask and any sort of medical supplies at home. I saw a scrawny kid in the prototypical punk rock outfit coming toward me, asking people to move to other side of the street. I asked what was going on and he said “Gas leak at the cop shop and we need to get the gas company in”. A few more prototypical punk types came by, again ushering people to the opposite side of the street.
People started telling each other the news, and an ad hoc perimeter formed. Several minutes later, several gas company trucks drove effortlessly up and street and entered the building, exiting about 20 minutes later. The punk rock prototypes and people who had helped them form a line on the street to keep onlookers back disappeared into the crowd and the afternoon went on as if nothing special had happened.
I circled back toward where I had locked up the bike; a park had become an outdoor yoga studio, the entry to a campground, and a workshop space. People, art, and more people were EVERYWHERE.
I always wondered what it would have been like to live in the 1960s and see the mass civil upheaval and movements that fomented so much change. I wandered toward the barricade I had entered the zone from, hopeful. As I neared the barricade, two more punks asked for my ID and passport, sporting huge grins. I searched my list of weird replies and said “I can’t, I ate it”; they laughed and said thanks for visiting.
The reality, as compared to the media hype, is……wonderful and boring all at once. It’s also a wonderful example of human resilience and unity.
Mr Curly's Adventures 