The Barrier Battle at Occupy Wall Street

November 17th. Occupy Wall Street, Liberty Park.

7:30 am [give or take]: Because Occupy Wall Street publicizes its eventual goal, the date of the action and even the time—just prior to the NYSE opening bell—it should come as no surprise that NYPD is able to prevent occupiers from approaching the New York Stock Exchange, or even that part of Wall Street upon which it’s located. Some protestors sit passively in the intersection of Nassau and Pine Streets, awaiting NYPD’s pleasure. It doesn’t take very long.

Officers in full riot gear commence dragging non-resisting men and women into the mobile hoosegow for booking and processing. Although not seen participating in the sit-down retired Philadelphia Police Captain Ray Lewis is also arrested for good measure.

A lull ensues.

Gradually occupiers refill Liberty Park like a fluid establishing equilibrium. Some gather by the Cedar-Broadway corner to listen to exhortations from various speakers.  An academy-award nominated actress stops by to chat & lend  a bit of support.  The once impressive library resumes, sort of, a few forlorn books, organized, on the Cedar Street side of Liberty Park.  First aid services set up on a nearby marble table and lunch is served, not via the old kitchen, but out of boxes of take-out pizza. There is a palpable sense of unreleased energy in the air.

10:30 am: I’m strolling, rather aimlessly, on the Cedar Street side of Liberty Park. Most everyone is still clustered on the other side—that includes most of the police and  private, Brookfield security as well. A few feet away from me a girl approaches the barricade wall and then starts to fool around at the juncture between two barrier units, (they connect together with small hooks like plastic train tracks) first impression is that she just doesn’t want to walk all the way towards Trinity and the one “valid” exit the owners have provided and so is getting ready to hop over onto the sidewalk. Instead of raising herself up, however, one end of the barrier suddenly appears over her shoulder. A guy rushes over to help.

Within moments, their section of barrier folds rapidly upon the remaining intact row, creating a large gap in the heavy aluminium wall. In far less time than it takes to read these words there are dozens of people converging, filling the space like stray gas molecules into a sudden vacuum. The Cedar Street wall unravels with sixty pound economy-model crowd-control barriers flipping every which way. I’m standing on the park-side of one barrier section, my thighs pressed against the cold cast aluminium. Suddenly it pushes me back into the park proper as though impelled by a force of its own. But that’s not the case; there are people on the other side pushing enthusiastically.

“Who’s park?” they chant.

“Our park!”

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It repeats as a mantra of liberating energy. The lower horizontal bar of the moving barrier bites into my ankle repeatedly. Someone on the other side sees my face and calls to slow it down. Better.  Thanks. Some sections are connected together by the heavy plastic ties riot police use for large-scale arrests. “Who’s got pliers?” someone calls out. Another idea: take the barrier set to a nearby tree, use the trunk as a fulcrum to break the ties. It works.

Again & again.

Throughout all of this there’s a curious absence of police.  Private security, equally absent. Gradually the tempo of action winds down. Much of the Cedar Street wall is in pieces piled roughly like fallen timbers. Some savour their victory—doubtless aware that it will be short-lived. And so it is.  A tide of blue rolls into Cedar Street, this time from outside Liberty Park rather than within. They replace the barrier sections with focused efficiency. Any criticism from Occupiers is ignored. Then, however, they seem to decide that the reconstituted wall is too far out. So, with a substantial part of Liberty Park’s population on the other side, the cops start to push the barrier wall inward, like a massive blue boa constrictor, inexorably reducing the wall circumference.

And then, that’s it.

For the moment.

Another moment of relative calm descends upon Liberty Park. Musicians play, singers sing, people pass out literature, address small groups of listeners, eat lunch or just chill. I step outside the artificial perimeter to see what’s going on there.  By the time I get to Trinity Street a new disturbance has erupted, this time on the opposite side of the park, along Liberty Street.

Needless to say, it’s not possible to see exactly what’s going on, only that a large clot of humanity is pressing against the barriers, spilling over onto the sidewalk & street itself. NYPD mixes right in.  No hesitation this time.  They resemble blue antibodies attacking a multicoloured pathogen. Details remain elusive until the moment when a smaller group of officers in riot gear detach from the main body with a bloody-headed young man in their core.

His name is Brandon Watts and he’s from Philadelphia. Tomorrow he’ll be a celebrity-for-the-day, the new and bloody face of Occupy Wall Street.