RNC 2008: A Poem To Go With Veggie Dogs

Photo By John Hoff, September 5

Yes, I write poems sometimes. I wrote a long one after the WTO protests in Seattle, in 1999. Here is one I wrote to mark the end of RNC 2008...

WHEN PANDAS STOP BEING CUTE AND CUDDLY

He only marched for fun and games
Bears kicked his ass, took down his name
His fuzzy face burned, but not with shame
Things will NEVER be the same

'Cause Radical Panda saw and heard EVERYTHING
He felt the wooden club, the pepper spray sting
Panda heard the songs rubber bullets sing
When police took his stuff, he gained a few things

Panda finally saw the truth and heard the lies
With soft panda ears and dark panda eyes
He saw the fascist death's head behind a smiling disguise
Now the innocent young panda's been RADICALIZED

(John Hoff, September 5, Minneapolis)

Free Food, Dude

In regard to the picture above; some (or all?) of these youth were arrested in the demonstrations, including the one where police let loose with gas in front of the Greyhound bus station on University.

I saw them today in the West Bank, trying to find a place they'd heard would give free hot dogs to anybody who had been arrested in the demonstrations. I figured they were probably looking for The Weinery and pointed 'em the right way. (I merely assume they have a veggie dog option. This much I know: The Weinery has quite an extensive collection of jailhouse identification bracelets hanging on the wall behind the counter)

The young woman on the left was bummed out because police wouldn't let her keep a jail identification bracelet with her mug shot. She wanted it as a souvenir.

None of these youth were local. One of the young men was from Texas. The young woman said she was from "New England." And they were ARMED. Yes, one of the young men had a Swiss Army knife which had--I'd never seen this before--A PEN for one of the blades. What kind of scary, dangerous things might he WRITE with a pen like that, a pen contained in a POCKET KNIFE with all kinds of options like...like...BOTTLE OPENER.

Trying To Explain What Happened To My Kid

My son 11-year-old son Alex was with me and we had been talking about the political demonstrations quite a bit. I explained most times the police are arresting bad people--people who really deserve to be thrown in jail--but sometimes it's all "political," a kind of argument about how our country should be governed, and getting arrested is "kind of like a game." I explained many people wanted to march and wave signs they had made, but police didn't want to let them walk through the streets, waving signs.

My son said--and this surprised me--the police were "just being selfish."

Yeah, it's all about the overtime, kid, from those federal dollars.

After meeting this group and seeing me talk with them, my son said, "They're nice. They don't belong in jail."

The Moment You Become A Radical

Exactly, son. Who is "nice" and who was just being "a big fat meanie?" This is how radicals get made. Nice people are subjected to something incredibly mean at key moments in their personal development.

I remember the moment I became a radical: I was in 5th Grade--or was it 6th?--and through the window of my school bus I saw an incredible array of police officers and National Guard in the parking lot of the Holiday Inn, Alexandria, Minnesota. They were getting ready for a demonstration opposing high-voltage power lines which were grabbing land from farmers for pennies on the dollar--land that had been in families for generations once, um, it had been taken from the INDIANS.

And I knew some of those farmers who opposed the power line and who wanted to take direct action. They were our neighbors. I knew them PERSONALLY and went to the same birthday parties with their kids, ate the same sloppy joes, played the same kiddie party games. And that was all it took: overhearing some adult conversations. Well, plus looking through that school bus window at that army of police sent to take on hardscrabble Minesota farmers marching in patched denim pants.

That moment helped set the course of my life and politics. And I'm thinking a lot of people had moments like that in the last four days as massively overarmed police chased teenagers through the streets, shooting tear gas because--good lord--they wanted to MARCH, WAVE SIGNS, and CHANT STUFF.