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A big ‘fuck you’
BY CAMILLE DODERO
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TUESDAY, July 27, 2004 -- Last week, the FBI warned the major television networks about the possible threat of anarchists tossing Molotov cocktails at their media trucks. But the Feds didn’t say anything about those same anti-authoritarians singing, bike-riding, juggling, playing the guitar, eating baked beans, and offering free hugs during the DNC. But there they were milling around the Boston Common on Tuesday afternoon for the Bl(A)ck Tea Society’s REALLY really Democratic Bazaar -- anarchists, socialists, Greens, Nader supporters, and anyone else who felt disenfranchised by capitalism, the two-party system, or just wanted a free bagel -- all gathered together for an open-air market that demonstrated the consensus-based group’s "visions of a better world." In this better world, there’s no war, no Bush, no Kerry, no corporations, no cops. And so that’s what most people -- peak estimates reached 1000 -- were here to discuss. Radical cheerleaders with hot-pink bandannas and black shirts decried capitalism: "Capitalism does not work/ Capitalism who does it hurt? / Everybody!" In the place of traditional carnival games, there was "Pin the Money on the Budget" and "Knock Out Oppression," a tabletop game where players could toss beanbag socks at multi-colored cans representing different kinds of oppression. Women in sports bras hit a blow-up President Bush punching bag in face. Although there was clearly an anti-Kerry bent to the festivities, Bush’s visage was definitely a more popular icon to defile: as the head of a voodoo doll, slashed with a red line, adorned with both clown noses and Pinocchio noses. There was even a mobile compost toilet on display that urged people to GIVE (A) SHIT FOR THE REVOLUTION. There were also musical performers scheduled to play for the crowd on two main stages -- and in the Bazaar’s Really REALLY democratic tradition, anyone could sign up for a turn at the mic. One song went out to "everybody who’s at home watching television and believing everything they see." Another, crooned by a grey-haired blind man with a white cane, propositioned Jenna Bush: "I don’t care what you’re daddy say / I’m going to fuck you anyway." Then beloved radical singer-songwriter David Rovics got onstage to sing choruses like, "Operation Iraqi Liberation/Tell me what does that spell?/O-I-L!"; "Who Would Jesus Bomb?"; and "Coke is the drink of the despots." "I know that a three day or a four day protest isn’t going to change anything," said Ben Hansen, a 19-year-old from Ohio wearing a black T-shirt that said KILL THE RICH. "In four years, they’ll still be doing their thing. But this gives us a chance to get together, talk, socialize, exchange ideas, and figure out what we have to do to make things better." Unfortunately, law enforcement doesn’t think this is better -- likely because they’d be unemployed in this version of utopia. And so policemen mounted on horses gathered in trios: one on the hill by the statue, another guarding at the entrance across from Starbucks, another stationed by a bevy of media trucks. They left clumpy trails of horse manure in their wake; next to one dung pile, someone left a cardboard sign that read THANK THE PIGS. And as a kind of symbolic muscle-flexing, the cops descended on the open-air market in shifts. Around 2:45 p.m., 31 motorcycle cops rolled through the bazaar. At 3:08 p.m., a pedaling convoy of 17 bike officers cruised down the paved pathways. At 3:15 p.m., 10 cops in riot gear strode along the fenced perimeter of the Common. And all afternoon, one police helicopter kept buzzing by like a mammoth mechanized mosquito, often drowning out the sound system. Finally, in between songs, Rovics summoned a call to action. Those of you who want to lay down on the ground and spell ‘Fuck you’ to the helicopters, head over to the medic tent. So 40 or 50 people leapt up from the grass, walked eagerly over to the medic tent, and arranged themselves from head-to-toe, forming seven letters on the ground. Eleven people (including the Jenna Bush serenader) morphed into an ‘F,’ 10 bodies became a ‘U,’ eight folks created a ‘K’ -- and more people joined them, filling out the epithet. As the helicopter hovered above, the 50 or so participants raised their middle fingers at the spying aircraft. After it flew by twice and then disappeared, everyone got up and clapped. "The helicopter actually went away, didn’t it?" said Rovics from the stage. But then he heard the pesky thing still droning in the distance. "Nope, it’s still over there."
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