I live and work as a community artist in Oakland as the cofounder of a practice called InterPlay. Witnessing is an easy focus practice that involves an ability to notice with all faculties and look for the good. Particularly where there is body to body encounters and where truth telling, beauty, kindness, and stillness abound empathetic connection bonds and brings change.

That’s what happened to me when I visited Occupy Oakland’s camp in front of city hall the day after the huge march.

I walked from InterPlayce, with a pink sitting meditation cushion under my arm, hoping to sit with the Buddhist Peace Fellowship. Instead, I encountered a meeting near City Hall. A hundred people were responding to the midnight vandalism of local businesses. Occupiers were already scrubbing graffiti off of walls. Frustrations ran high. Yet even among complex concerns, people asked for non-violent solutions and demonstrations of respect for affected downtown businesses.

Having witnessed generations of African American frustration in Oakland and people of color severely impacted by economic inequalities, this struggle for peace is remarkable. More remarkable? The struggle has tipped into the middle class. I was there. So was a well-dressed African American woman who came over, stood next to me, and said hello.

Also next to me a vocal African American elder, with sharp features who implored facilitators to let a black speaker have his say on the Mic. His forceful comments revealed involvement and impatience with the consensual process. He was a thinking person. He offered me his chair, which I declined. I introduced myself. His name was Charles. I began to ask him questions. I asked who the facilitators were, how they were chosen and trained. He mentioned “ General Assembly” but wasn’t sure how the facilitators in that moment came to lead. He had a labor union and said that the camp labor committee was important.

A guy handed him a cigarette. He said, “What’s that? Just a filter? That’s as disappointing as Obama.” I gestured to the small trash basket between us. “Oh, no, that’s mine,” he smiled, “my worldly possessions.” We laughed.

Right then, someone blamed anarchists for the nighttime vandalism. A woman elder yelled, “I’m an anarchist.” Several others echoed, “I’m an anarchist! Anarchists are not the problem!” Apologies were extended.

A strange intermix of frustration and kindness was demonstrated across racial and class differences. As a newcomer, I felt instantly included.

Charles and I interacted with Matt, a tall lanky guy in a sweatshirt with a ball cap adorned by a peace sign sticker. He had a black canvas brief case over his shoulder. I asked how the Occupy movement communicated with media?

“There isn’t one message or group bringing a message. It’s decentralized. I work in the kitchen as my primary service. I try to talk to media people I know off camera to help them understand.” I found him compassionate, articulate, thoughtful, an embodiment of creative cooperation with people who serve each other.

A thirty-year-old guy wearing a green fleece sweatshirt and blue jeans came by and said to Matt, “Remember me?”

Matt saw the stitches over his right eye and recalled seeing him in jail after the first crack down on Occupy Oakland. The new guys name was Mike.

I listened as Matt and Mike recounted Oakland police assaulting them. Matt was asking police for peace right before being assaulted, thrown to the ground, arm twisted, face scraped, and pushed into the ground. He was not read his rights or told where he was being taken.

“I was abducted.” He said and take to two different jails for 48 hours, moved from one fluorescent-lit room to another without a place to sleep. When he asked what he was accused of a guard went away and came back saying, “assaulting an officer.” He wasn’t told his next steps or that he could be held for 72 hours. It cost a friend $25 just to call him. Bail was the only way out.

Mike, an Afghanistan War vet had enlisted after 9/11. This “ordinary” looking guy, medium build with a kind face and middle class bearing, said he’d been a good kid, someone trying to do his best. Mike had come to Occupy Oakland to check it out and was walking away when he was attacked from behind by police and slammed to the ground, breaking his eye open. He asked to be taken to the VA hospital for treatment that wouldn’t cost him, but they took him to the county hospital.

He had come home from Afghanistan last year with severe injuries and PTSD and had just been jailed for showing up. Why? He did nothing violent. He wasn’t read his rights and didn’t know why this had happened. Married with two kids, he had other stories about detrimental government help.

Matt was called away to bring food to others being released from jail.

I saw the live streaming video online of this conflict along with 7000 other witnesses. Police had their badges and names covered by tape. Who were they? …not Oakland police. 100 people had been arrested. Less than a third were from Oakland.

The march had inspired me to return to Occupy Oakland with a sitting meditation cushion. But, I didn’t sit on it. I just stood and listened.

The word solidarity means, “to stand with.”

Keep after it Amara! Wish I could join you at the opening of the Shadybrook project. Eager to see photos — please post them on this site if you can.

Onward!

-bernard