Article 1 18/7/2001
Manu Chao, borders, and globalization
By Francisco Rojas
For many the crowd at the Piazza Kennedy, the Manu Chao concert may be the highlight of their experience in Genoa. Manu Chao and his supporting acts
riveted the crowd, a threatened storm never materialized and the waves crashing on the rocks bordering the venue made for as romantic a setting as any
parking lot could be. Also, and perhaps most importantly for many, Manu Chao, a global brand familiar in any tourist bar was lending his support, and money
for the cause that had made many brave the uncertainties of traveling to Genoa.
Manu Chao is, for me, indelibly linked to Africa. It was the only tape for two thousand kilometer on a trip out of Europe and into Africa, and the conjunction
of his presence at a mobilization against borders was not lost on me. Not long before I had traveled on top of a truck with sixty other people from Gao in
Mali, to Niamey in Niger. Aside from me and my companion, the majority of the passengers, piled precariously on top of the sacks of rice, were Nigerians
who had been expelled from Algeria.
Only months before they had scrimped and borrowed whatever money they could and started on their trek to the Promised Land, Europe. They didn?t care
much where in Europe, anywhere would have done. After traveling in stages across the Sahara, bled by coyotes (people smugglers) and police, they had
reached Algeria, two steps short of their goal. Then before they could continue on to Morocco and Spain, something had gone wrong. Details varied, but
what was important is that the Algerian Authorities had confiscated their documents and issued them with a single sheet of paper, complete with a photo
and lots of stamps. They were then expelled and short of money or hope or the will to go on they were going home to Nigeria. If they thought they were
going to get any support or consolation on the trip back they were wrong. At every police check, and there is one at every village, they were forced to
dismount the truck and forced to pay bribes because of their lack of proper documents. Many were penniless, but there is some solidarity among failed
migrants. Invariably someone chipped in to get they truck past the checkpoint. Still, even as they dozed, literally clinging to the truck they were upbeat. Most
pledged to somehow get the resources together and try again. Wiser to the dangers but not deterred.
As I walked through the carnival atmosphere of the concert I was drawn to contradictions of the event. To enter you were expected to pay 10,000 lire,
approximately 5 dollars. Standing in the crowd I noticed a smartly dressed middle aged couple outside the gates, hands resting on the bars much as a
prisoner caged in a cell. I crossed outside to ask if they felt excluded. Not at all, he replied, we were just passing on our way home to the kids and wanted
to look. Then you?re not interested in the Anti-G8 Mobilization? We are completely in support! I?m a pediatrician and I?m very concerned about lack of
food and healthcare around the world.
On another point on the wall between those who were paid and had their hands stamped, and those who hadn?t, a French woman responded by saying it
was all about money. We are here against borders, but we make them ourselves. As she was saying this she deftly slid over the fence, which was only waist
high here. None of the yellow shirted GSF volunteers patroling the fence noticed here. How have found Genoa so far? It?s being hijacked by the parties!
What are they doing? Everywhere you go they?re trying to indoctrinate you. This is all about people, not organizations.
A man with her then tried to jump the barrier, and immediately the GSF volunteers rushed over to force him back. It was tense as heated verbal argument
broke out. He was trying to talk his way out of it, and they were having none of it. As they turned on me, I showed my Indymedia badge with the handwritten
"Press Manu Chau" sticker and handstamp for the concert next to it. I was ok. The French woman pointed to a smudge on her hand. Itàs the sea mist. She
got through. The three or four others standing there were not so convincing. A more senior volunteer, denoted by his orange shirt came over. He was
determined, but was willing to explain the logic. You have a beer bottle in your hand. You have money. We are asking only 10,000 lire. We need the money
to provide all the organization and support for this event. You must go to the other side of the fence. You can listen from there. We must do this to get
money. He was reasonable and patient. The illegals were civil but persistent. In the end the orange shirt was distracted by other matters, and the
unstamped blended away into the crowd.
Over by the seawall, behind the first aid van, a group of people from the No Borders Caravan were listening to the concert, perched on the rocks. It might
have been inside the fence or outside it depending on how you wanted to think of it. What do you think about the fence around the concert? It?s not there.
Before the concert we were in the venue. We went by the stage, here and there, and now we?re over here. The fence doesn?t bother me at all. So then
you don?t think the fence excludes anyone? We?re all here to get rid of fences. Some people may think there is a fence there. I don?t see it. Yes, there
are the volunteers in yellow shirts, but they are really here for safety. If someone comes in they won?t really stop them. He was mostly right. Their method
was persuasion, only occasionally with raised voices. Still, a little latter I was on the verge of being assaulted by a French yellowshirt for being in a "security
zone" despite his acceptance of my stamp and press pass. That the spot in question was far from anything significant didn?t phase him. He had his orders,
and anyone on his turf was in trouble. The similarity to a riot cop at a demo was unmistakable.
GSF has done a commendable job. Glitches like this are to be expected in any mass gathering. But I wondered how much of this represents an implicit
willingness of organizers and protesters to recreate the very structures we criticize? Outside the fence across from the Convergence Point there is
beerhall/concession stand. The prices are not cheap. Maybe not as exhorbitant as a rock concert, but certainly no cheaper than an average restaurant.
The beer on tap is Heiniken, one of the first truly global brands of beer. Facing them is the Bar Clandestino, at the far end of the same tent housing the
information desk. It gives away apples and sandwiches.
Its peopled by volunteers from the Society of Saint Benedict at the Port, and funded by the donation of a previous concerts proceeds from Manu Chau. I
ask one of the volunteers, what this is all about? We are a Catholic organization that does social service, running a few centers in the countryside where
people with chemical dependencies, runaways and others can get their lives together in a quiet atmosphere. We are sympathetic to the working people
and the disenfranchised, and not so interested in the hierarchies of the Catholic Church. We were founded twenty-five years ago on inspiration from the
Liberation Theology movement in Latin America. Your name is the Society of Saint Benedict at the Port, are you in the Red Zone? He laughs. Actually we
are on the border, half in the Red Zone, half in the Yellow Zone. I?m puzzled. You mean this figuratively? No, literally. If you go out one door you are in the
Red Zone and if you go out the other you are in the Yellow Zone. I think that there are borders crossing everywhere we go. As I talk with him I notice that
they are having trouble attracting customers to their free food. They reach out at people going by offering them apples. Many people seem shocked or
confused. They are reluctant to take something without paying. The beerhall is doing a roaring business across the way.
I look back and forth between the two sides, those who have paid are documented by the stamp on their hand, and those outside, waiting for a chance to
sneak in, or happy to stand around the fence looking in. The concession stand inside the concert is serving Tuborg, another global beer, but it costs little
more than half as much as the Heiniken outside. It strikes me as an uncomfortable parallel to Europe.
The people on the inside, whether they got in legally or not, still get a better deal than the people outside. Outsiders look in with envy. The people on the
inside claim, and some believe sincerely, that what they are doing is for everyone?s benefit.
I think of the Nigerians riding with me on that truck in the desert. They are the ambitious ones. They?ve tried to get in once and failed, but they will try
again. The ones who succeed eventually will be the most tenacious, the most self-confident, the hardest workers. It seems to me a bittersweet irony that,
once again, Europe will get the best, and their fellow countrymen will miss out for their absence.
Article 2 Thursday 19/7/2001
Afternoon before the storm?
By Francisco Rojas
It's a hot, hazy day. Two men are chatting casually
as they lean on a railing overlooking the waves
crashing on Genoa's beach. I confess that I'm drawn
to them because they are a rarity in the crowd, and to
find two of them in one spot is a correspondent's
dream. At a mobilization focused on the disadvantages
of non-Europeans in our globalized world, they stand
out because they are not Europeans. One is Ghanaian
and the other is Pakistani. I introduce myself and ask
if I might talk with them about their experiences here
in Genoa. As they don't blend into the crowd, I feel
compeled to ask if they are here for the Mobilization.
Of course, replies the Ghanaian. We are here for the
Public Forum. Are you enjoying the afternoon
overlooking the beach, I ask. Yes, the waves are very
nice.
This is the crux of story I'm trying to write this
afternoon. It's hot beach weather, and people are
congregating along the strip of rocks and beach. Some
even venture into the waves, though word is that the
water is too cold.
At the Public Forum panels of speakers address
speeches to a serious looking crowd, many with radio
headsets to get simultaneous translations. Jose Bove
is particularly in demand. I'm tired and I find it
all a drain on my energy. It occurs to me that he
does a fair impression of Subcomandante Marcos without
a ski mask. Then I spot a circle of people dressed in
shades of red, orange and yellow doing what looks to
be tai chi or yoga, but really neither. The hazy blue
sky blends into the light blue ocean behind them. I'm
captivated by this beautiful image, and drawn away
from the serious expression inside the Public Forum
tent. I'm intrigued about who they are.
Could they be local devotees of Falun Gong? They are
not dressed in a uniform, it's mix and match, but
there is definitely a theme to the outfits. I ask one
young woman I have followed over who is dressed in red
and looks to be part of the group. What's going on
here? She looks at me with a combination of
puzzlement and suspicion. Are all these people part
of a group? We are not some cult, she replies. She
points to a middle aged man and suggests that he would
be in a better position to talk. I accompany the man
over to a spot overlooking the waves where we talk.
The group is Living Theater. They have a center about
one hour outside of Genova, where they have been based
for the last two years. They are doing their warm up
excercises before they rehearse the program they hope
to do in the Plaza Kennedy tonight. He describes them
as having a non-violent anarchist perspective. So do
you normally perform in theaters? He is a bit
puzzled. Sometimes, but we prefer to do workshops and
organize street theater. We travel all around the
world doing this. For example, we've just come back
from Lebanon, where we performed in Beruit. Suddenly
I have a story that interests me and I ask lots of
questions. They have been working with nonviolence
groups in Lebanon, in Beruit where there is a lot of
tension despite the look of prosperity in the newly
rebuilt city. It is in the Bekka valley and in the
South, only liberated from Isreal last year. There
they performed inside a former Isreali prison. I
suggest that non-violence is not in the mainstream of
middle eastern political discussions these days. He
laughs and says thats why it is important to do this
work.
I walk along the promenade and come accross some
people singing together arround some beer, while a
mural is being painted on the wall next to them. I
spot another person who I recognize from the chaotic
floor occupied by Indymedia on the third floor of the
GSF headquarters. I don't know him but I've seen him
around for a couple of days. I ask him who the guys
singing are. He is animated as he describes the
street theater procession that they had completed
before they sat down to relax. They had paraded along
the promenade carrying puppets representing the G8
leaders. They were brilliant, he says. And who are
the people doing the mural? The same ones. There are
maybe a dozen people painting away. So they were all
in the procession? No, actually, one guy from the
group is doing broad outlines and they are recruiting
people passing by to paint them in. The mural is a
collage of tanks and fat bankers, with nature breaking
through here and there. At the high end there is a
circle with the words "C'è speranza". There is hope.
I sit there watching the carnival crowd roaming about
while I talk with him. This is what's really
important today, he says. He disagrees with me that
the current system is not stable. The rising middle
classes will consume everything, he says. He spent
several long trips in South Asia. He speaks about the
love of Indian middle classes for the things we
consume without a thought in the West. There is going
to be just more and more consumption. I try to argue
that this consumption is not sustainable. He says it
doesn't matter. By the time we reach a crisis, it
will be too late. There will be nothing left.
Our philosophical conversation is interrupted by a
French woman who asks if we know where Jose Bove is.
Everyone wants to be close to him. I appologize and
say that I'm more interested in the ordinary people
who have come for the mobilization. She says that
it's just that her friend would like to make some
photos of him to sell. She pauses, and by way of
justification explains that it's just a special French
interest project. My collegue points to a woman
carefully painting a sun in the mural. She's French
and she is really worth talking to. She walks away,
disinterested now that she knows we can not get her to
Jose Bove.
A passenger jet flys overhead. An Italian man next to
us explains that it is the G8 foreign minister flying
in from Rome. I resort to gallows humor and wonder
aloud where Osama Bin Laden and his American-made
Stinger land-to-air missles are. It's a poor joke.
as I'm about to leave I spot my prize. The two men
who opened this article. I talk a long time with the
Ghanian. He is here to talk about Africa and the
debt, but he is not debating the HIPC (Heavily
Indebted Poor Countries) process, or debt moratoriums.
He says it is Europe that owes Africa money. He does
not want aid and paternalism. All the aid goes to
Western companies and foreign technical specialists.
I ask what he thinks of Thabo Mbeki's new African Plan
to be presented at the OAU. They are not serious, he
responds. And what about the increase in raising of
native grains like millet due to the lack of foreign
exchange to import wheat for French bread (in former
French Colonial Africa, French bread and imported
mayonnaise is practicly a staple of urban breakfasts).
He dismisses this. Every time there is a crisis
there is an increase in such activity, but without
government support it is replaced by new modes of
exploitation.
I ask a series of questions about accountability in
African governments, corruption, recent opposition
victories. He finally grows impatient. I am not
interested in whether coalition politics would be
better than overwhelming victories by one party, he
says. I want to deal with how regular people can
improve their lives. He suddenly realizes the time,
and suggests to his friend that they must get to the
Public Forum. I wish them well, and regret that I
have not had the time to speak with the Pakistani man.
It's said that hot summer nights make for riots, and
everyone in Genoa is asking whether and what type of
riots there might be. Many imply that if there are no
riots, Genoa will be a faliure for the Mobilization.
As I've been walking around, more clouds have moved in
and it's a bit cooler. I think that no matter what
happens, the Genoa Anit-G8 Mobilization is already a
success. Thousands of people have braved media scare
stories and police harassment to come here. They
include some who have been doing the hard work, and
others who are starting to do it. A lot of people are
having fun, but not many people would risks police
beatings and arrests for a Manu Chao concert and a bit
of partying by the beach. There are a lot of
confusing opinions but people are hoping to build
something better.
C'è Speranza.
Article 3 20/7/2001
Who wants to riot?
By Francisco Rojas
It's 7am, and the organ in Carlini broadcasts an electronicly distorted
version of the William Tell Overture. Dazed from another nights lack
of sleep I wonder if this is part of some sick plan to guarantee a riot.
The long siege in Genoa is wearing all of us down. Getting two, three
or four hours sleep, we are showing the classic signs of sleep
deprivation. People are having trouble dealing with simple mental tasks like
keeping a phone number in their head for two minutes. Every time I see
someone they are more testy, more paranoid, more likely to explode or
seem about to plop down and cry.
I remember the Mid-Atlantic Anarchist Gathering in Philadelphia eight
years ago. As we were all working twenty hour days in the run up to
organize all the logistics, we dubbed ourselves the Anti-Sleep League, and
altered, the now familiar, screeching black cat logo to have hypnotic
spirals for eyes. Activists take a certain pride in being able to abuse
themselves. It's our version of body building, except that it makes us
look like crap and act like assholes. Then again maybe it's not so
different.
William Tell is followed by The Thieving Magpie. Anyone who has seen
Stanley Kubrik's, A Clockwork Orange, would recognize it immediately.
It played in several sequences, but one memorable one takes place in an
abandoned theater in which Alex, played by Malcome MacDowel, and his
gang have a rumble with another gang, ending in rapes. I wonder if
whoever is playing the music, over and over again, is aware of what the
movie represents. Anthony Burgess, who wrote the book the movie was based
on had a grim, rightwing view that working people were basically
unreformable brutes. Unless the police (working class brutes) and the state
(run by more unbrutish types) used all their resources to control and
suppress their violent urges, there would be barbarism. Despite this
unfriendly view, A Clockwork Orange, has become something of a counter
culture favorite. Stanley Kubrick, surprised by the friendly reception
his film got, actually banned its showing in the UK where he lived. He
wasn't interested in encouraging the people around him to behave like
Alex, and I hope we aren't either.
As I slowly, stumblingly get my crap together, I look around this
ersatz refugee camp, people stumbling around trash and their piles of
belongings. It bears some resemblance to the Red Cross refugee center near
the French entrance to the Channel Tunnel, except that the Red Cross
would not accept these conditions. When you are a refugee you must accept
the rules imposed on you if you want help. There has been only one time
that I have seriously considered asking a homeless shelter for a place
for the night. They told me that I would have to hand over everything
I had, strip completely naked, shower and then put on a jumpsuit they
issued me. I refused. It doesn't strike me as similar to the Tutte
Bianche outfit. At least I hope it isn't.
The sun is out and it will be hot. People heading for the demo are
wrapped in layers, carrying lots of gear. Some are loaded down with gas
masks and padding, others have scarfs and lemons ready to minimize the
effect of the tear gas. Others have nothing, they are either optimists
or fatalists. The mix of heat, padded clothing and heavy gear is an
explosive one. It won't take much provocation from the police to start a
riot. A lot of people seem to feel this Mobilization will be a wasted
effort if there is no riot. They will probably be rewarded with one,
as the police definitely want one. It's what justifies their existence,
their budget, the hard work they've put in over the recent months. I
wonder if we should ask the police unions for a contribution. We are
certainly fattening their members pay packets and insuring steady
employment. It could be a win-win situation, everybody getting what they
want, except maybe the people of Genoa and the optimists in the crowd who
feel a better world is possible.
Near the Indymedia Center there is a panoramic view of the harbor. You
can look down on the Piazza Kennedy, the convergence center, and Genoa
Convention Center (Fiera Internazionale di Genova) next to it which is
a police staging ground filled to the brim with cop cars or various
types. A line of shipping containers, emblems of the Globalization we are
protesting, form a wall between the two sides in this struggle. During
yesterdays Immigrants March, the Indymedia center was almost empty, so
I thought it was a good time for a nap, but the police helicopters kept
buzzing low, making it impossible. I wandered down to the panoramic
view to get the birdseye view. I was not the only one who had thought of
this. It was packed with Genovese, and it was impossible to get to the
railing. I peered over shorter heads but all I could see was an empty
parking lot. The demonstration was someplace else. I wondered what
they thought of all this.
I approached a family, out with their primary school kids, and asked
what they thought of all this. They said they were in support but that
they thought there was a better way than violence. As we talked the
march arrived below us. There were puppets and banners and flags. I
observed that it seemed pretty innocent. She agreed, with some evident
relief. I asked if they lived near the GSF/IMC and if the activity of the
building had disturbed the neighborhoods peace and quiet. Not at all.
The activists have been very reasonable. In fact, the center is the
school our kids attend. I asked in what rooms. Rooms b and c on the
second floor. I tell them that I cannot vouch for the 2nd floor (official
press), but that we are keeping the third floor well maintained. She
thanks us, particularly as the building was recently refurbished.
An older man with a white beard tells me he is from Genoa, but he works
in the South. He has come back specifically for this. He supports the
goals, but he hopes there will not be too much violence. He tells me he
lives near Carlini Stadium. Are the protesters upsetting the
neighborhoods peace? He waves his arm in a gesture of dismissal. Oh, they are
fine. No problem at all. They are no inconvenience for us. In fact, it is
the least we can do to help the Mobilization. He points to the wall of
containers in the distance and says the people of Genoa have been
abused by the state that has done this. No matter what happens, Genoa has
been hurt by the humiliation of red-yellow zones, and massed cops. Do
you feel that the people of Genoa should have been better consulted
before going ahead with the G8 meeting? He throws his shoulders up and
shrugs. You know, five years ago when we asked for this meeting, Seattle
had not happened. We thought it would be a good advertisement for
Genoa. It was our civic pride. Now, look what has happened to us. The
mayor has said this is the last time we have a meeting like this.
It occurs to me that this is a real victory for the Anti-Globalization
Movement. No one in their right mind will volunteer to host one of
these meetings for a long while. In future, if they are to be held in
Europe they will have to be imposed against the will of the local people.
A brutal expression of the power of the state.
We have denied the world leaders the opportunity for cheap positive
publicity. It used to be that Presidents or Prime Ministers could count
on an internation meeting to boost their popularity. Now these meeting
are a desperate attempt to spin the story away from a publicity
disaster. If they can get through the summit without looking like complete
assholes, they thank the gods.
The buzz among the demonstrators is all about the fence and whether it
can be breached. Some people look at it and walk away shaking their
heads. They say it is too tall, too solid, and even if you breached one
fence, there is another behind it. Others are optimistic. They say we
must simply overwhelm it with more people and more hand crafted siege
engines. It's been suggested that we are engaging in Medieval warfare.
I look at this debate and I think it's more like WWI trench warfare.
It's not the gas we expect that makes me think this, it's our way of
thinking about victory. It's about massed forces, fighting hard for tiny
pieces of land of no use to anybody, and it's the resort to more force
and bigger weapons to overwhelm the other side. During WWI people
thought there was a point to the slaughter, not long afterwards they
realize if was just a orgy of self-destruction on all sides.
I have no hope of getting the State to be reasonable. Afterall, no
state could exist without a police force or army to enforce it's will, but
I have more hopes that we will see the futility of our arms race. The
policeman's greatest strength is tenacity, ours is ingenuity. We have
to take control of the conditions of success. Force them to deal with
our ingenuity, rather than allowing ourselves to be forced to deal with
their tenacity.
Genoa is a success. We have the people, we are developing the
logistics, we have something to fight for. The next big Mobilization should be
a different contest. It should be one in which we can use our
creativity to full effect and subvert the effectiveness of the State's
determination.
It's a hot day out there and there are already unsettling reports.
Let's hope for the triumph of reason over brutality.