A Report on Occupy Minnesota by Robnoxious

The Occupy Wall Street movement is based on the fact that 1% of the population owns a majority of the wealth in the U.S., and therefore controls the country. The occupiers demanding satisfaction from the rich call themselves “The 99%”. A totally reasonable basis for revolt.

When I first heard that folks were going to take inspiration from the Occupy Wall Street movement and occupy downtown Minneapolis, I formed an immediate Theory based on my past experiences with such movements in this city: this is going to be another sad and pathetic event in a long line of sad and pathetic events attempting to halt the suffering caused by global capitalism. The usual big egos of activism would show up and strut about the stage, satisfy their egos, get trashed by the cops, file a lawsuit, get a bunch of money, and take their friends out to dinner. Business as usual.

Before actually going down to the Occupy Minnesota site at Government Plaza to gather empirical data in support of this theory, I decided to first write down some hypothesis about the protest scene:

Hypothesis 1: Bored of the previous struggle of drinking cheap beer and then suffering thru school and work hungover and talking shit about global capitalism, people decided to release their passions and try to rage in the streets like in other fun countries.

Hypothesis 2: We would not actually enjoy a revolution here because as citizens of the U.S. we are at the top of the food chain, a successful revolution would be a staggering blow to our quality of life expectations.

Hypothesis 3: Tired of first person shooter games we desire to actually chase our crappy leaders and other actors from Hollywood around a REAL landscape using REAL guns.

Hypothesis 4: Minnesota has actually been occupied by white activists for hundreds of years, so maybe technically this protest event should be called Continuing to Occupy Minnesota.

Hypothesis 5: Black unemployment rates and foreclosures on houses have been really bad for a long time, really going all the way back to the “end” of slavery. But now it has affected and come to the attention of white people so we must do something about it.

Hypothesis 6: Any successful movement to swiftly change the U.S. Government will be met with the nearly incomprehensible powers of the Military Industrial machine as it defends itself and it’s children (the 1% of rich people). Resistors will be beaten, sprayed with chemicals, arrested, terrorized, infiltrated, neutralized, demoralized, threatened, bombed, burned, shot, robbed, insulted, and that is just what the cops will do. Police are the tip of the tentacle leading back to this violent monster Global Capitalism that has wrapped itself across this continent and the world. It has flying robots that can target and drop bombs on individual people, dear God! These machines are being tested on people of color overseas right now, how long before there’s a swarm of these over every major U.S. city?

Hypothesis 7: Global Capitalism is fighting a war to achieve Global Domination, and it is winning. If we desire to be free and to end all exploitation and oppression world wide, then we are opposed to Global Capitalism, and therefore we are at war with Global Capitalism and must defend ourselves. Meeting the enemy at a time and a place of it’s own choosing is a terrible strategy and is not the way towards victory. For example, attending a publicized protest, or “Cop Fest”, and getting gnashed in the gears of the machine. Partial Solution: read Sun Tzu’s “The Art of War”.

Hypothesis 8: If the cutting edge of the anti-capitalist movement in Minnesota is a few banquet tables, some crappy cardboard signs, and a row of porta potties outside a government building, then we are FUCKED!

Having formed my hypotheses I began searching to find support for the theory that this event was a load of the same old shit.

I first attempted to investigate the phenomenon online from the comfort of my home, and at the Occupy MN website was assaulted by an advertisement for Walmart! JESUS FUCK! I jabbed my fingers at the damn thing, trying to find the mute button as the advertisement lashed out with it’s brainwashing message for me to CONSUME! I narrowly escaped the attempted Manufacturing of Desire in my mind to “Shop at Walmart”. Okay People, as long as we are supporting Walmart there is not going to be justice anywhere. For real, totally unacceptable. Having a live video stream of your anti-capitalist protest being interrupted by advertisements for Walmart is obscene.

I read in the papers that homeless people were congregating at the Occupy protests in cities across the continent. Hmm, a movement that interested the poorest of the poor, interesting. After the Walmart video attack I was skeptical of our own local Occupy Minnesota, but then a friend told me that there were people of color involved in the organizing and that members of the American Indian Movement (AIM) were involved and were considering erecting a traditional living structure down there. This was starting to sound like something possibly real, and I wondered if several of my hypotheses were on the verge of being disproved.

I decided to actually go down and attend a General Assembly meeting. On October 20^th, a chilly Thursday night, I attended the General Assembly at 7pm. The meeting was well facilitated, thank god. There were some short tempers and lots of enthusiasm and some amount of haggard baby tantrums. Someone reported that regular masking tape should not be used because it left sticky stuff that had to be cleaned up. Okay, this report was not a very compelling use of anyone’s time. A medic reported that people needed hand warmers and chapstick. The food coordinator showed up and expressed the common sentiment that HOT food was greatly needed and appreciated. Dear god, I wanted to cook them a pot of soup on the spot, poor kids out there in the cold. Finally the most interesting thing occurred, a report from the one of the people who had been arrested earlier that day for “occupying the street”. All those arrested had been bailed out at a cost of $50 per person. Hmmm, I thot: $400 could buy a whole lot of fucking HOT FOOD, HANDWARMERS, and CHAPSTICK! This sentiment was expressed by a lone voice standing to the left, “Was this agreed on by the General Assembly? I mean, what did you THINK was going to happen when you sat down in the street? Of course you got arrested!”

Everyone was excited as a group of the released arrestees came around the corner, hooting and hollering. I really appreciated the dissenter’s response. I went and shook his hand. Fuck that goofy let-the-cops-arrest-you type bullshit! There’s only three scenarios I think it is understandable to end in police custody: First, if they surround you or if they can run faster than you (unlikely). Second, if they kick down your door and drag you out of bed in the middle of the night, and third, if they are holding someone you love hostage.

The prevailing sentiment seemed to be on the side of the people who were arrested, for their “bravery”. I laughed out loud, thinking what people must have suffered in countries like Tunisia, Egypt, Libya, Syria,Yemen, and a dozen others during the various revolutions and revolutions-in-progress this year during Arab Spring.

Use of this lame old-school non-violent tactic seemed to confirm several of my hypotheses.

A break followed so that friends could welcome the brave hearts back and also to surround the guy who voiced his dissenting opinion and tell him how he was being disrespectful to the brave arrestees.

Despite the old-school tactics dragged from the dusty closet once again to dance their dusty bones in the streets, I did feel a small but strong flame of passion at Occupy Minnesota. I felt like it had the potential to grow into something profound, if only it had not begun in the fall, with gradually lowering temperatures. The government knows this too, and they are playing a waiting game. Yes, in a month of so, the occupiers will simply freeze to death. There is another excellent possibility tho, that the occupiers will be driven to occupy a sensible place INDOORS, such as a vacant government building with insulation and heat, now that is something I could get behind!

For social change movement to be successful, there must be many different angles of approach to dislodge entrenched old ideas. Some of the approaches may have totally opposite philosophies, such as the use of non-violence or pro-violence. Using the independence movement of India as an example, the non-violent protesters are credited with kicking the British out, but it was also the increasingly violent anti-British attacks that convinced the oppressors to get the fuck out and turn the county over to it’s people. In consideration that a successful movement must be diverse in tactics and strategy, I don’t want to dissuade anyone from getting involved and doing what they felt was right in bringing Justice to Global Capitalism. If you think that knitting a peace sign into a scarf is what’s gonna bring the villains to their knees, more power to ya. Just don’t expect me to wear it.

The fact that young people across the continent are coming together and realizing that there is something very wrong with Global Capitalism thru the Occupy Wall Street event is reason enough to support it. I think it’s what people will take away from this movement that is going to be important, not that the event itself will achieve much directly in the way of change.

Hey, you never know. Don’t take my shoddy methodology in this field of inquiry to be the final word, head on down and check out the scene for yourself! Downtown Minneapolis, Government Plaza is at 4^th Avenue South & 6^th Street South. Ongoing rallies at 5pm, General Assembly at 7pm. Websites: occupymn.org & occupytogether.org. If you bring booze to drink, make sure it is well concealed in a travel mug or perhaps in a wax soda cup with a lid and straw, as there are cops all over the place! Don’t stress it. Gotta keep life exciting somehow.

Oh ya, and bring hot food.

(This article was supposed to be published a couple weeksago. The OccupyMN movement has now occupied a home that was foreclosed on by a major bankwith the support of the home owner who was foreclosed upon! Check it out: occupyminneapolis.mn )

1.5 pounds Tri-Tip Steak

1 Yellow Onion

1 Entire Bulb of Garlic

1 Bag Tater Tots

1 pound cheddar cheese

1 Can Cream of Mushroom Soup

1 Can Cream of Celery Soup

1/4 Tsp. Cayenne Pepper

1/4 Tsp. Black Pepper

3/4 Tsp. Salt

Pre-heat oven to 350.

Chop onions and garlic, saute them.

Chop steak into small cubes and sear in skillet with tamari sauce.

Shred the cheese and add everything else together, folding in the tater tots last so they don’t get busted up.

Pour into a baking dish and add some extra tater tots and cheese on top for to make it look cool.

Bake at 350 for 1 hour.

Party!

I was in Winona, Minnesota, when I got a call from my dad: Grandma June had passed away. The funeral was in Nebraska, two days away. My plans to buy a fuel efficient car a necessarily expedited, a friend loans me 900 and another friend sells me his 98 Ford Escort. I sign the title and pack my bag. On the way out of town I get several calls from California, so I pull the car over to hear the news: there’s been another death. Our friend Amber Kellar. She was too young. Not even 30 yet, I think. My grandma was 94. Grandma lived a full life. No reason to be sad and cry about that, that’s what people do, they are born and they live and then they die. Amber’s death was a tragedy, too young, and too good. She was so full of compassion and love for everyone. Amber was great. Of all the knuckle headed asshole people in the world that I would have picked to leave the Earth, Amber would have been the last. So now my 9 hours in the car felt a lot more ominous. What was I doing with my life? People were dropping like flies and I could be one of them soon. Another reminder to stop fucking around and get did what I want done.

The radio stations between Winona, Minnesota and Hastings, Nebraska are not so good, a few hot jams going thru Des Moines, and then again in Omaha. The rest was a lot of bad country. Like yeah dude, we know what colors are on the flag, duh. Remedial patriotism. Big brother coming at you with a country song. Is mainstream country music subsidized by the government?

Rolled into Hastings and meet my folks in the parking lot of the Walmart. Of course they had to go inside and buy some stuff so there I was shopping with my folks in Hastings Nebraska. Walking around inside a hideously illuminated Walmart is not the first thing you want to do after driving a car 9 hours.

It was late. We went to Mary’s house and I slept on the couch after meeting her dog Cody and Bubbles, and another dog named Jesse that was my aunt & uncles. Bubbles was a little terrorist chihuahua, barked madly in a high pitch whenever it saw me. Damn those dogs. Jesse and Cody were cool. Jesse was a black lab that loved his frisbee.

In the morning I got up with the sun, made green tea, and waited for the old folks to rise. One by one they shuffled zombie steps to the kitchen for the coffee. I had conversations with everyone. Uncle Chuck. Cousin Alan. Aunt Mary. Aunt Jeanne. Aunt Mary got off the phone with my one remaining grandparent, grandpa Bob.

“Somebody needs to go shave him.” my Aunt Mary said.

My Aunt Jeanne looked at me, “Do you feel comfortable doing this?”

“Uh… No. I haven’t seen him in ten years.”

“Okay, I’ll do it.” Jeanne said, “But will someone go with me?”

“I’ll go with you.” I said.

Aunt Jeanne drove us to Grandpa Bob’s house. My dad was already there with Grandpa, sitting watching TV and conversating. Grandpa Bob is 96 years old and still walking, sometimes using a cane, when he remembered to use it. Grandpa wouldn’t let people help him get up, he would swat your hand away if you tried. The famous Sutter family stubbornness! The only thing about Grandpa that seemed to have stopped working was his memory.

“Hey, remember me? I’m Robert Earl Sutter the 3^rd!” I said and shook his hand.

Grandpa looked at me smiling and said, “Well, we hung a name on you!” and then seemed to promptly forget who he was talking to. Probably didn’t help that I hadn’t seen him in ten years. I would catch his eyes across the room and he would blink and look perplexed, no sign of recognition. Strange to be forgotten by your grandparent, or only remembered for a second. He must live in a strange world now, what is that like? Is it like being so drunk at a party that you cant remember anyone’s name or use language to talk to them, so you sit there on the couch watching people move around you and wishing you were sober again?

Aunt Jeanne shaved Grandpa Bob with a small battery powered shaver, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

“Hey check it out,” I said, pointing at the TV, “the final space shuttle is about to launch!”

“Oh, this is LIVE!” my dad said, turning to face the TV.

A few minutes after Grandpa was shaved I pointed at the TV, “There it goes!”

All four of us turned to watch the three main thrusters under the space shuttle Atlantis ignite amid a shower of sparks, then a great flame and billowing smoke and the rocket took the sky, gently rolling onto it’s back and heading for a low earth orbit to rendezvous with the International Space Station. The final mission in the space shuttle program, after the Atlantis returned to Earth, the entire fleet would be grounded and scrapped.

“Dad, are you ready to go to June’s funeral?” Jeanne asked Grandpa, “Today is her funeral.”

“Yeah.” Grandpa wrestled himself out of the easy chair and grabbed the cane that was offered.

June was Grandpa Bob’s first wife, it was the marriage that produced all of us. They separated long ago, but somehow ended up living in the same town, Hastings, Nebraska, because that’s where Aunt Mary lived. Mary was willing to take care of her mom, Grandma June, and she did this for years.

Grandma June’s funeral was the first I had been to since the one I attended as a teenager in Alaska when Aunt Mary’s boyfriend, Chad, killed himself with a pistol. I just sat in the back of that funeral, next to a large potted plant.

“You want to go look in the casket?” my dad asked me.

“No!”

The funeral for grandma June was in Geneva, an hour drive away. We all piled in two cars and drove there. In the back seat with grandpa I experienced uncomfortable silence. Should I keep reminding grandpa of who I am? Should I leave him in peace to stare out the window? How strange it must be for him to be in a car full of strangers. My dad is transgender and decided not to hide the fact from grandpa. The funeral of my grandma may not have been the best time for coming out to grandpa Bob, but when is a good time? I don’t think grandpa had the mental capacity to understand what the deal was, and if he did understand it for a moment, he soon forgot it. I wasn’t inside his brain, but that was my impression.

The rest of the family had asked Rachel to “tone it down” for the funeral, but she declined, wearing a dress and high heels. Most of my relatives were upset about this, and said they thot it was disrespectful of grandma June. They called Rachel “Bob” and referred to her as “him”. I reckon they hadn’t any previous experience with a transgendered person in the process of transition. When a person discovers their true happy nature and accepts it, going back to the old ways seems like something similar to death. My relatives asked me what I thot about the “new person”, and I said, “It’s her life, she’s happy with it, so I support it.”

Sexuality and gender are so taboo in our culture. If you cross certain lines, even tho you harm no one, you are in big trouble.

As we drove thru Geneva, Grandpa Bob had memories come to him, “That’s the old sale barn, I used to work there.” A sale barn is place where livestock gets sold, “This place is very familiar to me.” he said, and continued to point out landmarks as we drove, “There’s a good place to go if you’re dead.” he said as we pulled up and parked in front of the funeral home. At this moment I am pretty certain that he didn’t remember we were there to bury grandma, the woman he was once married to.

Grandma June had been cremated, in the funeral parlor there was a black urn with silver designs, surrounded by floral bouquets and illuminated with warm lighting. We sat thru a christian ceremony by a pastor, the type of thing where you start wondering if we are burying Jesus or my Grandma? I definitely heard Jesus mentioned as much as June. Well she was christian I guess. Don’t remember any goings to church or crucifixes around. A quiet christian.

They played some country songs during the service. Cool. I had been listening to country on the 9 hour drive to Hastings. Grandma loved music. I kept thinking about my friend Amber who had died. Grandma and Amber. An old woman, a young woman. Women I had seen loving and laughing. I could feel my arms around them, hugging them. I thot to myself, “Damn, I knew this was gonna suck. I shouldn’t have come.”

After the service I dashed outside, only to find that we were going to another church next door to have lunch! I was real Christianed-out at this point, but I got to meet a bunch of relatives who were excited to see “The 3rd”. That was cool, they were very nice folks and also seeming to be very accepting of Rachel being transgender. I was so impressed, there seemed to be no backlash against it. Family is family, I reckon. People from the cities like to talk shit about small town folk, but in my experience, people in big cities are just as loaded with hate and prejudice as small town folk are.

I continued feeling really strange. I was the only one there who knew Amber and so there was no one to talk to about her death. I also had a cold sore on my lip which makes me self conscious as fuck, having this wound there on my face when everyone is talking to me. Grandpa was so radically different from when I saw him last that I didn’t know how to interact with him. Rachel was coming out to various relatives as transgender. And oh yeah, Grandma June was dead. Holy fuck! Too much to process, there was smoke coming out of my ears.

I was happy when lunch was done. I helped move flowers and grabbed the keys and jumped in the driver’s seat. I needed to do something to keep from freaking out.

We drove to the cemetery to put Grandma’s ashes in the ground. June had a shared headstone with her sister, Wilma. We moved the piece of wood covering the hole and decided who would lower the ashes down, Mary would do it, she was closest to June during her last years. Mary started to lower the urn and uncle chuck yells, “Wait! Wait!” and Mary says, “Oh god, he wants to take a picture of this.” So we cleared a path in the circle of people so chuck could get a shot of aunt Mary holding the urn. I was thinking, damn, she’s trying to bury her mother, and you’re yelling at her? As a photographer you either get the shot or you don’t. You cant make life go backwards to get what you want. Sorry chuck, but you know that was rude.

Mary seemed relieved. She had been caring for June for many years in Hastings, living together, it had become a struggle with her. Suddenly caring for a parent who can no longer care for themselves, living your life around them and their needs, a constant nurse. That would be hard. My parents have told me, “If we become senile just put us in a home, don’t listen to what we say. You don’t have to take care of us.” Ha ha. I appreciate that.

We all drove back to Hastings and did some hanging out, ate a simple dinner. Everyone seemed relieved that the funeral was over. I felt a weight lifted off me, I smiled with the rest. I watched Grandpa Bob help clean up the lunch by taking a loaf of bread in a plastic bag and spin it, then tie the end in a knot, all with his incredibly gnarled arthritic hands. I was impressed with the dexterity still available to him.

“Yes!” I thot to myself, “If I make it to 96 my genes should allow for me to continue writing and drawing!”

Grandpa bob seemed to enjoy hanging out with all of us in the living room, tho he didn’t talk at all. When my aunt Jeanne asked if he was tired and wanted to go home, grandpa said with a vigorous smile, “You’re just trying to get my chair!”

Talk turned to politics and I let the old folks do battle in the democrat/republican debate. All us kids went downstairs, me, cousin Alan, and aunt Mary. It was Mary’s apartment down there, and just a messy as her rooms always had been. Alan played an online computer game. Mary moved around doing something. I looked at old photos: Mary as a majorette leader of the high school band, Mary as dancer in a school production, Mary as trophy girl for a sports car race. That one made me laugh. “I had to kiss him.” she told me, “The winner of the race. We didn’t like each other, but then when it came time he grabbed me and went for it. I thot I was such hot shit, being the trophy girl.” the photo is a man holding a trophy, my aunt Mary looking hot in the middle, and the winner of the race on the right. It’s a good picture, it would make a nice album cover.

We had breakfast at a greasy spoon and hit some yard sales the next day. My relatives were gearing up to remodel grandpa bob’s house, the carpets were nasty, smelling of dog urine, and underneath them lay a nice hardwood floor. The walls needed painting. grandpa bob lives on, in his own place, with his dog “Garcan”, a contraction of “Garbage Can” cause he liked getting in them so much. Occasionally an in home support person would come over and help grandpa with some things. Things he couldn’t remember to do.

Two days seems to be my limit for hanging out exclusively with relatives. I had work and play in other places. I got in my car and drove outta town with a stern warning from my mother, “Don’t pick up any hitch hikers!” I could have picked up three or four hitch hikers, and I looked hard to find them. I was ready to pack my car full of joyous travelers thru life. Between Nebraska and Minnesota on that day, there were none.

(For any of my relatives who may stumble upon this: you know I love you and would do anything for you. -love rob)