“Should I, after tea and cakes and ices, Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?” — The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, T.S. Eliot
Shit’s fucked up and bullshit. It’s a phrase I learned at Occupy. “Shit’s fucked up!” they would chant in the streets, “Shit’s fucked up and buuuuuullshit!” … drawing out the full and round and musical U in bullshit. It seems, whatever you think of their protest, this is a point that is impossible to deny. Shit, in America and beyond, is indeed fucked up and bullshit.
My first day covering Occupy was also my first eviction. I went down to see the protest’s midday march on October 5, 2011 in San Francisco. It was huge—the biggest thing I’d seen since the 2003 antiwar protests I’d participated in. It dwarfed anything from the BART protests I’d covered. But what was most remarkable was the response. We didn’t know yet what Occupy would be; there was no hint in the air of what was to come. But something was different from the start. There ...