On Saturday October 15, 2011 I took a bus to downtown Seattle from my North Seattle suburban home. I felt I could no longer sit by and be a spectator for the injustices caused by Wall Street.
When I arrived at about noon, things were already in full swing in the heart of Seattle’s shopping District of Westlake Center. Westlake Center spans five blocks long and there was a solid sea of people as far as the eye could see. The first three hours I wandered about and read signs, some which were fairly basic and to the point and others that were artistically designed and some quite wordy but eloquent. I saw a woman in a wheelchair with a sign that said Wall Street stole my retirement. I saw another sign with a drawing of a vampire and the words Wall Street Sucks. There were church groups and other social organizations with signs stating their support for the cause.
During these three hours I listened to people speak one by one to tell their stories. There were people who lost their jobs when Washington Mutual (WAMU) Bank collapsed due to fraudulent and reckless activities by their top managers. They have not been able to find work since. I heard from people who lost their homes when a spouse became ill and could no longer work. I heard from people who, like myself, are drowning in student debt with no prospects of finding work in the field they studied for. I listened to musicians play music with provocative poetry. I listened to one charismatic young man perform a brilliant piece of poetry he’d written and recited with a rap beat.
At three o’clock we marched through the streets of downtown Seattle shouting slogans aimed at Wall Street greed. We marched past the Pike Place Public Market where people applauded us. We marched past people dining on the patios of upscale restaurants. One young man standing outside the Market stated he’d join us but he was still at work. We all yelled that we were marching for him. We began pointing to all those lined up to watch and shouted we are marching for you! At the intersection of First & Pike we stopped outside of Chase Bank where several people burned their Chase Bank Cards. We sat and stood there for at least fifteen minutes, parting the Red Sea only to let an aid car through. The way everyone parted for that aid car made me realize that this protest movement cares about humanity.
At one pint I found a lone dollar on the ground and donated it to the collection bucket. Then while I was marching someone ran up to me and handed me a dollar stating I’d dropped it. The person was right. I searched my pockets and my dollar for riding the bus home wasn’t there. What goes around comes around and also proves that this is a very honest and righteous group. It was a pleasure to be a part of this movement and I wish I could be there every day. I will be back and I hope the movement lasts until many of our demands for economic justice are met.
Viva La Revolution
