The Revolution Won't Be Televised

I

Glasgow

By October 15, 2011 I was meant to be in Brussels. I was in Glasgow. I was supposed to attend a rally and walk alongside Chilean Humanists and Spanish Indignados towards the European Community Parliament to stop what turned to be a relentless escalation of austerity cuts across Europe.

I didn’t make Brussels - for the same reason quoted over and over during the last years by anyone who hasn’t been able to accomplish something she/he wanted to do – I just didn’t have the money.

So, I googled it: 15 October + Rally + Indignados + Scotland

I knew it was going to be big. Humanists had been supporting the action for over a year. People were travelling to Europe just to attend. It was one step more – forward - after the occupation in Tahrir Square and Puerta del Sol.

I was certain I had enough; finally we were so many sharing the same feeling.

So, google answered: http://takethesquare.net/

15 October was happening and I had a pick - George Sq in Glasgow or St Andrew Square in Edinburgh. I asked several friends if anybody was planning to go. I was impressed. No one. Best case, a couple might stop by and see what was up. I didn’t get it. I’ve never attended a rally or a demo to find out what’s up. I didn’t know it but rallies and demos are reasons to gossip in Europe. In Chile, they are still a reason to get upset either because you support it, either because you’re against it, or mostly because you’re so pissed off about people still complaining. I decided to stay in Glasgow and go by myself.

By 1 pm it was obvious nobody was planning to walk, stand of some people were setting tents, painting banners, preparing tea, and singing along a guitar. A guy showed up. He said he wanted to do a short film about the day and he was wondering if I wanted to say why I was there. I agreed. When it was my turn I said: ‘the world as we knew it, it’s over. I think a new world is raising and I want to be part of it’. Yes! Corny! Still completely true… https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WjP1zZALIqI

When I came back the next day, I realised people were actually crashing in George Sq. and they were planning to stay for as long as it’d take. 

     -    Why?

     -    How did I not know?

October 15 was the worldwide call to internationally support Occupy Wall Street in Zuccotti Park.

-       What are they up to?

-       Why am I here?

I thought we were internationally supporting Indignados movement in Brussels.

And then, it hit me. Nobody went to George Sq. that day because of Indignados. As usual, dear UK was too focused in its little cousin U.S. and they were starting a revolution with a Guy Fawkes’ mask and putting way too much trust for my personal taste in the power of Internet.

I didn’t know it, but we were way more than I initially thought - we were sharing the same feeling!

At the time I was planning to spend one or two months in Europe before heading back home. I stayed for 14 months this time and I must say for the first six months Occupy was the main reason. I felt in love. I felt in love with my favourite cause: the possibility of… (Feel free to complete). That’s the risk!

Since no one part of the 99% is entitled to speak on behalf of Occupy movement, I don’t pretend to be the one who clears the air after 14 months of bloodthirsty media ‘whenever you feel like’ coverage. I just can say media didn’t get it as most of us are still in the process of ‘getting it’ by ourselves. Bottom line we were slandered and Occupy Glasgow in two weeks became a motive easily to regret and difficult to understand.

Things happened quite fast – during 14 days it looked actually possible, also (now I know) it looked way too easy. Media working group got an office in Glasgow city centre. Suddenly we had broadband and a place to meet MPs and every social leader coming around to show support. I started to collect business cards and suddenly I got in charge to set meetings with some locals from the Scottish Green, Socialist or National Parties.

-       What was I suppose to talk with them?

I started to feel out of my depth. At George Sq. we just agreed to support Occupy LSX Initial Statement http://occupylsx.org/?page_id=575 but MPs and social leaders were already way ahead of us: they were ready to push with us or push us towards Scottish Independence, which I totally agree with – though - I’m aware we still live in a world split in passports’ colours and last time I checked mine was still Chilean. That’s when something completely unexpected happened - I got a call from the 1% to my private mobile when I was alone in the office.

-       Hello!

-       I’m the1%

-       What?

-       I’m the 1%. Get the fuck off George Sq. you and that lot of lazy bastards!!

Call off. I wrote down immediately: text, gender, accent, and time. When everybody got back I showed them my notebook… silence. Immediately - no worries! It was a hoaxed call.

During those two weeks I took the nightshift a couple of times at the camp, always with someone who started to look like a friend to trust. We were supposed to stay up all night checking everything was ok. It was challenging. I was used to deal with homeless people – but drug/drink-addicted homeless people were a different thing. And George Sq. has always been a hot spot. During my first night - around 3 in the morning - a couple approached the kitchen tent. The kitchen tent was supposed to be closed during the day and only tea service was available for the security team. This never really worked out, so we were serving tea to anyone who approached and looked cold. That’s how I met them. She looked six months pregnant. They were really sweet. I thought they were ashamed. I prepared tea for them and we sat down to chat. Somebody offered them a tent to stay in the centre of the camp. During the next days we set apart blankets and clothes for them to have. In no time, that tent became their home.

I guess any tent occupation that started on October 15 that year was kind of a social experiment. People from diverse backgrounds and no necessarily social ties freely decided to live together in a public space. As British people like to say: we needed organization and as they like to put it – we needed Safe Space policies to organize such organization. To be honest, it was all-new for me. I didn’t know Safe Spaces Policies existed – pretty much as it took us some time as well to find out about Human Rights in Latin America. Most of times, I believed it was just common sense. Sadly, it’s not common for all of us which sense we’re talking about. Eventually, Safe Spaces policies were broken.

We had an issue at the camp - funnily enough it was hard to acknowledge. We were only few women at site and Equality was brought into the table. I was learning fast and I was so happy to have the chance to do it.

On October 22, just one week after the occupation started we decided to do a proper rally. The main goal was to get visibility so more people could get interested and join our conversation. Though people were invited at 2 pm. I was meant to be at 9 in the morning for a short meeting. I left around 10 the night before and only six people knew what time I was due the next day.

As usual I was late. One minute past 9 my mobile rang while I was having breakfast.

-       Hello!

-       It’s the 1%

-       What?

-       It’s the 1%. Where are you?

-       What?

-       Where the fuck are you in George Sq.?

Yep! This time I got afraid.

Yep! This time same gender, same accent though different voice. Immediately I called a contact in the movement. Somehow the few people who knew about the calls freaked out. In a British way… We almost didn’t talk about it.

I got worried.

-       Why me?

-       Well, I did write my mobile number in several contact lists during the first day.

-       Why me?

-       It should be easy to scare me. I was the only foreigner.

I knew only six people knew the time I was meant to be in the square. I called my mobile company. I requested information about the hoaxed calls. The lovely lady who answered my call made a mistake. She gave me the first four digits of the phone number, and then she stopped. I thought the line was broken. I asked her to repeat the full number and she said she couldn’t give it to me. I should’ve gone to the police, I should’ve done an official statement, and I should’ve waited 2 to 3 months for them to access the number information. She made a mistake.

Beautiful! – I thought. I was getting the calls and the person calling me was well protected. Though, with the four first digits I learnt something. Somebody Scottish, with a Glaswegian accent was calling me from a London landline.

I had two choices and I believe they are pretty much the only ones. Either I let someone - I didn’t even know - to tell me how I should feel or I make the decision to freely feel the way I wanted for myself. 

I attend the rally and I even said few words. https://vimeo.com/30979633

It was gorgeous! And we did well, we did more than well, we did great!

Nevertheless, the web was shrinking and I couldn’t tell who was tightening the yarns.

On October 26, she was raped. I got a phone call around 2 in the morning. It took me a while - I had too many questions.

-       A woman was raped in the camp?

-       Who?

-       How did it happen?

-       Where were you?

-       Where was security at the time?

-       Police is there?

-       Where is she going?

-       Who’s going with her?

-       Should I go now?

I couldn’t really sleep afterwards. I got up early in the morning I headed down George Sq. We went to a café. Media was gathering around and they were hungry for any tip on the scoop. Media knew something happened. They just didn’t know what. That’s our window - I thought.

I took my MP3, photo camera and mobile - all three hanging from my neck. I closed my jacket. I put my tough face. Yellow tapes surrounded the camp. A policewoman was at the entrance of her tent. A journalist with a photographic camera was trying to get info. I approached.

-       Hey!

-       Hey!

-       Who are you with?

-       Press Association. And you?

-       Chilean freelancer. What do you know?

-       Nothing yet. Police will do a statement later.

-       You’ve got the press statements contact number?

And I left. I reported back to our group. We agreed on no statements and full collaboration with the police. We didn’t agree in what I thought was common sense.

How to take care of her and her partner?

That sweet couple I offered tea the first night they arrived.

I tried the best I could. I did wrongly. I was the person who chose to use the word ‘co-inhabiting’ to explain why she was at the camp, and a friend of mine decided to write ‘alleged sexual assault’. I was one of the people who approved our first press release.

They say ‘if it bleeds it leads’ and they’re right. Fast enough everybody who hardly spent more than an hour in the camp was ready to give us a piece of their minds - their favourite weapons: facebook, twitter and finally wordpress’ blogs. I’m sure you can google these ones.

I recognize I thought I knew better. Again, I was deeply mistaken. Two weeks afterwards I was labelled as suspicious and people started to ask questions about me.

-       Was I MI5 or MI6?

-       Was I sent from Latin America to set the revolution?

-       Was I an undercover journalist leaking info to the press?

-       And my favourite one: was I an infiltrator?

From that point things stopped being just hoaxes in my perspective… We’re still in the process of ‘getting it’ by ourselves.