AMAZING THINGS HAPPEN IN A CRUCIBLE

BY AARON BOWERSOCK

Thursday morning, the final day of the Democratic National Convention, I woke up believing the day would be uneventful… because I really don’t know anything, you guys.

I got a late start because, well, every night at the DNC in Philadelphia lasted until about 3am. The friends I stayed with at an Air B&B were long gone, on their way to a wedding in California, (put a pin in that state, we’re coming back to it), and I was busy writing up the previous day’s recap.

A vigilant twitter friend notified me to an event called, “One Nation Now: Winning the Fight Against Racism and Greed,” featuring Nina Turner, Rosario Dawson, Shailene Woodley, and more. Y’know, Bernie’s heavy hitters.

I headed to city-center to drop my stuff off at my new place for the night- a good friend’s cousin was gracious enough to let me stay for my final night of my Philadelphia trip. With my backpack with built-in charger (and two extra battery packs, camera, and selfie stick) I was ready to head to the Pennsylvania Convention Center to stream the event. It was about a 12 minute walk- so pretty easy. Plus- I got to see some amazing architecture!

I found the correct entrance, but was immediately denied because of my backpack. Bummer.

[UNEVENTFULNESS INTENSIFIES]

Thanks to my good friend, @i_am_thechange, I got to watch the livestream, anyway, from a Starbucks down the block.

[STARBUCKS INTENSIFIES]

I waited. I waited. I waited for my friends to come downstairs. I went to the bathroom and then I waited. When the session finally let out, we decided to get some pho.

The six of us sat in this restaurant, making uninspired small talk about the ingredients in Vietnamese meat loaf, when Rachel, aka RaRa got a notification that her friend inside the Convention was livestreaming on Facebook.

Eden McFadden was a Bernie delegate from California and was reporting on our hard-earned delegates being denied their seats within the convention. Hillary Clinton’s campaign had hired seat fillers to ensure the audience, when shown to home viewers, always looked excited! But Thursday they had something different in mind.

Eden reported that these seat fillers had now reserved seats a full two hours before the delegates were instructed to arrive, and if a seat filler claims a seat, a delegate no longer had the right to it.

[BECOMING THE MEDIA INTENSIFIES]

We knew we had to act right then, using whatever platform and voice we had. Six of us in a pho restaurant desperately trying to get the truth out, amidst a fascist media stranglehold.

We tweeted and shared via text and facebook. Her streaming continued, giving more details of her ongoing experience.

I gotta admit… at this point, I was at a loss for words. Well not really, I remember saying “motherfucker, goddammit,” and “what the fuck can we do?”

There were six of us here, and I’m sure many more sharing from home, but I still felt so powerless to help our delegates. Just… pinned.

Typically, I try to stay positive and understanding about everything, but I just took to heart the struggle they faced inside- a struggle just to be seen and heard as the Democratic Machine tried to edit them out of history in an effort to feign party unity.

But this uneventful day was leading me to feel more demoralized, demeaned, and defeated than I’ve felt in years.

Enter, the Indomitable Kshama Sawant

We commiserated as we walked to our next event, “Social Convergence- After the DNC: Which way forward for the movement?” with a panel that featured Kshama Sawant, among many other very impressive individuals, but the commiseration wasn’t helping. It felt like I was just saying things to say things, just to give me something to do. (Sorry, Ra Ra, I really did appreciate your company!)

We settled in, I fired up the livestream on periscope, and the panelists started sharing their stories. Gayle McLaughlin (Richmond Progressive Alliance) was impressive! She’d been a two-term Mayor turned city council member whose town of Richmond, WV brought suit against Chevron. Chevron! I was seeing some hope.

Then RaRa nudged me with her phone and showed me our video was up to around 30,000 views. Not bad for an hour or so. We high fived.

The Indomitable Kshama Sawant, Seattle’s first Socialist city council member, and champion of the “Fight For 15,” was up next. And she brought the roof down. It was a very old building, so I hope it’s insured.

She shared a tale of when she first ran while utilizing the organization she founded, Socialist Alternative, as a means to help her campaign. When she won the election, members of the Democratic Party establishment came into her office and told her nothing she proposed would ever get passed. A few weeks (or was it months?) after the election, the unprecedented $15 minimum wage was passed in Seattle by unanimous decision.

We were pumped.

RaRa nudged me again. 75,000 views. Maybe we were onto something.

The panel continued, and we made our way to the Q&A portion, and of course when they gave the microphone to the people and ask for questions or statements directed toward the panelists, some people used it to speak out about how wifi and cell phones are giving people tumors. Anyway…

At the end of the Q&A/Tumor portion we hit 120,000 views! And then a twitter friend shared this screenshot with me.

I probably got someone at C-SPAN fired. (Then again… this is the Clintons we’re talking about. RIP.)

What you’re seeing is my tweet making it to a global feed of C-SPAN’s coverage of the Democratic National Convention; a façade they carefully crafted to eliminate the voices and evidence of protestors. Yet there it is- plain as day sharing the voice of the suppressed delegates inside.

300,000 views.

I was elated! Our work, our little voices were heard, shared, and the delegates’ plights were being broadcast to the world! What we do matters.

Hundreds of police lined the fence, shoulder to shoulder.

At night, things got interesting. The police presence was higher than ever because there was a walk-out planned to begin when the Queen’s speech commenced. A thousand of us waited at the fence erected outside the Wells Fargo Center… well as close as we could get to the fence, anyway. Hundreds of police lined the fence, shoulder to shoulder, keeping us away. As the night wore on, provocateurs began their work. We also learned our delegates were not allowed to leave until the speech was over. While many people abandoned the charade and didn’t show up that night, a good number chose to find a way to protest.

Since the DNC was taking their signs, in clear violation of their first amendment rights, the delegates self organized with Day-Glo yellow shirts reading “Enough is enough!” and featuring a special Bernie dove. When the lights went out, they discovered black lights were turned on for a “card stunt” meant for the tv audience, and something amazing and serendipitous happened.

Stars shine brightest in the darkest night…

Our Stars, Eden McFadden and Marcia Martin, CA (Credit to Eden)

Star and kindred spirit, Millie Kennedy, WA (Credit to Millie)

The yellow protest shirts glowed under black light. The DNC was now highlighting our activists.

That was a pleasant surprise, but while we were proud of their protest, we were disgusted by the situation that forced the move… and the energy out here was changing.

Cops were still calm at this point, but forceful and numerous.

But then these guys were brought in to show that they mean business.

The police pushed us further from the fence, using their bicycles as a moving barricade between us and them. Someone with a megaphone shouted “the police are looking for any reason to act. They are surrounding us. Do not give them a reason. Stay away from the perimeter if you do not want to be pepper sprayed.” Sound advice, anyway. That’s a joke about megaphones.

Self-described anarchists began calling for a “Citizen’s arrest of Hillary Clinton for crimes against humanity!” Then they supposedly intended to begin the burning of the flag- protected as free speech, I might add.

[MISINFORMATION INTENSIFIES]

We started to hear rumors that our delegates were finally being released at a structure in Philadelphia’s FDR Park, called The Boathouse. It was a giant, stone building supported by humungous arches and domes. At first, the entire group began marching there, but were distracted when police headed back to the first spot. “Anarchists” were the reason, not delegates. Ugh. So now our group was split. People were packing it up, and our numbers were dissipating. More discouragement and frustration. Just let us see them!

We felt like they were playing with us. I met one woman, Eileen, who offered a pretty good reasoning: it would only harm the DNC to offer any opportunity for us to defy their call for “unity” on their most precious night, and delegates actively protesting in the streets wouldn’t look good plastered all over the internet.

I interviewed a few protestors with connections to delegates and heard some harrowing accounts. In order to prevent a massive delegate demonstration, they corralled people like cattle into the subway under the cover of nightfall, and didn’t let them off until they were too far away to walk back. Those riot police we saw? Some of them were used to usher delegates away in this manner. Very deflated and disappointed, we made our way to The Boathouse, leaving the bad energy of the “Anarchists,” and joining our Bernie family. And we were BACK, BABY!

Thanks to a rousing speech by Yahne Ndgo (Yah-nay En-dee-go), one of the most prominent faces of “Bernie or Bust,” the crowd came alive. We began to envision what the future would become, and we began to understand that Bernie was only one man, not the movement. The establishment powers were used to quelling campaign excitement by destroying its candidate, but here we were- proof that this was no ordinary campaign and with a unified vision, we do not rely on a single leader. Yahne reminded us of a very important lesson: when you are dealing with negativity, abuse, and people trying to tear you down, just keep working, keep building, keep creating, and to follow Bernie’s lead in “being a beacon of light.” You really must watch her speech here.

We had found a little bit of hope.

Around 1am, refreshed and beginning to make peace with our situation, we made our way to the park entrance, which happened to be where we had waited so many times in vain. When we got to the entrance, yet another rumor of delegates was spreading. And, as Lewis Black says, “Like an Alzheimer’s patient” we decided to give this another shot.

But hold on…

Appearing through the darkness, one by one… were shining stars. Our shining stars- the delegates! I can only describe the feeling as meeting a long lost friend for the first time. There was an instant sense of compassion and understanding, and our emotions poured out without barriers. It was love. I’d never met a single one of them, but they were not strangers, they were my family.

We hugged and danced with each other in the rain! We were happy, relieved, and free.

And of course we wanted to hear about their experiences. We heard their heart-wrenching stories: so similar and so intense.

We were called everything- from ‘complete filth,’ to ‘racists,’ to ‘sexists,’ to ‘assholes,’ to ‘complete fuckin’ idiots.’ Everything you could think of from the Hillary delegation, then the same day turn around and say, ‘why don’t you unify around Hillary Clinton?’” ~Gabriel Rossi Silva, TX (Watch video, skip to 15:50)

Gabriel’s story was, unfortunately, not unique.

“This was the most fucked up four days of my life,” ~Yamuna Roland, CA

Yamuna was surprised by how many Hillary supporters made abusive comments to her about Bernie supporters… assuming she was for Hillary because she’s black.

Delegate after delegate, we heard stories of physical and emotional abuse, and we responded with pure love.

But Yamuna continued with another constant, “We felt your energy. You kept us motivated. [And during the speech] She knew she wasn’t winning you over. And she knew she wasn’t winning us!”

Delegate after delegate, we heard stories of physical and emotional abuse, and we responded with pure love. Love at first sight that that had been welling up in our hearts from our shared struggle and experience. Our odd connection though being disconnected. On the inherent trust we had in them to fight in there, Gabriel echoed, “we know that you were out here, every single day, fighting for us, and we were in there fighting for you.”

The delegates joined the protestors for a rally at The Boathouse. This was Our Revolution, united.

The venue of Our Revolution was not paid for by The Billionaires.

We shared ideas and calls to action, stories from inside and out, outpouring our love for, and support of each other.

THIS is unity.

I want you to really look at this picture. I want you to tell me- does this young woman look broken or defeated… or does she look like she’s going to destroy the next thing that gets in her way? We shared stories of our losses and our victories. We shared lessons learned on either side of DNC’s fence. We started to plan our next moves- mere hours and footsteps away from a battle that was supposed to wipe us out.

Amazing things happen in a crucible. We are strong. We are inspired. We are unified. We’ve been forged into something new, and there is no going back or giving up.

I love you all and thank you from the bottom of my heart for creating a community I’ve never experienced before.

-Aaron