What a show of solidarity on such short notice. Having been a close friend of Brad's things like this make me want to cry out of joy and respect for everyone who showed up and gave Ruiz hell. THANK YOU!!!!!
ps- he was supposed to make Dallas that night, don't suppose he made it. Tee, hee

First, the good news, there was no discussion about “property damage” regarding the overturned tables outside, and the smashed glass and tables inside, from tomatoes and kicks, and that indicates a step forward for our liberal movement and the collective consciousness that will hopefully banish the brainwashing that has gone along with that sentiment since anarchists were persecuted in the 1800;s and even before.

I rarely attend a demonstration with a particular action or actions in mind, though that sometimes does occur. Except, for sure, of course, not to be corralled in a barricaded pen intended for animals or humans who have entirely surrendered their liberty. Unfortunately, the pen has become a comfortable enclosure, clearly prescribing the areas of action and observance, rather than redlined areas to be avoided by those who want to invest energy in life, rather than spectical (sp yes).

Here we are in new York City and the man responsible for the murder of a dear friend dares to visit with seeming impunity and the greatest efforts mustered were to be sign holding and yelling. Oh, my, we Americans are drowning in our comfortability he thought. Some did bring tomatoes at least, we have to start somewhere, and threw them at the walls and signs and windows of the Mexican Consulate.

There, encouraging sign, a broken window, presumably smashed the night before, when, in the dark of night, in a bold individual move, or with fellow friends in the movement, some small action was taken, a seed that sprouts and grows from within into a clearer determination to transcend ones own limitations. For all of our lives we are subject to the extreme, and studied, indoctrination of power that we are powerless. Heard at the manifestation, perhaps my gringo friends ought to ponder that term more common globally to describe a peculiar form of theatre, that critical as I may be, still subscribe to. The genre I prefer, like documentary, science fiction and action thriller are of the film world, is not with words to be framed, studied, tenured, but enacted. Like Code Pink women hurdling over police barricades and through a line of secret Service and NYPD, in an attempt to stop the President’s car for even a moment in front of the United Nations.

I just k now that I won’t be in a pen, and I will find my comfort line and go over it, and the sopng goes, “No, I won’t do What ya tell me”. Always moving barricades, trying to take the streets at sidewalk marches with a few friends, opening the way and then the grandmothers, always the grandmothers first into the street, like Fifth Avenue to Washington Square Park against the War go first before the male warriors deign to step over the curb into a liminal physical visceral space that those of us who yet hope, strive and work for that better world cannot lose sight of existing, exists even know, and why we love each other and create write make art to not forget what constantly is attempted to be erased and not only by them but by us the marshalls at parades that beat us back with guilt and arm bands to protect the most at risk they say when the people of color and poor march down Broadway without a permit right to 1 Police Plaza without a permit, never asking for a permit, saying we don’t need a permit, while in the same era the most elite of white liberals agreed to a trail of tears on the west side highway in the high heat of summer to voice our displeasure at the Iraq war, until a few, like two or three and yes friends it is that pathetic that there are so few if us determining the course of events and yet so hopeful in that yes you can act and impact the world or at least your block with a tree and told them who shall remain nameless even their acronym unsaid that unless they reversed that succumbing their offices would be taken over.

I hear a bandanaded young man tell a parent across form the consulate “don’t talk to a cop” as he was engaged with a man who had a collared shirt tucked in an a baseball cap, apparently a uniform of an undercover cop. We have so been infiltrated in our psyches that we not only police ourselves, but alienate ourselves form the very arm of power whose support we count on if the revolution were to ever come? Oh, that was just in the marxism class at an ivy league college I attended twice before dropping it so I could instead walk in the sun outside across well manicured quads, with I hope now in hindsight, integrated pest management grass care, as I rolled and loafed about in the fresh green wondering how it was that society had arranged for me and thousands of men and women my age to be entirely cut off form the rest of society. Thesis. Antithesis.

The man responsible for the murder of one of them most connected American activists in the country was going to be able to have dinner in a posh restaurant and declare Oaxaca safe for surfers and ask that more workers be allowed to visit the good ole US of A to make a few more pesos to send back for the taxes to pay for the shields and bullets and tear gas that dominated the streets alleys and scenes we saw so much of over the internets. And since he was killed, his name even why say anymore when it too will soon be dragged into hollywood, a badge of honor for those of us left who have done absolutely nothing but complain, maybe cry, if we even have that in us, and when I say cry, I mean when we are alone, not in a church of all places in front of hundreds, but when we are alone, by ourselves, if we leave that time still, and just cry and the life the love so fervent, gone.
Nothing they have done, of course there has been an effort to contact congress people, politicians they are called, people even going to DC, the heart of hypocrisy, to seek to impact the process now, aftermath, murder, maybe justice, when those even in DC surely don’t believe in jail, and maybe don’t believe in revenge, though it was sprayed across the consulate one night in another of the actions that a few humans engage in to see how alive they really are, not for an external response, but merely as writing on the wall. Avenge it said.

Maybe too, they read one or two of the emails from others who were in Oaxaca, or went down there after in a sort of progressive pilgrimage so that the footsteps of one of us were not erased. But it wasn’t Leonard Dicaprio, or Al Gore, or some activist from the other side of the world visiting NYC, but one of their own here in the big apple, and they didn’t bother to open the email or the ten others that came afterwards. They don’t know that two people could get a Congressmember to write a letter asking for an investigation, they don’t know that it wasn’t even to letters that got the senator to wrote, but one selfless human rights activist chronicaling murders and massacres across south America who et with sincere friends of our friend murder who knows someone in the senators office and that’s how it is done. So few of us should I write that, so pathetic, but those who know already know and maybe some 20 something year olde will come next with a few more words of wisdom before my coevals are all in academia, or in the media or out on a farm without internet and with fresh water over 200 miles away from a nuclear power fgcility putting it all into practice. The collared man said there is a bag of rotten tomatos there behind you, let’s throw them and see who is a cop. The young man demure said they are too soft. The collared man said if you have something else, share it, otherwise we have to start somewhere. A few of those letters, a hearing or two, and maybe millions of dollars less in military aid is sent somewhere, a few bullets less at least that may kill our comrades, a few dollars less to pay someone to follow us off the airport and into the ghettos or countrysides.

In stressing fictionality, Aristotle is reacting against Plato's assumption that the poet is a truth - teller who tells lies, and hence is to be condemned and banished from the ideal republic. This is the famous theme of Book 10 of Plato's Republic. For Plato, poetic mimesis does indeed capture the apearance of things - this is the poet's skill - but these appearances may render persons and actions attractive and acceptable which are ethically repugnant. Hence they are dangerous and ought to be controlled or proscribed. This is doubly so because the encounter with poetry takes place in the context of performance (oral recitation or dramatic enactment), the theatrical qualities of which may effect a bypass of the audience's understanding and make direct connection with the audience's (baser) feelings. A painter's trompe l'oeil effects are of relatively trivial ethical concern; the poet's ability to mislead the heart is, to Plato, of enormous ethical moment since it threatens the role and effectiveness of a properly philosophical education aimed at an understanding of reality, the forms manifest in the appearances of life.

They gather in an appeal to the baser emotions the most remembral visual I retain was of a woman in black with a bandana on a mao hat running after a cab in the middle of Madison avenue, a deliberately menacing costume that seemed to further a great divide between any and all. I was struck by a realization that we Americans prefer the pursuit of happiness rather than the attainment, for facing directly what we want, or fear, would require a heart and stability of presence that has perhaps been terrorized out of almost all of us, and instead the animal stretching of limbs and rapid breathing associated with the chase, or sexual intercourse, a healthy kind also particularly absent in activist circles, that preempted even the consideration of the possibility of success. For success would then require a wholly other level of attention and responsibility, over time, not a one night stand. I mean, the diplomats were in the restaurant, surrounded, right there, where all of us were, to chase them was not merely absurd, but unecessary, and until the police created the spectacle, most of the attendees were complacent enough to stand on the sidewalk peeping through the windows, when the shutters were wide open and the door was unlocked.
And the only energy into this cadaver of a manifestation came from a handful of people that noticed this, and acted. One walked right through the front door on the avenue and asked to go to the bathroom, and olde an trusted technique, I would imagine that his shirt too was tucked in for the moment, and though escorted on either side by a waiter, saw the table of twenty or so diners, and tomato in his pocket, purchased at a local bodega, let loose with a palipitating heart and empahtic ya basta, with a crescendo of broken glass across the well laid and unmovable feast and yelps and screams. He was raked across his face by a waiter who said he was now going to jail, though a maitre d escorted him, arms behind his back to the door and out again he jetted into the sunlight of freedom where he melted into the crowd. While that fit was occurring, the side door was jammed open by some while security attempted to close it. They were told that a gentleman in the establishment was responsible for the murder of a dear friend, and that, no we cannot allow this door to be closed, but just tell him to come out and speak with us.

The security rushed away from the door when the tomato crashed the party and, after a reporter got out of the way, more folks held the door open and people rushed in to the restaurant, after all the man responsible for the murder of a friend was, or at least might be in there, why are we all just chanting and shouting on the sidewalk? He kicked over a table before being tackled and grabbed by half a dozen burly men, as he resisted just enough to not be hurt, too much, they again tried to slam the door shut, and swung. One of the guards was grabbed, after he swung, and was dragged out into the middle of the crowd, however obsequious and docile a crowd is always intimidating and the potential for spontaneous action remains, and his buttons flew off, before he retreated back into the restaurant, suffering a few kicks to the shin and pokes to the face that allowed others to slip away.

Tables were overturned and chairs flipped over by one or two people, while the rest of the morass watched glaze eyed.
I wondered why do people come to these things? Ah, catharsis, as aristotle outlined, and participating in the ritual….
More to come

You can read in La Jornada about the protesta. According to La Jornada, Ruiz was not present, just "representantes."

 http://www.jornada.unam.mx/2007/08/19/index.php?section=politica&article=012n1pol



Cancelan conferencia de tres gobernadores mexicanos por la protesta en NY
Manifestantes sitiaron en EU a representantes de Ulises Ruiz

DAVID BROOKS

Nueva York, 18 de agosto. Representantes del gobernador de Oaxaca, junto con otros tres mandatarios estatales mexicanos que realizan una gira de trabajo aquí, fueron sitiados esta tarde por manifestantes, quienes denunciaban las acciones represivas de Ulises Ruiz.

Mientras comían en un restaurante a media cuadra del consulado de México en Nueva York, los gobernadores y sus representantes fueron sorprendidos por unos 50 manifestantes que acudieron a las afueras de establecimiento. Ante esto, los funcionarios decidieron no concurrir a una conferencia de prensa que habían citado en el consulado esta tarde, ni asistir a una reunión con algunos líderes de la comunidad mexicana que ahí los esperaban.

Sospechando que el gobernador Ruiz se encontraba en la comitiva, los manifestantes llegaron al consulado desde la mañana del sábado para protestar contra las acciones represivas en ese entidad. De hecho, muy temprano alguien destrozó las puertas de vidrio de la puerta principal (no se sabe quién fue el responsable o si estaba vinculado con los manifestantes), y aparecieron carteles contra Ruiz en la entrada. En la tarde, los manifestantes se concentraron en mayor número para esperar la llegada de la comitiva de gobernadores y representantes.

Pero alguien se dio cuenta que dicho grupo estaba comiendo en Salute, un restaurante italiano a la esquina de la Calle 39 y la Avenida Madison, y la mayoría de los manifestantes se trasladó ahí, sitiando a los gobernadores y a sus acompañantes.

Entonces, por "razones de seguridad", los gobernadores fueron obligados a cancelar la conferencia de prensa. A la vez, algunos líderes de la comunidad que habían llegado al consulado a reunirse con los gobernadores mostraron irritación por la cancelación de la cita debido al mitin.

Ante esto, la policía de Nueva York debió intervenir tanto en el consulado como en el restaurante, donde establecieron una valla para apartar a los manifestantes de la entrada. Finalmente una camioneta del consulado pasó frente a la entrada del restaurante donde, con la escolta de la policía municipal, lograron salir los gobernadores y sus equipos, entre ellos representantes de Ruiz.

Los funcionarios realizan una gira por cinco ciudades estadunidenses, incluida Nueva York, como parte de las acciones de la comisión de migración de la Conferencia Nacional de Gobernadores (Conago), con el propósito de establecer y fortalecer vínculos de trabajo con las comunidades connacionales y los consulados mexicanos. También intentan promover el respeto a los derechos humanos de los migrantes y reconocer sus contribuciones económicas y sociales en ambos países, según se comunicó oficialmente. Versiones oficiales y en los medios, informarón que Ruiz sería integrante de esta comitiva, pero en Nueva York sólo aparecieron sus representantes.

Los gobernadores que se encuentran en esta ciudad son Juan Manuel Oliva Ramírez, de Guanajuato; Amalia García Medina, de Zacatecas, y Jesús Silverio Cavazos Cevallos, de Colima.

English-language coverage largely based on the La Jornada article is available at:

 http://www.ww4report.com/node/4318

I mean, I agree with the sentiment- to hell with the protest pen, take the street- but the author is such a laughably ponderous, over-intellectualized, language-mangling lefty megalomaniac "warrior," that he just makes me wanna gag. Take the fucking street, yes, absolutely. How about getting out of your head for a second while you're at it?

Hi,I live in Oaxaca city, thanks you.
Oaxaca VIVE!!!

 http://mnn.blip.tv/file/350631/

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Hi, as a disgruntled former employee of Salute Restaurant ( http://www.salutenyc.com/). I was very impressed by your actions of several days ago.

Salute is a horrible place in which to work. They treat their employees like dirt. Is it possible for you to return soon and really give it a
going over? Strike a blow for labor justice in NYC!