Rights to Riot
2003-11-17 @ 9:20 a.m.
The "Red Zone", Downtown, week-long evacuations of schools and buildings and of anyone who feels threatened. I lie in the "Orange Zone", no evacuations here, but my biology teacher tells us my school's science wing could very possibly be attacked and raided for ingredients with which to make explosives.
I live blocks away from my school.
And I still display my Anti-FTAA flyer on the front of my school binder.
Police officers swarm about and call upon Riot Control when they suspect someone would threaten public safety, as if it isn't threatened every day -Anarchists?! Fuck, they're just two kids from the local art school getting coffee at a Cuban cafe.
Riding the metro, people asking for spare change -they need to break a twentry to get on-, and they pass out bright papers from their ornately decorated hands -that one had rings on every ringer. Flyers litter the ground -shows how much we care for our rights and causes worthy of our time-, and they're scribbled with phone numbers and graffiti and useless crap. Lets read what they were intended to read, shall we? Lets look past the random pen scratchings and ink smudges and random stains and rips. One reads:
People standing in the streets, stopping traffic.
Sometimes we don't need to speak in order to be heard.
Here, have a flyer. It'll do more good in your metal-chilled hands than beneath your feet.
everything © Claudia (2003-2008)