ACCIONES DE SOLIDARIDAD MUNDIAL CON EL MOVIMIENTO POPULAR DE OAXACA

Comunicado del Ejército Zapatista de Liberación Nacional
Acciones de solidaridad con el movimiento popular de Oaxaca para los días 19, 20 y 21 de noviembre
Rebelión


Compañeras y compañeros del mundo
Hermanas y hermanos adherentes a la Zezta Internazional
La represión y las amenazas contra el movimiento popular legítimo de Oaxaca continúan, razón por la que la Comisión Intergaláctica del EZLN redobla su llamado para realizar acciones pacíficas de protesta frente a embajadas y consulados mexicanos, bloqueos, marchas, plantones, mítines y cualquier otra acción en apoyo a la Asamblea Popular de los Pueblos de Oaxaca (APPO), este 20 de noviembre, o alrededor de esta fecha.
Exijamos tod@s junt@s la salida inmediata del ejército mexicano y la policía preventiva, la libertad inmediata de l@s compañer@s detenid@s, justicia por l@s compañer@s asesinad@s y castigo a los asesinos, y la salida inmediata del asesino Ulises Ruiz.
Hermanos y hermanas.

Acuérdense que nuestra fuerza unida es la principal arma que tenemos para demostrar que los pueblos no estamos solos, y que así serán nuestros pasos solidarios a lo largo de nuestra lucha.

A continuación les informamos sobre algunas de las acciones de solidaridad con el movimiento popular de Oaxaca programadas en diferentes ciudades del mundo para los días 19, 20 y 21 de noviembre. Les ofrecemos una disculpa, pues seguramente no están todas las movilizaciones registradas y, al mismo tiempo, les pedimos que nos apoyen para completar la información, con el fin de que tod@s podamos saber lo que estamos haciendo en nuestros lugares y que la frase “no están solos” es consigna y hecho.

Finalmente, anexamos un reporte de las movilizaciones por Oaxaca registradas del 29 de octubre al 18 de noviembre. En este periodo tenemos información sobre 100 diferentes acciones de solidaridad con el movimiento popular de Oaxaca, en 62 ciudades de 22 países del mundo.

¡Oaxaca no está sola!
¡Tod@s a movilizarnos este 20 de noviembre!

PRÓXIMAS MOVILIZACIONES
19 de noviembre, Estados Unidos
Gran Marcha en Solidaridad con el pueblo de Oaxaca, convocada por la APPO-Los Ángeles, a partir de las 9:30 am (1321 S. Mariposa, Esq. con la Avenida Pico). “Organízate y apoya a los maestros y al pueblo de Oaxaca. Tu ayuda es urgente. El heroico pueblo de Oaxaca necesita hoy más que nunca nuestra solidaridad. Participa”, invitan desde California.
19 de noviembre, Canadá
Respondiendo al llamado de acción urgente, en solidaridad con el pueblo de Oaxaca y como adherentes de la Otra Campaña, La Otra Montreal organiza una marcha por el centro de la ciudad, además de un festival artístico-festivo con proyección de videos, debate y organización local para contrarrestar el cerco informativo de los medios corporativos, denunciar la represión y mostrar su solidaridad con los pueblos en lucha.
20 de noviembre, Canadá
En respuesta al llamado de solidaridad que hacen nuestros compañeros y hermanos del EZLN hacia la Asamblea Popular de los Pueblos de Oaxaca (APPO), La Otra Vancouver, en coordinación con los compañeros del Comité de Toronto en Solidaridad con Latinoamérica y La Otra Montreal, realizará un mitin político con información actualizada sobre la lucha de Oaxaca . La cita es en la Galería de Arte de Vancouver de 6.00 a 8.00 pm.
20 de noviembre, Estado Español
En Valencia se convoca a un plantón de 24 horas frente al consulado de México en esta ciudad (-C/convent de Santa Clara) de las 8 horas del día 20 a las 8 horas del día 21. El llamado viene de la Comisión Confederal de Solidaritat amb Chiapas de la CGT y el
Col.lectiu Zapatista "El Caragol".
20 de noviembre, Estado Español
Jornada de Solidaridad con la Revolución social en Oaxaca, en Cataluña. La cita es en la Plaça del Diamant en el barrio de Gràcia, en Barcelona, a las 19 horas. Habrá charlas, videos y actuaciones....hermanando la memoria de las revoluciones mexicana, la del 36 y las rebeliones actuales. Convoca el Col.lectiu de Solidaritat amb la Rebel.lio Zapatista
20 de noviembre, Argentina
Manifestación de repudio a los hechos violentos y represivos de Oaxaca y Atenco. Presencia en las puertas de la embajada de México, repudiando a su vez el accionar de los medios de desinformación, como Televisa y TV Azteca. La cita es a las 18 horas, en Virrey del Pino y Cabildo, para caminar hasta Arcos, donde está la embajada mexicana. Convoca grupo Caminantes y Red de Solidaridad con Chiapas-Vicente López.
Una manifestación más frente a la representación diplomática mexicana es convocada por el Colectivo La Llanura.
20 de noviembre, Argentina
Acción de solidaridad y difusión sobre la problemática de Oaxaca en Mar de Plata. “Por la resistencia del pueblo y contra la represión asesina de Vicente Fox y Ulises Ruiz.
El encuentro es a las 3 de la tarde en frente de la Catedral: Habrá performances callejeros, radio abierta, difusión de la problemática con música y arte. Llevar cosas para pintar y para hacer ruido....
20 de noviembre, Italia
Desde Roma se suman a las acciones internacionales en apoyo al pueblo de Oaxaca. “Queremos participar en la huelga metropolitana y sostener la huelga general anunciada por el EZLN por el 20 noviembre”, anuncia Ya Basta! Moltitudia.
21 de noviembre, Chile
Proyección de la recopilación de videos de la resistencia oaxaqueña, frente a la coordinadora de Ciencias Sociales y el Casino, en la Universidad de Concepción.
21 de noviembre, Estado Español
Video y debate...Oaxaca en Lucha. La cita es las 19,30 horas, en el salón de Actos del Ateneo de Madrid.
Organiza: Ateneo de Madrid-Sección de Ciencias Jurídicas y Políticas, con la colaboración del Foro Social de Madrid.
REPORTE DE ACCIONES DEL 29 DE OCTUBRE AL 18 DE NOVIEMBRE

Países: Alemania, Argentina, Australia, Austria, Brasil, Canadá, Chile, Estado Español, Estados Unidos, Finlandia, Francia, Grecia, Italia, Nueva Zelanda, País Vasco, Perú, Puerto Rico, Reino Unido, Suiza, Uruguay, Turquía, Venezuela.

Ciudades: Berlín, Hamburgo, Munich, Frankfurt, Buenos Aires, Córdoba, Mar de Plata, Canberra, Melbourne, Viena, Brasilia, Fortalezza, Porto Alegre, Sao Paulo, Belo Horizonte, Montreal, Vancouver, Concepción, Santiago, Barcelona, Madrid, Salamanca, Valencia, Austin, Boston, Chicago, Houston, Kansas, Los Angeles, Miami, Nueva York, Filadelfia, Pórtland, San Antonio, San Diego, San Francisco, Seattle, Tucson, Washington, Worcester, Helsinki, Lyon, Paris, Toulouse, Atenas, Florencia, Milan, Nápoles, Pisa, Roma, Wellington, Bilbao, Iruñea, Arequipa, Puno, Lima, San Juan, Londres, Ginebra, Estambul, Montevideo, Caracas.

18 de noviembre, Estado Español
“Paella Internacionalista” por Oaxaca en Valencia. Organizan la Comisión Confederal de Solidaridad con Chiapas de la CGT y el Col.lectiu Zapatista "El Caragol", en el marco de las jornadas en solidaridad con el movimiento social oaxaqueño, convocadas por la Comisión Intergaláctica del EZLN.

17 de noviembre, Italia
En el marco de las movilizaciones de solidaridad con el pueblo de Oaxaca impulsadas por la Comisión Intergaláctica del EZLN, distintas agrupaciones realizaron un plantón frente al Consulado General de México en Milán, Italia. También enviaron un comunicado en donde muestran su indignación por la intervención de las fuerzas federales en el conflicto de Oaxaca.

16 de noviembre, Chile
Concentración frente a la embajada de México en Santiago, en protesta por la represión al pueblo oaxaqueño y en solidaridad con la APPO.

16 de noviembre, País Vasco
Charla en Bilbao, a cargo de Fátima Ojeda representante de la Liga Mexicana por la Defensa de los Derechos Humanos de Oaxaca (LIMEDDH) sobre la situación que vive el pueblo de Oaxaca.

15 de noviembre, Argentina
Charla-debate en la facultad de Filosofía y Letras de la Universidad de Buenos Aires: “La revolución mexicana y la insurrección de Oaxaca”.

14 de noviembre, Estado Español
Interrupción de un acto en el que participaría el embajador mexicano en Madrid. Manifestantes irrumpieron en el Instituto Ortega y Gasset como protesta por la creciente represión en contra del pueblo oaxaqueño. Una de las pancartas que llevaban decía: “Ciudad Juárez, Oaxaca, Atenco. ¿Normalidad democrática?”.

14 de noviembre, Estado Español
Manifestación en Madrid en solidaridad con Oaxaca. La marcha de protesta partió desde el Ministerio de Asuntos Exteriores a la embajada de México.

13 de noviembre, Estados Unidos.
Protesta frente al consulado mexicano en Nueva York en solidaridad con los maestros de Oaxaca.

12 de noviembre, Estado Español
Más de un millar de personas se manifestaron en Barcelona en solidaridad con el pueblo de Oaxaca. Participó en esta marcha la recién creada Asamblea de apoyo al pueblo de Oaxaca, conformada por mexicanos y mexicanas residentes en Barcelona, colectivos apoyo a la Rebelión zapatista así como sindicatos, organizaciones, partidos y movimientos sociales de esta ciudad.

10 de noviembre, Italia
La ira de Frida Kahlo. Decenas de personas interrumpieron los festejos oficiales por el centenario del nacimiento de la pintora Frida Kahlo, en Roma. Los manifestantes –quienes tenían pintura roja en sus ropas- enseñaron una enorme pancarta que decía “La ira de Frida, si Frida viviera con Oaxaca y Atenco estuviera!". Esto como parte de las movilizaciones convocadas a nivel internacional para apoyar al movimiento social oaxaqueño.


10 de noviembre, Argentina
Escrache al consulado de México en Córdoba. Más de 50 personas de distintos colectivos acudieron al llamado para solidarizarse con el pueblo de Oaxaca y repudiar a los gobiernos de Fox y Ulises Ruiz. Se colocaron carteles en el acceso el edificio del Consulado con la leyenda “independencia 812. Peligro de muerte. Gobierno Mexicano”. Posteriormente en la Plaza San Martín se proyectaron videos informativos sobre Oaxaca.


9 de noviembre, Estado Español
Campamento y mesa de información permanente en el centro universitario FES, en Salamanca. Miembros de la plataforma de Solidaridad con Oaxaca de esta ciudad acamparon en este centro universitario donde se realizarán distintas asambleas de la plataforma. También se organizó un video forum en la facultad de ciencias sociales.

9 de noviembre, Argentina
Proyección de documentales sobre la represión, y la lucha del pueblo de Oaxaca, en Córdoba.

9 de noviembre, Brasil
Por segunda vez en menos de una semana en la ciudad de Porto Alegre se vivió una movilización en solidaridad con la lucha del pueblo de Oaxaca. En esta ocasión la marcha llegó hasta el recinto de la Feria del Libro en donde los manifestantes denunciaron el silencio de los medios masivos de su país ante los graves acontecimientos en Oaxaca.

9 de noviembre, Brasil
Batucada y homenaje a Brad Will en Belo Horizonte. En un acto convocado frente a la oficina de relaciones exteriores en Minas Gerais, los manifestantes entregaron una carta denunciando los actos represivos en Oaxaca por parte del gobierno mexicano. Difundieron información y homenajearon al reportero de Indymedia asesinado.

8 de noviembre, Estado Español
Marcha silenciosa por el centro de la ciudad de Salamanca. Los participantes en esta manifestación de repudio ante la represión en contra del pueblo de Oaxaca, sellaron sus bocas con cinta negra en forma de aspa y dejaron hablar a sus pancartas.

8 de noviembre, Estado Español
Acción directa en el consulado honorífico de México en Valencia. Los manifestantes colgaron en la cristalería del consulado fotografías de l@s desaparecid@s durante la represión gubernamental en Oaxaca, exigiendo su presentación con vida. Reiteraron ante el cónsul su preocupación por los hechos recientes en Oaxaca.

7 de noviembre, Brasil
Acto “Anti-ocultamiento” mediático en solidaridad con la lucha del pueblo oaxaqueño en Porto Alegre. Decenas de personas se reunieron en frente de la prefectura local, en apoyo a Oaxaca y en protesta por el bloqueo informativo impuesto por los medios mexicanos y brasileños.

6 de noviembre, Australia
Marcha y protesta en Melbourne en solidaridad con México y el pueblo de Oaxaca.

6 de noviembre, Venezuela
Payasos frente a la embajada de México, en Caracas. La llamada "Columna Insurreccionalista de Payasos Anarquistas (CIPA)", compuesta en su mayoría por jóvenes, realizaron la acción en solidaridad con el movimiento social oaxaqueño vestidos de payasos. Realizaron bromas y juegos durante más de dos horas como protesta por la represión en Oaxaca.

6 de noviembre, Canadá
Plantón frente al “Espacio México” en Canadá. Manifestantes colocaron pancartas y distribuyeron información sobre la represión contra el pueblo Oaxaqueño en las oficinas de este espacio, dependiente de la representación diplomática mexicana en este país.

6 de noviembre, Argentina
Más de 300 personas de distintos colectivos se manifestaron en Buenos Aires frente a la embajada mexicana para repudiar los recientes actos de represión y hostigamiento que viven la APPO y el pueblo de Oaxaca. Durante el acto se hizo pública la conformación de una Coordinación de Apoyo al Pueblo de Oaxaca que agrupa a diferentes colectivos.

5 de noviembre, Turquía
Protesta frente al consulado mexicano en Estambul. Los manifestantes arrojaron huevos a la fachada de la sede diplomática en repudio a la represión policíaca en Oaxaca. Participaron miembros de Indymedia-Estambul y colectivos anarquistas de esta ciudad.

5 de noviembre, Estado Español
“Cacerolada” en Salamanca por Oaxaca. Al ritmo de tambores, cazuelas, cazos, cucharas y tapaderas, los manifestantes coreaban consignas como “Oaxaca no es cuartel, fuera ejército de él” y “Oaxaca vive, la lucha sigue”. El acto tuvo lugar en la Plaza de la Constitución en esta ciudad.

5 de noviembre, Estados Unidos
Marcha de protesta exigiendo justicia en Oaxaca y la salida de la PFP. Una decena de manifestantes fueron seguidos de cerca por unas 7 patrullas de la policía local durante el recorrido de la marcha por las calles de San Diego, California.

5 de noviembre, Perú
Acción directa por Oaxaca con fotos de pintas repudiando la represión gubernamental.

5 de noviembre, Francia
Difusión de material sobre la lucha del pueblo de Oaxaca y la represión del gobierno federal en una casa “ocupa” en París.

4 de noviembre País Vasco
Protesta en contra de la represión en Oaxaca en Iruñea. Durante la manifestación la Policía Nacional arrebató una pancarta en la que se leía “Gobierno Mexicano Asesino”. Posteriormente los convocantes fueron demandados por “injuriar a un gobierno extranjero”.

4 de noviembre, Uruguay
Vigilia y protesta en repudio a la presencia de Vicente Fox en Uruguay y en contra de la represión gubernamental en contra del pueblo de Oaxaca. La protesta se llevó a cabo frente a la embajada de México, en Montevideo. Durante el acto fueron detenid@s tres compañer@s por la policía local.

4 de noviembre, Alemania
Decenas de personas se reunieron en el centro de Berlín para denunciar los hechos represivos en Oaxaca, y para pedir la salida inmediata de la PFP.

3 y 4 de noviembre, Francia
Protestas en el Centro Cultural Mexicano con sede en París, institución dependiente de la embajada mexicana. Una treintena de personas se manifestaron el día 3 de noviembre frente a estas instalaciones y pidieron proyectar información sobre Oaxaca. La solicitud fue contestada con el arribo de la Policía. El día 4 los manifestantes nuevamente realizaron una protesta en el lugar

3 de noviembre, Canadá.
Manifestación frente al consulado mexicano en la ciudad de Vancouver en protesta por el intento de desalojo en Radio Universidad de Oaxaca. A la protesta llegaron decenas de ciudadanos canadienses y trabajadores migrantes mexicanos.

3 de noviembre, Perú
Manifestación en solidaridad con la lucha del pueblo oaxaqueño frente a la embajada de México en Lima. Los manifestantes llevaban carteles, flores y velas. En uno de los carteles se leía: "Visita México, disfruta la represión". Anunciaron que cada viernes se repetirá la acción mientras Ulises Ruiz no renuncie y no cese la represión contra el pueblo.

3 de noviembre, Estado Español
Acto para exigir un alto a la represión gubernamental en Oaxaca. Bajo una pertinaz lluvia distintas agrupaciones se dieron cita en una céntrica plaza de Valencia para difundir un comunicado en el que se solidarizan con la lucha del pueblo oaxaqueño y denuncian la represión. También se reunieron con el cónsul mexicano en esta ciudad para externarle su preocupación y repudio ante los hechos represivos.

3 de noviembre, Venezuela
Concentración frente a la embajada de México en Caracas. Con la consigna "Viva la comuna de Oaxaca", decenas de personas se reunieron frente a la sede diplomática para solidarizarse con la lucha "heroica" del pueblo de Oaxaca y denunciar la represión de la que es objeto.

3 de noviembre, Italia
Acción-concentración en solidaridad con la APPO y su lucha en la Piazza Plebiscito en Nápoles.

3 de noviembre, Italia
Frente a la embajada de México en Roma, integrantes de varias agrupaciones italianas, además de miembros de Vía Campesina, se manifestaron en protesta por la brutal represión vivida en Oaxaca. Los manifestantes cerraron la calle que conduce a la sede diplomática y gritaron consignas.

2 y 3 de noviembre, Italia
Día de muertos en Roma, Italia por los compañeros asesinados en Oaxaca. Hubo música, flores y velas.

2 de noviembre, País Vasco
Acción frente al consulado mexicano en Bilbao. Con pancartas que decían "Oaxaca tinko borrokan! Errepresiorik ez!" (Oaxaca firme en la lucha! No a la represión!) , decenas de manifestantes difundieron información y entonaron canciones de protesta.

2 de noviembre, Reino Unido
Día de muertos frente a la embajada mexicana en Londres. Con flores y velas encendidas, los manifestantes exigieron la salida de la PFP de Oaxaca, así como la renuncia de Ulises Ruiz.

2 de noviembre, Argentina
Grupos solidarios con la lucha oaxaqueña en Argentina, realizaron este día llamadas incesantes a la embajada mexicana con la misma pregunta: "¿Cuándo renuncia Ulises Ruiz?"

2 de noviembre, Francia
Manifestación frente al consulado mexicano en Lyon. Unas cincuenta personas se manifestaron hoy aquí contra la violencia de estado en México, y se solidarizaron con el pueblo Oaxaqueño y su lucha.

2 de noviembre, Estado Español
"Pasacalles", altar y antorchas en Barcelona. Para denunciar la represión contra el pueblo de Oaxaca, unas cien personas participaron en este acto cultural por las calles de esta ciudad. Los participantes llevaban antorchas y estaban vestidos con trajes típicos mexicanos. Entonaron canciones y exigieron el cese de la violencia policial y la salida del ejército de Oaxaca.

2 de noviembre, Australia
En respuesta al llamado que hiciera el EZLN para movilizarse a favor de la APPO, en Canberra se realizó un acto-protesta frente a la sede diplomática de México.

2 de noviembre, Italia
Manifestación frente al consulado de México en Florencia denunciando la invasión y ocupación militar de Oaxaca, y exigiendo la salida de Ulises Ruiz.

2 de noviembre, Italia
Acto frente a la embajada de México en Roma con la participación de unas 200 personas de distintas agrupaciones italianas . Desde ahí se hizo un contacto telefónico con miembros de la APPO y un enlace en vivo con Radio Universidad de Oaxaca. Bloquearon durante algunos minutos las calles aledañas.

2 de noviembre, Italia
Acto informativo en solidaridad con la lucha del pueblo de Oaxaca y en contra de la represión, realizado en el centro de Pisa.

2 de noviembre, Estados Unidos
Volanteo al interior del consulado mexicano en Miami. En la acción convocada para denunciar la represión sufrida en Oaxaca, la policía local detuvo a dos personas. Aún con la presencia policíaca, los manifestantes siguieron coreando " Ya cayó, ya cayó, Ulises ya cayó".

2 de noviembre, Estados Unidos
Protesta y acto frente al consulado de México en Boston. Los manifestantes llevaron silbatos, hicieron pintas y recordaron a los muertos a manos de la policía en Oaxaca.

2 de noviembre, Estados Unidos
Protesta en solidaridad con la lucha oaxaqueña frente al consulado mexicano en Seattle. Las personas ahí reunidas gritaron consignas contra el gobierno mexicano y recordaron a los compañeros Emilio Alfonso Fabián, y Brad Will, asesinados el 27 de octubre en Oaxaca.

1 de noviembre, Brasil
Protesta frente al consulado mexicano en la ciudad de Fortalezza. Previamente se realizó una marcha por calles de la localidad y se colgaron carteles entre los que se leía "abaixo Ulises Ruiz".

1 de noviembre, Brasil
Manifestación frente al consulado mexicano en Sao Paulo en protesta por la represión en contra del pueblo oaxaqueño y en solidaridad con su lucha.

1 de noviembre, Brasil
Protesta frente a la embajada de México en Brasilia. La policía local detuvo a varios manifestantes quienes realizaban un acto en solidaridad con la lucha del pueblo oaxaqueño.

1 de noviembre, Canadá
Participación en la "marcha fúnebre" realizada anualmente para recordar a los luchadores sociales asesinados en Filipinas durante el gobierno de Macapagal Arenas. En esta marcha realizada en Vancouver, fueron recordados también los muertos en Oaxaca, víctimas de la represión gubernamental.


1 de noviembre, Estados Unidos
Amigos y compañeros de Brad Will, periodista y activista asesinado en Oaxaca, organizaron una "bicicleteada" por calles de Nueva York para recordarlo, y denunciar la hipocresía del gobierno mexicano al ocupar un asiento en la Comisión de Derechos Humanos de la ONU.

1 de noviembre, Estado Español
Día de muertos-concentración frente a la embajada mexicana en Madrid. Con un altar dedicado a los muertos por la represión de los últimos días en Oaxaca, los manifestantes hicieron homenaje a ellos y denunciaron el uso de la fuerza a las afueras de la sede diplomática.

1 de noviembre, Alemania
La Policía de Berlín intentó detener la protesta que llevaban a cabo más de 120 personas frente a la embajada de México en esta Ciudad. Con la utilización de gas pimienta, la policía rodeó a los manifestantes, entre los cuales hubo varios detenidos. La protesta fue convocada para exigir al gobierno mexicano el cese de la represión en Oaxaca.

1 de noviembre, Chile
Protesta frente a la embajada mexicana en Santiago, por el cese de la represión en Oaxaca y en memoria del periodista-activista de Indymedia NY, Brad Will.

31 de octubre, Alemania
Protesta frente al consulado mexicano en Frankfurt para solidarizarse con la lucha de la APPO y exigir el cese de la represión en contra del pueblo de Oaxaca.

31 de octubre, Grecia
Denuncia, contrainformación y protesta callejera en Atenas. Mucha gente se congregó en la Plaza del barrio central de esta ciudad, frente a la embajada de México, denunciando la represión del gobierno mexicano contra el pueblo de Oaxaca.

31 de octubre, Canadá
Manifestación frente al consulado mexicano en Montreal. Decenas de personas se concentraron para solidarizarse con la lucha del pueblo oaxaqueño y denunciar la represión. En el acto participaron miembros de CIPPO-RFM. Al llegar a la puerta del consulado, un letrero indicaba: "Por causas técnicas, este consulado permanecerá cerrado".

31 de octubre, Perú
En una proclama difundida este día, organizaciones en Perú se solidarizan con la lucha del pueblo de Oaxaca y anuncian la creación de la Asamblea Popular de los Pueblos de Arequipa, y la Asamblea Popular de los Pueblos de Puno.


31 de octubre, Estados Unidos
Mitin y protesta en frente del consulado general en San Antonio. "APPO no está sola" y "Fuera Ulises de Oaxaca" fueron las consignas de los manifestantes.

31 de octubre, Finlandia
Acto frente a la embajada de México en Helsinki. Decenas de manifestantes exigieron al gobierno de México que cese la tiranía de Ulises Ruiz, y que pare inmediatamente la represión y persecución en contra del pueblo de Oaxaca.

31 de octubre, Suiza
Acción en la Misión Permanente de México ante la ONU, en Ginebra. Miembr@s del Colectivo Viva Zapata, exigieron ante las autoridades de México, la solución política y pacífica del conflicto en Oaxaca. Pidieron también el cese a la represión generalizada por parte del gobierno de Fox.

31 de octubre, Puerto Rico
"Piquete" frente al consulado general de México en San Juan, como parte de la campaña internacional de repudio a la represión y muerte contra el pueblo de Oaxaca. La concentración que duró más de una hora, los manifestantes reiteraron su solidaridad con la APPO

31 de octubre, Estado Español
Difusión y denuncia de lo acontecido en Oaxaca por medio de un programa de radio en Valencia. Hacen eco del llamado internacional a solidarizarse con el pueblo de Oaxaca, y llaman a nuevas acciones.

31 de octubre, Italia
Manifestación en Plaza Argentina, en Roma, para denunciar los hechos de represión en Oaxaca, ordenados por el presidente de México. "Que nadie toque a Oaxaca" y "Roma está con Oaxaca" fueron algunas de las consignas.

31 de octubre, País Vasco
Concentración frente al Museo Guggenheim en Bilbao, en protesta por la represión en contra del movimiento social oaxaqueño.

30 de octubre, Reino Unido
Con un saldo de 7 manifestantes detenidos, la protesta de decenas de personas frente a la embajada de México en Londres terminó entre gritos y jaloneos. La protesta fue convocada para repudiar la acción represiva de las fuerzas policiales en Oaxaca. La policía impidió a los manifestantes proyectar en la calle, el video que realizó Brad Will antes de morir. Luego la policía detuvo a varias personas que protestaban.

30 de octubre, Estados Unidos
Con la participación de estudiantes de distintas universidades locales, se realizó una manifestación frente al consulado de México en Miami. Pidieron la renuncia de Ulises Ruiz y el fin de la represión en Oaxaca.

30 de octubre, Estados Unidos
Manifestación y protesta por la represión en Oaxaca frente al consulado mexicano en Austin.

30 de octubre, Estados Unidos
Manifestación y protesta por la represión en Oaxaca frente al consulado mexicano en Boston.

30 de octubre, Estados Unidos
Manifestación y protesta por la represión en Oaxaca frente al consulado mexicano en Chicago.

30 de octubre, Estados Unidos
Manifestación y protesta por la represión en Oaxaca frente al consulado mexicano en Houston.

30 de octubre, Estados Unidos
Manifestación y protesta por la represión en Oaxaca frente al consulado mexicano en Kansas.

30 de octubre, Estados Unidos
Manifestación y protesta por la represión en Oaxaca frente al consulado mexicano en Nueva York.

30 de octubre, Estados Unidos
Manifestación y protesta por la represión en Oaxaca frente al consulado mexicano en Filadelfia.

30 de octubre, Estados Unidos
Manifestación y protesta por la represión en Oaxaca frente al consulado mexicano en Portland.

30 de octubre, Estados Unidos
Manifestación y protesta por la represión en Oaxaca frente al consulado mexicano en San Diego.

30 de octubre, Estados Unidos
Manifestación y protesta por la represión en Oaxaca frente al consulado mexicano en San Francisco.

30 de octubre, Estados Unidos
Manifestación y protesta por la represión en Oaxaca frente al consulado mexicano en Seattle.

30 de octubre, Estados Unidos
Manifestación y protesta por la represión en Oaxaca frente al consulado mexicano en Tucson.

30 de octubre, Estados Unidos
Manifestación y protesta por la represión en Oaxaca frente al consulado mexicano en Washington.

30 de octubre, Estados Unidos
Manifestación y protesta por la represión en Oaxaca frente al consulado mexicano en Worcester.

30 de octubre, Francia
Protesta frente a la embajada de México en París. Los manifestantes gritaron consignas y exigieron al gobierno de Vicente Fox que pare la intervención de la PFP en Oaxaca y que cese la represión y persecución en contra de miembros de la APPO.

30 de octubre, Francia
Concentración para apoyar la resistencia en Oaxaca y denunciar la brutal represión de los malos gobiernos de México, en la plaza del Capitole de Toulouse. Exigen la salida de Ulises Ruiz y de la PFP de Oaxaca.

30 de octubre, Italia
Ocupación del consulado honorario de México en Nápoles por manifestantes que denunciaron la política represiva del gobierno mexicano. Colocaron afuera del edificio consular dos mantas en donde se leía "La repressione non ci fermera" y "Fermiamo il masacro di Oaxaca."

30 de octubre, Nueva Zelanda
Protesta frente a la embajada mexicana en Wellington. Una docena de personas se manifestaron con tambores y pegaron carteles con la leyenda: "Asesinatos, Violaciones, Tortura, sobre sus conciencias". La protesta terminó con la intervención de la policía local.

30 de octubre, Canadá
Clausura simbólica y protesta frente al consulado de México en Vancouver. En el acto miembros de Cippo-Van enfrentaron al vicecónsul mexicano, obligándolo a atender los reclamos. Hicieron entrega de 250 cartas de ciudadanos canadienses que se oponen a la represión policíaca.

30 de octubre, Estado Español
Ocupación del consulado mexicano en Barcelona para repudiar el envío de la PFP a Oaxaca, y para exigir el esclarecimiento del secuestro y tortura a miembros de la APPO.

30 de octubre, Austria
Marcha y bloqueo de calles frente a la embajada de México en Viena. Más de cien personas participaron.

30 de octubre, Alemania
Manifestaciones en la embajada de México en Berlín, en protesta por la represión del gobierno federal en Oaxaca.

30 de octubre, Alemania
Manifestación y protesta en el consulado de México en Hamburgo.

30 de octubre, Alemania
Manifestación y protesta en el consulado de México en Munich.

30 de octubre, Argentina
Marcha a la embajada de México en Buenos Aires en repudio por los asesinatos cometidos por priístas y policías en Oaxaca. Proyección del video Oaxaca, el poder del pueblo.

29 de octubre, Canadá
Denuncia de la represión contra el pueblo oaxaqueño, en una manifestación en Montreal.

29 de octubre, Italia
Sitio a las oficinas del consulado mexicano en Milán y bloqueo de calles aledañas en protesta por la represión y asesinatos en contra del pueblo oaxaqueño. Más de cincuenta manifestantes sitiaron el consulado y mancharon la puerta principal con pintura roja.

29 de octubre, Estado Español
Escenificación de lo ocurrido en Oaxaca en la Plaza Tirso de Molina en Madrid. Pertenecientes a varios colectivos madrileños, realizaron un "performance" para difundir y denunciar lo ocurrido en Oaxaca. En este acto de protesta se concentraron más de 200 personas.

29 de octubre, Estado Español
Más de 200 personas se manifestaron en las Ramblas, en Barcelona, para protestar por la represión de la PFP en Oaxaca en la que fueron asesinados tres compañeros, y para mostrar su apoyo a la APPO. Se gritaron consignas como "Oaxaca escucha, Barcelona esté en tu lucha"
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brad will, un breve aporte a la difusion de su trabajo - Por: Andrea Caraballo

Por: Andrea Caraballo. 31 oct 2006
andrea_caraballo@hotmail.com
Indymedia - Uruguay

un breve aporte a la difusion del trabajo de brad will, periodista e investigador independiente
Ultimos dias de brad

Este documento que me animo a elaborar luego de sobreponerme un poco al profundo dolor que me causo la muerte de Brad no pretende ser mas que un humilde aporte al conocimiento de su trabajo. Estar muy cerca a el en los ultimos meses me permitio conocer la elaboracion y organizacion de su viaje a oaxaca para documentar lo que alli sucedia.
Brad estaba muy comprometido con la situacion mundial en general, pero tenia un particular interes por la situacion latinoamericana siempre, (se leia sus libros enormes de historia latinoamericana a menudo) prueba de ello son sus innumerables viajes por el sur, colombia, ecuador, argentina, chile, brasil, peru, venezuela, mexico...

Desde lo gravemente sucedido en San Salvador Atenco, brad estubo sumamente interesado en el transcurso de los hechos que ahi ocurrian. en forma permanente cada mañana escuchaba por radio las noticias desde oaxaca.
En los primeros dias de setiembre decide ir y documentar los hechos, comenzando ahi su arduo trabajo en la organizacion,

Queria tener por lo menos una serie de cosas organizadas en oaxaca (sobre todo un lugar seguro donde poder quedarse) y algunos contactos que le fueran dando informacion directa y fluida de todo lo que alli estaba pasando.

El hizo todo el trabajo solo, recabo la informacion para poder ir, necesitaba contactos en oaxaca y ciudad de mexico, aparecieron algunos pero me decia que aun no le parecian suficientes, la fecha definitiva de su partida se aproximaba (1 de octubre) pero se le planteaba una duda, ir directamente a oaxaca o primero ir a d.f. y luego a oaxaca le eran muy interesantes los dos lugares ya que al mismo tiempo sucedian cosas muy importantes, por un lado en oaxaca se incrementaba la represion aprovechando que parte de la organizacion de appo estaba en camino a d.f. me decia que eso seria utilizado para oprimir la organizacion de APPO fuertemente en aoxaca y asi romper la huelga, por otro queria ir a d.f. ya que en esos dias habrian varios acontecimientos interesantes, se reunian los ministros de medio ambiente del g8, el sub comandante marcos tambien estaria en la capital en esos dias,y se esperaba la llegada de la gente de APPO luego de dias de caminata desde oaxaca quienes iniciarian un proceso de dialogo para terminar con la situacion.

La decision fue llegar a d.f. captar todos estos acontecimientos y en 3 dias volar a oaxaca y ya quedarse para comenzar alli su trabajo. Su estadia y trabajo en aoxaca la conoci a traves de los mails y llamadas telefonicas que manteniamos,aca van algunos fragmentos de sus cartas...

4 de octubre

¨llege a oax hoy dia y esta impresionante -- no se si hay enfrentamento o
nada pero la gente son muy simpatica y lista para resitir -- tengo mucho
para hacer ahora -- hay una paigina se llama centrodemidiaslibres o algo y
hay radio de internet, appo lo mejor -- hay paigina appo tambien¨

9 de octubre

oye linda, yo fui a una comunidad indigena ayer y
fui tan hermosa la gente y la naturaleza en los montanas -- por ahora todo
es tranqui pero todo via hay problemas en las noches pero mas para
molestar los braicadadas no como atacar realmente -- la cosa ahora esta la
mesa de diagolo en cuidad de mexico -- si va a romper las negociasiones ya
-- creo hay problemas grave -- tengo mas compas de medias independentes y
mas en camino y tengo bueno credenciales para combinar con otros media --
solo esso para ahora -- hay monton de historias en la internet en espanol
-- la journal esta bien -- y por supesto mexico.indymedia.org y
centrodemedialibre o vientos creo -- busca -- y besos grandes
b rad

14 de octubre

ahora la cosas son impressionante y llena cada dia con inspiracion --
ahora creo hay un tiempo mas calma pero lo mismo vihilante para problemas
de infiltradas o policia civiles -- estvo balas en la calle y algunos
heridas -- yo fui con este banda de manifestantes grabando pero separamos
15 inutos antes de la ruida -- pero preocupa -- tengo ojos atras mi cabeza
y no voy a ser hero para filmar algo -- encontre muchos amigos nuevos y
trabajamos junta y estoy nunca solo en la calle -- creo las cosas estan
mejor-ando de todo -- las marinas salieron y muchos de los politicos estan
hablando con mas calma para encontrar una solucion politico no militar --
hay demasiado para contar pero me voy a decir todo cuando vuelve


19 octubre

murio un otra -- fui a morge otra vez -- su ojos abierto -- que alma para
matar para dinero -- que cosas en este mundo -- lentamente calmar mi
tension y alreglar mi dolor -- que onda aqui -- otra capitulo va a
embenzar

22 octubre

-- siempre hay complcaciones en este
lado y estoy trabajando mucho -- por ahora todod bien


el jueves 26 a las 9 de la noche hable por ultima vez con el, estaba bien, tranquilo, entre otras cosas me conto de sus planes para los proximos dias y que tenia nuevas ideas para su trabajo, queria volver a new york por un par de dias a resolver un tema personal, y de material que necesitaba para la camara. Luego volver a oaxaca por tres semanas mas hasta ver concluida toda la situacion esperando que para esa fecha ya la huelga se hubiera levantado, y terminar

andrea caraballo. asi su trabajo....

Como todos sabemos el viernes 27 se encontraba documentando una vez mas, trabajando en la documentacion en forma directa y sin intermediarios, siendo los voceros la propia gente, el propio pueblo oaxaqueño alzando sus voces ante la camara de un cronista independiente. Pero la injusticia una vez mas se hizo

notar, y dos balas apagaron su camara, brad... brad sigue en todos nosotros, y en la memoria de un pueblo que sigue de pie, por la lucha de la democracia y

la justicia social.

a toda su familia a sus amigos a sus compañeros de cada uno de los ambitos en el que el participaba un enorme saludo
quiero al terminar mandar un fuertisimo abrazo y un inmenso agradecimiento a toda la gente de oaxaca y de APPO en particular como asi tambien a todos los

compañeros de medios independientes que estuvieron con brad lo cuidaron y acompañaron en todo momento aun despues de su muerte.
A mi lindo Brad le digo que puede estar tranquilo que lo que nos enseño con su alegria, fuerza, coraje, sensibilidad inmensa por la justicia, la paz y sobre

todo la vida no va a quedar olvidada.

viva brad will!!
viva oaxaca libre!!
viva la lucha de los pueblos donde quiera que sea por sus derechos, los derechos humanos!!
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Brad, compañero y periodista - Por: Camilo Viveiros

Brad Will RIP, a companero and a journalist
Submitted by onion on Mon, 2006-10-30 01:44.

Brad Will, a friend and a friend to the international struggle for justice, was murdered. I meet Brad when went we traveled cross country and attended a radical conference in Ohio together. I remember him dancing to a contemporary dance piece during the Active Resistance conference in Chicago in the 1990s adding well done and creative art to the events.
Brad continued to dance. He danced against wrecking balls that tried to rip apart squats in New York City. He crisscrossed the global south recording and publizing the struggle for justice. He did not forget the struggle here, the last time I saw him was in NYC during the Still We Rise demonstrations against the RNC. He greeted me with his trade mark warm smile as always and was so proud of his improved Spanish skills. He was excited that he could better serve the struggles that inspire him.

He inspires us, to challenge ourselves to learn and grow to be better in service to our liberation and the liberation of others. He inspires us to live full lives, to take risks in the here and now, to never stop our dance that we must do when we listen to the voices of those fighting oppression, to never stop our dance to unite with those yearning for freedom by following the sounds of aching hearts, to never stop the dance that moves us to join those who cry in pain in the struggle, to never stop the dance that follows the rhythm of the multitudes' beating hearts for justice.
I will miss you Brad. I will miss your spontaneity, your warmth and your joy.

Brad I will dance with you, even if I am never as graceful as you are, even if I stumble and I fall and even if I am feeble at times, I will dance with you brother, forever. I love you, Brad.

Camilo Viveiros
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Masacre en Brasil . Por Brad Will

massacre in brazil
on Fri, 2005-03-11 20:18.

by brad will

so this is my ongoing account of the tragedy here in goiania, brazil working along side the local imc please organize a protest at you local consulate so this is a report i started the day before the eviction to give you some background -- this is an independant autonomous urban landless group that came together spontaneously and reclaimed abandoned land
hey everyone i cant tell you how good it feels to be alive -- these last few days have been
incredible -- really inspiring working in solidarity with a huge land occupation in
the interior of brazil in the city of Goiania -- it has been horrifying as well --
two nights ago while i was in a bus on my way here police began terrorizing the
community with random gunfire -- just before a judge had ordered their eviction
after 9 months buildinga new life in an abandoned industrial park lost in
speculation for years -- at least 12,000 people in the country with the deepest
division between rich and poor in the world -- after the week of carnaval there were
police mobilzed from all over into the interior and now was an obvious time to
strike -- 2500 police were said to be mobilized to evict the encampment -- the day i
arrived me and companeros of the local indymedia went to the encampment, named A
Dream Made Real, to watch and report on further police harassment -- the community
had been building huge barricades of tires and steel pieces of cars and debris, they
had dug moats across roadways, there was barbed wire strung across, 24 hour security
post at 8 such barricades encircling the new villiage at the edge of the city --
there were weapons of poverty, molotovs, fireworks, clubs with nails, homemade
shields, slingshots, crudely constructed bazookas, much talk of bombs waiting for
the invasion -- and that is what the press kept calling the community, invaders --
the militancy was palpable -- we arrived after dark and it was pretty disorienting
but were welcomed due to a lot of work making certain the community knew we were
covering them differently than the local media -- i didnt even have time to get my
barings and suddenly while stumbling in the dark fireworks started going off in 3 or
4 different parts of the camp, a siren sounded like an air raid, chaos -- this was
it -- the police were making their move -- as we entered the dirt avenue which was
the main entrance the air turned sour and dark with tear gas letting loss on all
sides of us -- none had even time to get their bandanas on or even be sure what was
happening and all of us were blinded and coughing and running in the opposite
direction of the barricade into another cloud of gas -- minutes later we were set up
with vinegar and back out with a flurry of fireworks and scores of resisters
slinging rocks at their attackers -- there were percussion grenades from the police
and the gas dropped from the sky in front and behind -- a woman clutching her baby
ran past me screaming for help -- soon several people were dousing the infant with
water and were certain it was breathing -- suddenly the barricade erupted into flame
-- it was huge burst into a dark night -- a cheer rang through the resistance -- it
seemed to go on for an hour, the community charging, disbursing the gas, hurling
stones, screaming and cursing -- i was more than a little disoriented and having a
hard time with the gas -- and suddenly an alarm from another barricade shot up and
exploded like the fourth of july and we realized the police had left after only
about 10 minutes -- they were moving from barricade to barricade with gas and rubber
bullets -- we regrouped and had a quick meeting and suddenly the sirens calmed and
we realized the police had moved on -- everyone assumed this was temporary -- a
loudspeaker appeared and announcements begging for calm and voices from different
perspectives in the community were heard -- a community meeting commenced -- we
headed for another barricade and we greeted warmly as the police had moved on and
the tension started to float away -- really wonderful people -- it was inspiring
after an attack like that they were busy offering us coffee and making sure we were
alright -- the night stretched on and we lowered our guard more and more and started
to drift off to sleep next to a fire of tires and debris -- with the morning came a
new sense of security -- if they didnt come at daybreak everyone assumed they had at
least another day -- word was that if they could make it another 24 hours the police
mobilization would return to their local posts and the judicial decision shoulkd
expire -- we left the camp with thanks from people, i guess in reality we were being
human rights observers while the corporate media would hide behind the police and
would only venture into the camp to do interviews after the fighting -- we slept
some -- i returned the next night around midnight and assumed since the police hadnt
attacked yet we were in the clear until dawn -- at around 2 am 9 military police
cars drove up to main entrance -- a pattern of nightly harrasment had turned into
nightly attacks -- immediately the sky was ablaze with fireworks and then from the
police tear gas and flares and concussion grenades -- the police attack was fierce
and the community had less time to mobilize -- a battle ensued like i have never
seen -- a lot of people were talking about civil war and i thought this was an
exageration but that night i started to believe -- the police used every kind of
weapon and the sound of explosions was everywhere -- the barricades started burning
again and twice explosions rumbled through the barricade sending tires flying -- the
fighting was firce and i was much closer this time shooting video -- a group of
police were using a friends car as a safe place to send all kinds of chemical and
exploding agents into the resistance -- suddenly shots rang out and i realized the
police were using pistols and semi-automatics -- i heard screaming as i ran for
cover -- a young man had been shot on the other side of the barricade later i saw
imc video of a bullet hole clean through his bicept -- suddenly it was over -- they
just left -- it was senseless -- it was not an eviction it was terrorism -- a
military policeman was also taken away in an ambulance -- quickly members of the
community pulled me over to wall where you could clearly see the bullet holes
riddled all over the metal sheeting -- right behind my back a huge explosion nearly
knocked me to the wall -- i didnt even have time to duck -- it had come from the
burning barricade and people assumed the police hasd thrown un detonated cannisters
into the blaze hoping they would explode -- they took me to a house where as a
bullet had passed through a brick wall then through the bed curtains and through the
next brick wall -- on the other side i exrtacted the bullet -- these were military
grade semi automatic rifles -- later i interviewed a woman who was in bed and showed
the bullet holes that fly over her head as she was hiding from the fighting -- she
didnt even realize the bullet was lying on her bed after it had struck the inner
wall of her bedroom -- we assumed the worst and slept inside the encampment -- when
morning came i thought it was a vicroty -- the 24 hour limit had passed -- then i
heard word that a different person had claimed ownership to the land and there was a
new judicial process and the huge police mobilization was not being called home --
so in this same time the mst (landmess peasants movement) had been evicted twice
from differnt new rural land occupations in the countryside of goiais -- they sent
word that they knew it would help the urban squatters and sent them their solidarity
--
all the next day reports of the eviction were flying around -- one from undisclosed
police informant said they were coming in the evening not with 2500 but with 8000
police -- a force of 30 mounted military police slowly made their way around the
camp -- by the time i arrived at dusk they were wound up and paranoid -- false
alarms kept punctuating the night with fireworks going off and no one knowing what
to expect -- there was a uhge rally near the main barricade with a sound system and
mostly the evangelical christian sector of the camp represented -- definitely a
different take on jesus than the george bush voting crowd -- also there were some
local politicians and a representative from Dereches Humanos (human rights) -- ti
was beautiful with singing and prayer and a display of the majority of the camps
residents who were young families and elderly grandparents who were not going to
fight -- it was a long night and twice small groups of police snuck up on barricades
and opened fire with pistols and fled -- there were also hired goons or undercover
police with gas thrown at the barricades -- no one was sleeping and everyone was
keyed up and nervous -- word came they were definitely coming in the morning -- i
went to sleep for an hour or so near the main barricade

there is a protest right now and i need to go
i will write more this afternoon
-=-=-=-
massacre in brasil: dreams made real, part2

dawn came on confused and quiet a few milling about it was the quietest i had
ever seen the camp -- so beautiful at dawn with the light low and cool then the
alarm sounded I could see it wasnt happening now people started appearing
slowly from all points gathering around a car with a sound system for news it was
plain and simple 30 trucks on their way all full of military police all the time
the siren didnt stop ringing more people came up to the barricades many ran off
to tell their loved ones what a diverse group, old and young of every color and
description with young children in their arms and little dogs running wild
surprisingly it was less panicky than the night before they were solidifying the
barricades quickly but there was little more to do there was a quick interview of
police brass for the corporate press -- the traffic had stopped on the street
outside the encampment -- they had blocked all the roads leading to the camp -- i
had no idea what was happening on the other side but hoped there might be an escape
route there -- in the distance i could see the military police unloading from buses
-- they were geared up like storm troopers with green and black war paint -- i
photoed a line of women who had formed in front of the barricades and were praying
and crying, some with their children in their arms -- soon there were about a
hundred troops lined up in formation in three squadrons -- i started to realize just
how hopeless this was -- a call went out for everyone to be at the barricade -- huge
block of peaceful pilgrims collected there -- all ages and races with their hands in
the air -- theresistance fighters had mostly vanished -- the military started to
move in in formation with sheilds raised tight like a turtle shell -- i didnt see
anyone even throw a stone -- suddenly behind me there was an explosion -- it was a
concussion grenade launched from a tear gas rocket -- i was hiding behind the edge
of a brick wall and was completely confused how it could be behind me with my eyes
on the police -- another explotion directly behind me and i felt the slam against my
skin and my ears went deaf ringing -- they were already in the camp -- it was
pandemonium -- everyone was running and screaming -- as i ran i saw them coming from
my flank -- and aiming to shoot again not more than thirty feet away -- then all
hell broke losse -- suddenly there was gas, rubber bullets, concussion grenades on
all sides -- immediately i recognized the sound of real bullets -- i tried twice to
stop and film but only for seconds until bullets flew near by -- they were advancing
on either side of me in large groups -- it wasnt safe anywhere in the streets -- i
saw two women face down in the street -- i dont know if they were alive -- at my
feet i saw blood mixed in the dry dirt -- everywhere people running in panic and
screaming and trying to find some shelter from the barrage -- i headed to a back
yard trying to cut through the backs of houses and was slowed by barbed wire between
all the yards -- there was tall yuka plants giving me some cover as i ran -- the
military units were already past me on the main avenue and running rampant shooting
everything -- it was so terrifying -- they were shooting at anything that moved --
there was no where to go -- i looked up and a door opened and a woman was motioning
for me to come in -- i ran inside with another older couple and they slammed the
door to total darkness -- inside there were two babies trying to scream but the were
gagging on the tear gas -- they showed me a bucket of water to wash off the gas -- a
man opened the door to look out and i came around to film -- i saw military point at
us and yell something -- we had our hands in the air but he and another raised there
guns to shoot -- as the door slammed shut the bullets hit the house -- we all hit
the ground -- one woman was having a panic attack -- i could smell gas from just
outside creeping in -- they cracked a window the breathe and i could see two women
with babies and a tiny yound girl on the bed -- the whole home was one small room
and made of simple bricks and used furniture with two beds right next to the kitchen
-- it was really beautiful and simple -- i imagined the bulldozer destorying it all
with us inside -- the babies started to recover from the gas and the man opened
another window but was seen by military and there was more shooting -- everyone was
screaming i htink to get on the ground -- i didnt know what to do -- i tried to film
but paced and walked over to the corner to cry -- what in gods name was happening
out there -- the sound of shots and screaming was contant -- i was trembling --
there were police right outside yelling orders to come out -- the man yelled
something back about being peaceful -- i yelled that i was international press -- he
opened the door -- i raised my hands high with video camera in one hand -- they were
in regular uniforms the woman who was panicked before passed out right in front of
her husband as she walked out -- he grabbed for her -- the police made they they
were going to shoot -- screaming at him i guess to put up his hands but they couldnt
see his hands were holding his wife -- i yelled we needed a doctor -- it meant
nothing to them -- finally he raised his hands and dropped her there on the ground
-- i started walking out -- they had pistols drawn and pointed at my head -- i
couldnt understand what they were screaming at me but they looked like they would
shoot -- i kept repeating i didnt understand -- i was an international journalist --
they mimed to keep my head down -- as i walked out with my head down a few of they
ran up and slammed into me, twisting my arms and kicking my feet out -- i got
punched in the head and another jumped on top of me -- after they ripped the camera
out of my hand and had me in plastic cuffs they started kicking me again -- i got
one of the officers names who beat me, torres -- he seemed like he was in command
and picked me up and started screaming questions at me -- i asked if he spoke
spanish and he screamed no one speaks spanish in here -- one of the others handed
him my camera and i got a woman cop to put my glasses in my front pocket -- they
started ripping through my bag -- i told them again i was a journalist from new york
city -- they started to cut my bag off my back but i managed to explain how to get
it off -- there were other more official looking officers in white uniforms who
appeared near by and seemed to pretend they were not interested with their name tags
turned away from me
-- they yanked me back to the main avenue and motioned me to head off toward the
main entrance -- the plastic cuffs were so tight even the adreneline couldnt stop
the pain -- i was completely confused but saw women with children walking the same
direction and just followed them leaving my video camera still running in torres�s
hands -- there were troops still coming in with different kinds of uniforms -- there
was still shooting but a lot of it was further away deeper in the camp -- there was
a long empty street and i saw a cat scurry across and crouch under a fence --
everyone was getting evicted today -- as i was walking i recognized a policeman from
the corporate press interview -- he stopped me and started looking through my bag --
i told him i was a journalist from the usa -- it seemed to mean nothing to any of
them -- as he was rifling through my things a huge military policeman with a mask
pulled up and black bullet proof vest stopped and looked at my credencials -- he
said they were fake and slammed me upside the head with an open hand so hard i
almost fell off my feet except the other officer who was smiling now still had me by
the arm and was holding me steady for the other --he led me toward the entrance
where the barricades had been pushed aside -- in front of me were hundreds of
detainees kneeling on the ground -- two cuffed together at the wrist -- there was
black smoke coming up in a half dozen different parts of the camp -- i could still
here the shooting -- they pushed me onto my knees with the other prisoners -- what
the fuck next
part3

i was lost -- there were rows and rows of detainees and more being

marched hands over head in a line -- clusters of women with small

children and elderly trickled out unescorted and were shown to waiting

buses-- i had been handed over to a plains clothes policeman who

finally found my digital photo camera -- the idea of losing another

camera in one day put me in a panic -- i told him just to take the card

out and give me back the camera again and again -- he went through

every little pocket and had all these scraps of paper i had forgot to

throw away with phone numbers and addresses of people who had nothing

to do with anything and put my passport and my camera in a separate

plastic bag with these things -- i kept asking if he could cut off the

plastic cuffs and replace them -- he just wandered away with my bag

after placing a guard right over my head -- a couple dogs were on the

lose and one came close and he kicked it -- the militarty police kept

yelling insults and kicking people who were sitting on the ground --

the pain in my back was making it hard to sit but if i relaxed at all

it would push on my hands andthe pain would shoot into me -- the hard

brazilian sun was beating down and i was sweating hard -- i looked up

and there was a local companero from indymedia pointing at me -- he

wasnt even in cuffs -- they came over and he started explaining we were

together -- what an incredible relief -- i wasnt alone -- soon another

was discovered -- his video camera had also been stolen -- they cut off

my cuffs and my whole body sighed -- we were separated from the mob

scene and placed in neutral territory baking in the sun between the

prisoners and a tent where the hard core military police were in the

shade celebrating their victory -- they would come marching out in

formation singing songs -- it was twisted i looked in some of their

eyes and there was just darkness -- it was like they had no souls, cold

hard steel killers-- i saw other undercover police with a computer and

some really young ones getting into a car -- there was a lot of talk of

infiltration the days before -- time crawled -- eventually we were

placed on a bus with all the other prisoners -- i coulnt figure out

which was worse for us, being isolated or lost in the herd -- but with

the other imcistas i was calmed -- at the police station it was mayhem

-- paperwork took forever -- we were led to an area turned into a

medical station -- there were pools of blood on the floor starting to

turn black at the edges -- people were getting stiches for head wounds

-- i saw a guy with bandages all over his head caked in blood -- he

described a bullet passing through his scalp -- he was refusing more

medical treatment --- he looked scared -- there was movement everywhere

and every available space was utilized with scores of prisoners -- it

was a much more mellow scene -- there was a journalist who spoke

english and i told her i was beaten and they stole my camera but no one

say it on the news -- i got a medical check and slowly slowly we made

our way to the federal police -- i was the only foreigner -- as we

drove out there were other imcistas outside trying tofigure out were we

were off to -- there were crowds of young people who had gone to school

that day and were gloomily waiting for their parents -- looking at them

they could be from anywhere, any class and country, all clean and in

their nice clothes with book bags -- we sped away -- at the federal

police the snails pace continued as they argued about my visa -- i had

a tourist vias but they said i was working as a journalist -- we

explained that my work with the imc was completely unpaid -- they said

they were going to cut me loose with a court date in june -- ok -- then

they wanted to go copy all the photos in my camera -- this took about 3

hours and suddenly i was buzing away and ready to pass out ----
so many stories to tell -- i only have written about what i saw so far

but now i need to write about the witness accounts -- people said they

saw bodies being dragged to the water wells and dumped, they saw bodies

thrown into burning buildings -- no one knew how many were still

missing -- all night there were military ambulances leaving the

encampment -- all night imc volunteers were at the hospitals and these

ambulances never arrived -- a massive orchestrated coverup was underway

while i collapsed that night -- people working in the hospitals were

afraid to talk with us -- they were already bulldozing houses -- in the

jail so called leaders were being selectivle pulled into special

holding for interogation -- children still looking for their parents --

streams of refugees -- there was no government plan what to do with

these people -- the next morning there was a gathering called for at

the catholic church -- i asked if the police would be there waiting and

a friend said never, after what happened the day before, this was the

center of the city -- there was a sound system and people scattered

everywhere in and out of the church sleeping -- most of them didnt even

have a change of clothes -- i talked to many who had their money, their

identification and their cell phones stolen -- everyone was hungry --

was takijng pictures and say a gathering near the alter and it looked

like they were distributing food -- i walked up and there were two open

caskets -- it was more than i could handle -- they were floating in

pools of flowers and surrounded by loved ones crying -- little children

didnt seems to understand -- one had pictures of he and his wife,

hisnew home in the encampment, them on a vacation -- so proud and full

of life -- the other had strange marks on his hand and everyone told me

they were the initals of the policeman who killed him -- some kind of

weird trophey marking -- i was spilling out and dizzy i stumbled away

and cried -- they could have been anyone, they could have been me --

the police said they died shooting eachother and the corporate media

repeated it unquestioned -- the two official deaths -- outside there

was a huge line waiting to report missing people -- their faces -- i

turned away -- there was some distribution of clothing and soap and

bread but it was a mad house people pushing and desperate clutching

babies -- i went with a friend who said she was getting food at the

market for the church kitchen -- i went to a safe house to rest a while

and people came running in to tell me about the attack -- undercover

police had infiltrated the rally that started at the church and had

grabbed on of the so called leaders to arrest him -- the people werent

having it and started to fight for their companero -- the undercovers

pulled out their guns shooting in the air and were barely able to flee

the scene running into a forming block of military police who were

suspiciously near by in large numbers -- the community was there for a

funeral -- despite the gunplay they assembled for a march carrying the

caskets to a huge park then buses took them to the cemetary -- after

the funeral the buses went to the mayors office and everyone camped out

for hours -- a storm was brewing black clouds in the distance and the

wind kicked hard -- there were different proposals on the loudspeaker

and people decided to go to two gymnasiums set aside for housing --

what a dark night

www.midiaindependente.org

See also:
http://brasil.indymedia.org/pt/blue/2005/02/307913.shtml

http://www.defenestrator.org/?q=node/112
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URGENTE: DESAPARECIDOS EN OAXACA

Sábado 4 de noviembre de 2006
Toledo envía lista de 61 desaparecidos

El pintor Francisco Toledo envió al diario LA JORNADA una relación con los nombres de 61 "personas víctimas de detención arbitraria (por efectivos de la Policía Federal Preventiva) y de quienes se presume desaparición", ya que no se presentó ningún fundamento legal ni información respecto a la autoridad a cuya disposición serían puestos.

En la lista, elaborada por organizaciones como la Liga Mexicana por la Defensa de los Derechos Humanos, Servicios para la Educación Alternativa, Red Nacional de Jóvenes Católicas por el Derecho a Decidir y Naxwiin, se encuentran las siguientes personas: Rodolfo Ruiz Hernández, Marvin Peralta Hernández, Diego Hernández López, Gerardo Jiménez Vázquez, Erick Ortiz López, Félix Jiménez Damián, Pedro X, Víctor Ruiz García, Carlos Alberto Hernández Cárdenas, Abel Martínez, Luis Antonio Félix, Jaime Gaspar Ruiz, Juan Alberto Vázquez y Ubaldo García Guzmán.

Además, Héctor Guzmán Acosta, Isabel Galindo Aguilar y Armando Aguilar, ubicados como estudiantes de la Facultad de Ciencias Políticas y Sociales de la UNAM, detenidos frente al Instituto de Ciencias de la Educación de la Universidad Autónoma Benito Juárez de Oaxaca (UABJO), y Javier Moreno Colmenares, profesor y coordinador regional de Telesecundarias de Ixtlán, detenido frente a la tienda Fábricas de Francia y llevado, presumiblemente, a la base aérea de La Raya.

En la lista están también Angel Santos Callejos Rodríguez, Juan José Flores Cruz, J. Antonio Aparicio García, Javier Moreno Colmenares, Francisco Núñez Bazán, Alfonso Rutilio García, Hugo Jarquiw, Daniel Almedo, Inti Martínez, Diego Nicolás Hernández, Fernando Ruiz Santos, Marcus García Martínez, Juan Flores Cruz, Fermín García Silva, Sergio Rojas Juárez, Amado Agustín Bautista, Carlos Javier Alarzán, Bulmaro Martínez González, José Daniel Carreño Cruz, Eliud Martínez González, Sergio Rojas Juárez, Francisco Fernando Aragón Murales, David Ricardo Ramírez Zárate, José Angel García Hernández, David Hueska Hernández, Aldo Hernández Jiménez, Samuel Ortiz, Arnaldo Rojas Galán, Máximo Reyes Pérez, Víctor García, Angel Soto Gallego, Roberto Natalio Ramírez Zárate, Félix Ricardo Méndez Venegas, Fernando Ruiz Santos, Diego Nicolar (sic) Hernández, Juan Crisóstomo Aparicio y Martín Cruz Rodríguez.

Marcos García Martínez, de 70 años, desaparecido a las 6 de la mañana en la esquina de Cinco Señores; Mario Trinidad Michel López, profesor de la sección 22, en Santo Domingo Teojomulco; Eduardo Hernández Mendoza, 22 años, quien -afirman las organizaciones- "salió temprano y no ha regresado" ; Teodoro Tiño Verado, a quien la última vez se le vio en la Chevrolet después del cerco de la PFP; Valentín Pérez Hernández, de 18 años "quien salió temprano y no ha regresado, viste chamarra café y gorra roja". Al final está el nombre de Isaías Vázquez Mireles.
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The Hardest Story to Write

unday, October 29, 2006


Bradley Roland Will 1970-2006
The Hardest Story to Write

New York, New York, US - I was preparing the entertainment Friday night for a Halloween Critical Mass after party, when a friend of mine in a dragon costume told me that people were looking for me, and that my longtime friend and roommate Brad Will may have been killed by gunmen in Oaxaca City, Mexico. Okay, I knew that at least nine people had already died since the Popular Assembly of the People of Oaxaca (APPO) took control of the city in recent months, but Brad couldn't really have been killed. They couldn't have shot Brad. After all he was a journalist, and a "gringo" journalist at that. Most importantly I knew Brad and I was expecting to see him tomorrow when he was due to return home, so how could he actually be dead.

Soon there were many people at the party who also knew Brad and no longer felt like celebrating. The horrible news had been confirmed, there were even pictures online, which I wish I had not seen.



When the paramilitaries arrived at barricade three in Santa Lucia del Camino Brad was ready, camera in hand. When the paramilitaries began firing live ammunition at the protesters they were answered with rocks, slingshots and fireworks. Brad armed with only his camera stood with them, until after a short lull in the shooting, he was shot twice in the chest. He died on the way to the hospital. Esteban Zurita Lopez and a teacher Emilio Alonso Fabian were also shot and killed at the barricades Friday.

Brad was equally comfortable doing yoga in Central Park with his raw foodist friends, singing with eco-hippies and activists at an Earth First! campfire out in the wilderness, and moshing along to a punk rock show at one of New York's City's scummiest, formerly illegal venues: C-Squat. He was a performer who loved to be up front with an acoustic guitar or a fireball spewing from his mouth. Brad was an anarchist, through and through; he believed in making the world a just place without hierarchy and oppression. His death was as political as the life he lived.

When a small non-profit collective group I work with began looking for a storefront, after loosing our lease at another space, Brad offered to put a substantial amount of money towards the project. Nobody asked him or expected him to, nor did he have any interest in having a say in the project -- he was just a generous person who cared about change and wanted to see more community spaces in the city.

Brad's presence was a ubiquitous presence in the NYC activist community. He had a lot of energy and was a part of a lot of struggles. When a young anarchist protester named Carlo Giuliani was shot by police Brad was outside the Italian consulate singing at the top of his lungs, his voice raw and hurt.

I've seen the land beyond these borders where the corporations rule
And they spin their lies and they globalize and the working man's their tool
And the streams are so polluted that their banks are bleak and bare
And the babies all are born deformed and the smog is everywhere
And the workers' wages dropped thirty percent in just one year
Now the greedy bastards want to bring that situation here

And you called upon me brother and you asked what could I do
And I told the truth dear brother, when I spoke these words to you:
I will stand beside your shoulder when the tear gas fills the sky
And if a national guardsman shoots me down I'll be lookin' him in the eye
And if I will wash their pepper from your face and go with you to jail
And if you don't make it through this fight I swear I'll tell your tale
And I will stay with you in the prison cell in solidarity
And I will not leave that cursed room 'til you walk out with me
For we the people fight for freedom while the cops just fight for pay
And as long as truth is in our hearts we're sure to win some day
I will not falter when the iron fist comes out of the velvet glove
I will stand beside you brother and defend this land I love

I've heard the tales from conquered islands where the sweatshop barons rule
Recruiting girls from the Asian slums to be the rich man's tool
And they're promised lives of luxury in the golden U.S.A.
And then they're stranded on these islands with their passports stripped away
And their aging fingers toil and bleed year after grueling year
Now the greedy bastard want to bring those same conditions here

And you called upon me sister and you asked what could I do
And I told the truth dear sister, when I spoke these words to you:
"I will stand beside your shoulder when the tear gas fills the sky
And if a national guardsman shoots me down I'll be lookin' him in the eye
And if I will wash their pepper from your face and go with you to jail
And if you don't make it through this fight I swear I'll tell your tale
And I will stay with you in the prison cell in solidarity
And I will not leave that cursed room 'til you walk out with me
For we the people fight for freedom while the cops just fight for pay
And as long as truth is in our hearts we're sure to win some day
I will not falter when the iron fist comes out of the velvet glove
I will stand beside you brother and defend this land I love

I've walked the tall and misty forests, pulsing vein from ancient time
And they'll cut the heart out of a mountain to kill the oldest thing alive
Now the rainforest dwellers smell a burning, and the 'dozers are close behind
Replaced with plantations and cattle, plowing under whatever they find
With the rain comes a raging mudslide, where the land was stripped and cleared
Now those greedy bastards want to bring those same conditions here

I've watched the oceans rolling, schools of fish running under the tide
Working fishermen grounding their bodies, starving on a hook and line
While industrial fishers haul in their nets, scoring the deep ocean floor
Dolphin and sea turtle snagged in those nets will ride those waves no more
They rip the heart out of the deep blue sea, their boats increase every year
Now the greedy bastards want to push their bloody products here

And you called upon me brother and you asked what could I do
And I told the truth dear brother, when I spoke these words to you:
I will stand beside your shoulder when the tear gas fills the sky
And if a national guardsman shoots me down I'll be lookin' him in the eye
And if I will wash their pepper from your face and go with you to jail
And if you don't make it through this fight I swear I'll tell your tale
And I will stay with you in the prison cell in solidarity
And I will not leave that cursed room 'til you walk out with me
For we the people fight for freedom while the cops just fight for pay
And as long as truth is in our hearts we're sure to win some day
I will not falter when the iron fist comes out of the velvet glove
I will stand beside you brother and defend this land I love
I will not falter when the iron fist comes out of the velvet glove
I will stand beside you brother and defend this land I love

- By Desert Rat and Brad


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Brad Will in Boog City

From Boog City Issue 24, April 2005

Fragments of a Shattered Hope
Brazil Makes War on Sohno Real Squatters
by Brad Will
The first time I ever squatted was almost an accident. I was living in Boulder, Colorado, and all of my crazy poet roomies fled the scene. I stayed and didn’t even have the phone number for the landlord.
I came to the LES looking for trouble and I landed, broke and confused, on my friends. They took me in at the 5th Street squat, urban camping with water from the hydrant, bucket flush toilets, and unpredictable electricity. Eventually the city came with a wrecking crane, and I almost got knocked down with the building. The city didn’t care that I was still inside trying to stop the horror.
I floated to different squats in the ’hood for years and fought the good fight for housing, and I dug in deep and locked down in the community garden struggle. They stole my heart, those old tenements, and the simple captured plots of green free space. Pure direct action—you are not talking politics and yelling in the streets; you are doing it, making it real, and sharing it with the community.
Wanderlust eventually did me in. I reached South America as a media activist with contacts from IMCistas I met squatting at the Independent Media Center office in New York City. I visited MST (the landless workers movement) rural encampments in Brazil, and saw a whole different side to squatting.

I came to Goiânia, Brazil after I connected with some great IMC media activists in Porto Allegre at the world social forum. They told me of a squatter’s encampment called Sohno Real (real dream) in their city within the interior of the country. The court fight got them nowhere and they started to dig in. They surged on the abandoned land nine months before, after the owner of the land hadn’t paid taxes in over 30 years. A couple of months later it was election time and the governor promised them they could stay, and they started building for real. It was all talk.
The first day I arrived in the city, I was still dazed from hard travel and hit the camp just as night fell. There was a pattern of nightly harassment that was escalating. The night before the police had shot some rounds randomly to scare people guarding the barricades. The barricades were inspiring, layers of tires piled in a hermetic order locking into each other vertically, and some had moats with bamboo spikes and barbed wire. Near the barricades people were at the ready—
T-shirts for masks, some with slingshots and Molotov cocktails, but the norm was a nice big stick. Many of the warriors were in their teens and were excited, but they didn’t really seem to know what was in store. Others were battle-hardened soldiers from other occupations in the region. There were eight barricades, all of them guarded night and day. It got really dark without streetlights, and it was disorienting.
Two nights in a row the police came to attack after midnight. Tear gas crept up, concussion grenades exploded everywhere. Two nights in a row the barricade burst into flames and lit up the night and the community fought back, their silhouettes floating, blurring in pure black inside the inferno. Slingshots singing, fireworks spraying, a Molotov would miss its mark. The police brought it up with incendiary flares and rubber bullets. The second night they used real bullets—they have such a distinct sound as they whiz by your head. Inside the camp someone was screaming with a bullet wound clean through his bicep. A policeman was wounded. They vanished and the barricade kept burning for hours. No one knew if they would return in a few minutes or never.
We got no sleep. Daylight always came up strange and brilliant in the camp. So cruel was this beauty, the contrast at dawn—the sun smiling on the simple homes and the flowers opening their eyes, pineapple and banana trees, gathering water from the well, a black spot in the road where the tires had burned through. There was silence but for a few feet slowly making their way to work, to scrap through the trash for cardboard or bottles or cans. The women were off to market, or the kids on their way to school yawning.
Life pulsed on just like the neighborhood next door. Poor folks were trying to get by living, loving, arguing, cooking, and sharing. Some had settled in nicely, selling everything they owned to buy bricks and mortar. All of them were basically single-room dwellings with a simple garden outside with yucca, squash, or kudzu. Some were still camping in a shanty tent with a black plastic roof. There was a communal kitchen that fed those who needed it. There were all sorts of Christians, lots of Catholics, tons of believers, evangelicals of a different breed than the Bush voters back home. Everyone was so nice. I wasn’t greeted with suspicion but with a smile and a hand. You pass a small simple home and they ask you in for coffee. It was great kindness, generosity, and dignity, in spite of the poverty they faced. They had built a dream in the dust—a new people’s village, a giant squat, a community.
Night returned after rumors flying all day. They had a regular Bible revival rally with singing and little kids and a few politicians. It was beautiful, hands all raised in prayer for peace, for a new life. All the while the paranoia was creeping and chattering, gripping your teeth. No sleep again, the morning dead quiet. Then an announcement on a loudspeaker: 30 trucks on the road, full of military police. The governor had promised 2,500 police and they were on their way. People trickled to the main entrance, but there was no panic. Slowly the police closed the roads, slowly their buses filled the plaza, slowly they unloaded their human cargo. Inside people sang the national anthem of Brazil. A group of women formed a line to pray hard and loud. Soon a large group joined them with children and white flags. The night warriors were not to be seen. The police formed blocks and started to move in with black and green battle paint, bulletproof vests, shields, and helmets, ready for war. Everyone stood terrified, unsure what to do.
Suddenly we heard explosions behind our backs. There was gas inside the camp. The police were already inside shooting. Another explosion directly behind my back pushed my body forward and my ears started ringing. Everyone scattered in a panic. Military police with pistols drawn were right behind me, one of them kicking a woman. I ran, but there was nowhere to go. Shots whizzed past my head. I headed for the back yards and leaped through the yucca bushes where I saw an open door and a welcoming hand inviting me in. Everyone was affected by the gas and in a panic. A little baby was vomiting. A man of the house opened the door and I started filming, and twice got shot at by passing military police. They came screaming, but I could only understand bits and pieces. I was explaining I was a journalist from the U.S.A. The police, with their pistols pointed at my head, didn’t seem interested in my credentials. When they hit me it was first in the back of the head, then one threw me down, three or four kicked me, then one on top hard with his knee in my back. Then the plastic handcuffs like a vise. I got on my feet looking for my video camera. What the fuck happened? I stumbled dazed in the sun into a different group of police. One smacked me on the side of the head and almost sent me to the ground, except another was holding me up. Later I realized they were being gentle with me.
The police came marching out in formation singing songs celebrating their victory—”We will put a sword in your skull and drink your blood!” Twisted. I looked into some of their eyes and saw darkness, cold hard soulless steel. Soon I was in the mayhem at the police station. The pain started to settle in to the bone. There was a first aid area with puddles of blood starting to turn black at the edges. I saw people with stitches, broken arms, and bullet wounds in the head. They moved me along and after eight hours cut me loose. Over 800 were arrested and the bulldozers were busy all night. People said they saw bodies being dumped in the water wells and thrown into burning buildings. People were shot in the head while on their knees. No one knew how many were still missing.
All night there were military ambulances leaving the encampment. IMC volunteers were at the hospitals and these ambulances never arrived. People saw trucks full of dirt entering in the night and leaving still full of dirt and something else. A massive cover-up was underway. People working in the hospitals were afraid to talk with us. One later came forward in secrecy and told us there were 20 violent deaths reported at the morgue; on a normal day there are one or two. In the jail so-called leaders were being selectively pulled into special detention for interrogation. Children were looking for their parents. There were streams of refugees and no government plan for what to do with these people. They went to the Catholic cathedral to sleep and rallied in the morning. They gathered to write down the names of the disappeared. There was a mass funeral the next day. An undercover agent infiltrated and tried to arrest someone randomly, and got beaten down by the crowd until his buddy fired over everyone’s head. Only two official deaths were listed, but we may never know how many for real. People moved into two gyms across town for refugee housing. A young man looked me in the eye. “This is Brazil,” he said “it is not the north east and the beaches or Rio and Carnival—now you know the real Brazil.”
Back at the encampment they had their way with the houses. Scorched earth policy, every house was destroyed. A horse was tied to a post, waiting for someone who was not coming. Butterflies and strange birds flew in the sunflowers and corn left to blaze in the heat. Heaps of belongings and bricks and scrap wood lay everywhere. A dead vulture was at the bottom of a well. Sohno Real became a living land without shade, a new dump, fragments of a shattered hope.
Everyone I knew was shattered and paranoid. The history of the military police in this state is brutal. Nothing seems to have changed here in the interior since the end of the dictatorship. Everyone—the politicians, the media, university students, the middle class—talked about youths in the slums turning up dead after a tall tale from the police; about re-adjusting your car in the middle of the night and a few days later having an unexpected accident; about complete impunity, about midnight disappearances. Two people from the community who testified got late night calls threatening their life. Every phone had echoes and seemed tapped. The police were the muscle for the land-owning elite, which was clinging to a colonial power that had yet to vanish.
Everyone kept telling me I should leave town or go into hiding. I was lost but something was holding me there. There was an image I couldn’t get out of my mind—a thin woman curled up fetal and broken lying in a short pool of water at the bottom of a well. I was haunted.
I would visit the gyms where everyone was sprawled around with fragments of foam mattresses and bundles of clothes in plastic bags. Life was pushing forward. The bathrooms were packed and filthy. Lunch was the only meal and it was mayhem, people pushing and grabbing, little kids all confused and vanishing under a sea of desperate arms. Folks weren’t happy, spending most of the day sleeping just trying to make it through. These people were working hard to build a new home and suddenly they are piled up and waiting, some washing a few clothes and hanging them on the fence next door, some sitting in the shade waiting for news, the kids running wild and looking for mischief. A passing car hit one young child. I could feel the weight in everyone’s eyes. There is a stress that lingers deep and settles in, the unknown, the not forgetting, the clinging doubt, the silent fear, a held breath, the missing. They are all missing.
One warm day the community was on the march. Both gyms mobilized and they walked to the camp. They joined up en route and the joy was overflowing. It was a family reunion. They rallied at the entrance where the military police had invaded, together for the first time since the funeral. There was hope. There was a call to action for global solidarity put out on the internet and there were actions at the embassies and consulates in Amsterdam, Buenos Aires, New York City, Oslo, and Washington. The federal government stood up and took notice after people made trips to Brasilia, the capital, using my video as principle evidence. The parliament voted to federalize the investigation. One breath and it will fall into place. All the pieces are ready and they are waiting. All of them, the children, the warriors, pregnant mothers, the unsettled spirits, are waiting. On the one-month anniversary, the young people organized a simple theater of the eviction. They were learning to heal. Time skips a beat, pushing through, and the struggle continues. The dream never died.

http://bradwillboogcity.blogspot.com/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/tags/bradwill/?page=24


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Archival Footage of Slain Journalist and Activist

Monday, October 30th, 2006
Brad Will In His Own Words: Archival Footage of Slain Journalist and Activist Discussing the Importance of Community Media and the Struggle Against NYC Demolition of a Lower East Side Squat

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We turn to some archival footage of Brad Will, the U.S. journalist and activist shot dead in Oaxaca on Friday. We play a recording of Brad from the late 1990s at a time when he hosted a radio show on the pioneering microradio station "Steal This Radio" and a recording of Brad talking about efforts to prevent New York City from demolishing a squat on the Lower East Side. [includes rush transcript]
We turn to some archival footage of Brad Will. The following was recorded in the late 1990s at a time when he hosted a radio show on the pioneering microradio station Steal This Radio.
Brad Will, speaking in 1998. Courtesy of Paper Tiger Television.
Brad is also remembered by many for his efforts to prevent the city from demolishing a squat on the Lower East Side. When the city moved in to demolish the building on Fifth Street he stood atop the roof waving his arms. Brad's efforts stalled the demolition but the city eventually leveled the building which housed a cafe, a meeting place and a performance space. Brad later talked about the building in a program produced by Paper Tiger Television called "ABC Survives, Fifth Street Buried Alive."
Brad Will, excerpt of program, "ABC Survives, Fifth Street Buried Alive." Courtesy of Paper Tiger Television.
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AMY GOODMAN: We turn to some archival footage of Brad Will. This was recorded in the late 1990s at a time when he hosted a radio show on the pioneering microradio station, “Steal This Radio.”

BRAD WILL: I think for the FCC, micro media that is non-commercial, anti-profit, community-based, is poison to their program of supporting corporate control of the media. And what they are interested in is supporting the National Association of Broadcasting and their complete leveling of culture in the United States, their complete clear-cutting of American tastes and values and trying to propagate through Congress, through elected officials, through lobbyists, through huge amounts of money being thrown into the media spectrum, their ability to control what people think. And that’s really what’s at stake, is the free flow of ideas in people's minds that is so much controlled by the media as we know it and especially the mass media that has the public ear and that really dominates people's lives.

You know, New York is a very isolating place in a lot of ways, and I think the Lower East Side is one of the few places that’s actually still a community. And it’s easy for people to kind of fall into that go home, turn on the TV and eat their dinner and try to survive mentality that takes so many people away from an awareness of what’s really going on, and on a micro level, on a local level, a community level, you know, that there’s a community space right down the block that’s under threat. You know, CHARAS/El Bohio has been sold by the city, and it can be stopped. And what people need to know is that it’s possible, it’s not over, or that even if one garden falls, that there are still so many more to save and that there’s still a chance.

And the concrete things is that people come up to me and talk to me about things they want to be heard on the radio, events that they want to propagate and demonstrations that they want people to show up for. And, you know, people come up to me and tell me about my show and are really appreciative, you know, about what I’m trying to do and what we’re all trying to do: save this neighborhood, save ourselves.

AMY GOODMAN: Brad Will is also remembered by many for his efforts to prevent New York City from demolishing a squat on the Lower East Side. When the city moved in to demolish the building on Fifth Street, he stood atop the roof waving his arms. Brad’s efforts stalled the demolition, but the city eventually leveled the building, which housed a café, a meeting place and a performance space. Brad later talked about the building in a program produced by Paper Tiger Television called ABC Survives, Fifth Street Buried Alive.

BRAD WILL: We were making a home out of a crumbling building. The interior of the building needed help, and we brought that building back to life. It was standing strong. And the only reason it was standing was because people were living in it. If we had let it go the way the city wanted it to go -- they tore out the stairwell, they punched holes in the roof. The water -- the rain was rotting that building from the inside out. We replaced the joists. We rebuilt the floors. We sheetrocked the walls and made the building alive. What did they do? They killed it. That building is over a hundred years old. It was standing strong.

AMY GOODMAN: That was Brad Will, as he was talking about squats in New York. Leslie Kauffman, can you talk about these squats, for people who have never even heard the term?

LESLIE KAUFFMAN: Well, they were abandoned buildings that had been just standing vacant for years and years all over the city, but there was a particularly strong movement to rehabilitate these buildings in the Lower East Side. And really, they were homesteaders. I mean, it’s a longstanding all-American tradition. They took over these abandoned properties, and they fixed them up and created spaces for people to live who had nowhere to live, and much as those who created the community gardens in New York City were homesteaders, too. They took over abandoned lots and cleared them of bottles and used needles and all the garbage that was there and turned them into spaces of beauty and hope.

And Brad so much believed in creating that kind of hope and beauty in the world and found himself in conflict with the authorities over and over again, because, for example, the City of New York wouldn’t let that stand, wouldn’t let the squats continue, wouldn’t let homesteaders get the deed to their own place, wouldn’t let the community gardens flourish.

AMY GOODMAN: I wanted to go back to Gustavo Esteva in Oaxaca, the columnist for La Jornada. You knew Brad, and I was wondering the significance of having U.S. journalists and activists come down to Oaxaca. How do you see it?

GUSTAVO ESTEVA: He was in our office a week ago. And you have been listening to some examples of Brad’s passion for life and beauty. He had a genius to discover where life was, where it was flourishing, and sharing his own passion with our passion for life. It is really one of the many paradoxes that he died in his search for life. And it is also a paradox that he is now being used as a subtext for more killing and more oppression. His death is really used now by the authorities saying that it is a justification, it is because of this kind of violence that they are bringing in the police for more oppression and more aggression and more killings.

Yes, Brad was with us just a few days ago in our office, with our people, working together. We have been involved in one of the activities of Indymedia. And he was with us and with [inaudible] -- that is one of our collaborators. He was very close to [inaudible], and both [inaudible] and Brad were working together in their supporting. And, of course, also Brad had this specific genius for reporting what was happening, what he was capturing, these living elements that he was discovering in the middle of the movement.

AMY GOODMAN: John Gibler, there is a protest planned for today in Oaxaca?

JOHN GIBLER: Correct. They’ve -- yesterday the APPO provisional leaders, and as well just the word that was running through the crowds on the street, was to pull back at night, to not fall into provocations, to not fall into violence, to take back the streets during the daytime today.

As Gustavo mentioned, the control of the city depends how you define “control.” If it's presence of armor and automatic weapons, then the mainstream media might think that the police have control. But if it’s the spirit of the people and the people taking to the streets, even in the face of continued paramilitary attacks and the police invasion, then the people of Oaxaca strongly retain control of the city.

I was greatly impressed yesterday by the numbers of people that came out to fill the barricades, and people from all walks of life, entire families, people holding their children, walking right up to the police to put flowers in their armor and then march with them instead of confronting them. And I think that the response today will be similar, that it will be thousands and thousands of people taking to the streets to march and to stand in the barricades.

AMY GOODMAN: Gustavo Esteva, do you see Oaxaca today as Chiapas, what, more than ten years ago?

GUSTAVO ESTEVA: We are the same. Chiapas is still alive here in Oaxaca. And in a sense, we are a fruit of Chiapas. It was an awakening created by Chiapas. When in Chiapas ten years ago they said, “Basta! Enough! We have enough of this system, of this oppression,” that was something that awakened us here in Oaxaca. We had, of course, our own long struggle, but Chiapas is here with us right now. We are joining in the same kind of struggle for democracy now, for our definition of our own life. “We want to define us,” the Zapatistas said. This is exactly what we are saying today in Oaxaca. We want a world in which many worlds can be embraced. We want a harmonious coexistence of the difference.

Perhaps the Oaxaca movement today, it is one of the best expressions of one element, brilliant element, of contemporary movements all over the world. That is, a policy of one no, many yeses, in which in the past you had movements that would have one no and one yes and saying an affirmation to something and denial to something. Here, we have a no to something and accepting the plurality of yeses, the plurality of affirmations, the plurality of life. Here in Oaxaca, you have -- this is the only state, in which the majority of people are Indians, and they belong to sixteen different indigenous cultures. Here, we have the plurality as -- it is also natural and cultural plurality via diversity. And you have this expression of a movement that is saying no to this government or no to this oppression, no to this kind of political regime, no to this kind of economic organization. But we are accepting, we are not attached to any specific ideology or any specific leader or any specific organization. We have many yeses. We are accepting the plurality of our world, and we want to find ways for the harmonious coexistence of these different people.

AMY GOODMAN: Gustavo Esteva, we are going to turn now to a tribute to Brad Will from his friend and fellow musician, David Rovics.

To purchase an audio or video copy of this entire program, click here for our new online ordering or call 1 (888) 999-3877.
http://www.democracynow.org/article.pl?sid=06/10/30/1535244
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Brad Will en Ecuador y Bolivia

fotografía: Brad Will, desde El alto, La Paz - Bolivia ,año 2004





Cuando indymedia ecuador nació, Brad acompañó al grupo de activistas que porfiadamente se comprometieron con este indyecua, para que existiera, para que creciera, para que sea amplio y se multiplique. Era la posibilidad de hacer comunicación con las propias manos y con pensamiento propio, pero sobre todo con responsabilidad y solidaridad, sin que eso significara pensar exactamente lo mismo, de cómo se hacía comunicación, de cómo se participaba ni de cómo se construía la solidaridad.
Brad estuvo en Quito dos veces, convivió con nosotros. Su presencia durante las jornadas contra el Alca, lo tuvieron dando una mano y mucho conocimiento generoso; de ese que a veces escasea. Se vinculó con otros espacios muy valiosos desde sus principios anarkistas.

Haciendo reportajes a la gente, la pregunta era simple, qué es el ALCA y por qué esta usted acá? La gente hablaba con conocimiento de causa. Gente de tantos lugares, con tonadas tan latinoamericanas. Colaboró con el resurgimiento de indy Perú y Bolivia. Ayudó tanto para que tuvieramos equipos!
Hoy estoy lejos, como él y como otros tantos, que fuimos voluntarios de indymedia. Estoy con mis compañeros abrazados en estas y otra luchas.
Solo espero que la tenacidad y el recuerdo de Brad se acerque a todos los compañeros indy ecuador, y a quienes consideran este un espacio posible para pensar y crear una comunicación horizontal que ayude a caminar hacia otro ecuador -no bananero.

________________________________________________

By CMI Sucre-Bolivia

Después de enterarnos de lo ocurrido con Brad no podíamos creer que él se había ido de Latinoamérica. Nos consuela que las personas que compartieron momentos con él, afirman hoy que a él le hubiera gustado dejar su vida por estas tierras latinoamericanas donde se respiran aires de libertad con una cámara a mano, filmando el largo camino de la insurrección, no podía ser de otra manera que sumarnos a los actos de solidaridad con él y con el pueblo de Oaxaca, a la mejor forma latinoamericana, reafirmando el compromiso de lucha y de difusión de la información alternativa.

La historia sonríe a Brad, porque no podía ser de otra manera que le dio otra oportunidad, la oportunidad de despedirse de los amigos que él dejo en estas tierras, oportunidad que es aprovechada por todos en este día que se recuerda el día de los difuntos 2 de noviembre.

Su recordatorio nos interpela sobre el horizonte de nuestras vidas cuyo sentido solo se encuentra muchas veces en la donación voluntaria a una causa. Por ello una muerte es solo una encrucijada de existencialismos muy humanos, donde la bala que perfora el cuerpo es un puente con la realización plena de aquello que queremos como opción de vida.

Sea pues este homenaje a Brad desde Sucre-Boliva en éste Día de Todos los Difuntos, un momento de infusión y descanso, porque la resistencia, la insurgencia y la rebeldía continuarán. Por este día el descanso nos ayuda a retomar fuerzas para el mañana que viene pronto.

By CMI Sucre-Bolivia cmisucre@indymedia.org http://bolivia.indymedia.org/

_____________________________________________

Un homenaje a un hermano que pasó por estas tierras...

Tal vez no somos tan buenos; tan justos, tan honrados, tan dispuestos a todo por defender nuestras causas, tal vez sólo estamos ahí, haciendo lo correcto, tal vez no importa, tal vez sí.

Cuando Brad llegó a Cochabamba, casi no se diferenciaba de nosotros. Era un muchacho, eso sí, alto y con una cara de gringo que nadie se la quitaba, pero cuando pasabas un rato con él era igual a los demás

Brad nos dejó algunos textos fotocopiados (piratas por supuesto), para que los leyamos, en una actitud, debemos ser honestos, entre compañerismo y paternalismo. Una buena nota, después de todo, que demostraba militancia, algo diferente a la faceta del día anterior en la que nos divertimos demasiado en un concierto punk en la federación cocalera.

Tardamos un par de días en caer en cuenta que nuestro amigo, nuestro compañero y nuestro hermano había sido asesinado en Oaxaca. El sonido de la bala penetrando en su cuerpo nos retumbó en el corazón, se sumó la ira y la impotencia de los luctuosos hechos de Oaxaca.

Por nuestro hermano Brad y en solidaridad a la Asamblea Popular de los Pueblos de Oaxaca:
¡siempre de pie, nunca de rodillas!


_________________________________________________

Tuve la suerte de conocer a Brad, fue en el Foro Social Mundial que se desarrolló este año en Venezuela, y realmente la descripción que se hace lineas arriba concuerda.

LO conocí como se conocen a los compañeros de lucha, a los revolucionarios, haciendo su trabajo militante, en plena calle, vestido humildemente y con su actitud franca y abierta.

El, junto a otros compañeros de Ecuador estaba vendiendo videos sociales, que tuve la suerte de adquirir en buena cantidad y tambien entregar un material que me habían enviado los compañeros de Videourgente. Conversamos un buen rato, en medio de las carpas que levantaron grupos de jóvenes que acamparon en un parque de Caracas. Expresó su gran solidaridad con Bolivia, comentó de sus contactos y destacó el trabajo de indymedia Bolivia. Prometio venir a Santa Cruz, para ver la situación del país desde este rincón, refugio de la derecha y de los grupos fascistas. Que lástima que no fue posible, pues su aporte hubiera sido grande para comunicar al mundo lo que aqui pasa.

Murió con el fusil en la mano, en lo suyo, en lo periodístico. Lo mató una bala asesina de la represión y no creo que haya sido un accidente, pues creo que Brad no era de los periodistas que creen en esa falsedad de la imparcialidad. Creo que Brad era un peridosita militante, de los que decimos francamente de que lado estamos, junto al pueblo, junto a la APPO de México, junto a El Alto de Bolivia, los Mapuches de Chile, y en fin, todos los pueblos que luchan y que prefieren morir con dignididad y no de hambre.

Brad, tu fusil, tu cámara y tu sensibilidad, será recogido por los miles de compañeros de esta otra forma de hacer periodismo.

Marcelo Patzi (Bolivia)

_____________________________________

Sentimos tristeza. En Oaxaca han matado a mujeres y hombres que se levantaron para enfrentar a los poderosos y al sistema de explotación y mala vida que impone el capitalismo. Y entre quienes han caído está el profesor Emilio Alonso Fabian y también.... Brad, un amigo al que conocimos por distintos caminos y en diferentes lugares.

La foto que encabeza este artículo, la compartió con nosotros y la publicamos junto a una crónica enviada por una colaboradora desde Bolivia en el año 2005 .

La foto muestra a un grupo de mujeres que se enfrentan a las fuerzas represoras y, como era habitual, Brad estaba ahí, resguardando la memoria de ese momento y siendo parte de esa lucha. Ahora, también al lado y con los que luchan, las balas le dieron muerte.

Y la noticia que recorre los correos y nuestras páginas es de esas que nos llenan de tristeza. Tristeza porque la muerte de quienes caen en este "enfrentamiento" trae siempre el saber con dolor que en el camino para la conquista de las posibilidades para la alegría colectiva y la igualdad, la muerte que viene con las armas del capitalismo y los que tienen el poder está siempre acechando. Tristeza porque nuestras luchas están guiadas por el aprecio y el valor de la vida humana que el capitalismo niega. Tristeza por las pérdidas humanas en nuestra historia para conquistar reales posibilidades para terminar con las muertes permanentes que provienen de las condiciones de vida impuestas por el sistema capitalista.

Pero sabemos bien que para preservar la memoria y las luchas de quienes han muerto, nuestra tristeza no puede significar derrota!

En el camino que sigue tenemos la compañía de quienes han caído y Brad está ahora en ese lugar... y cuando a través de la lucha diaria nos reencontremos con la alegría de seguir con vida, nos alegraremos también en la compañía de quienes no se han ido porque al igual que Brad Will siguen presentes!!

Un mundo sin capitalismo es posible y necesario.

Extracto editado por sus compañeros de Bolivia del audio del último material de Brad grabado en Oaxaca (original publicado por la red Indymedia), y donde en la parte final incluyen una canción interpretada por él:
http://www.mercadonegro.cl/multimedia/brad_oaxaca.mp3
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Remembering Brad Will

Remembering Brad Will
By Indypendent Staff
From the November 1, 2006 issue | Posted in Columns
Testimonials and tributes poured into the nyc.indymedia.org website in the day’s following Brad Will’s death. Here are excerpts from a few of them:

by jenka

i haven’t seen brad since i was last in new york…..at a protest, of course. he was at every protest, big or small, he “had” to be there. when i met him, we were part of a small group that determined to make new york indymedia a reality. we lived, breathed, sweated and slept indymedia. every second of our time was devoted to it….day and night, recording everything we could…brad….john tarleton, warcry, justin, madhava, ana, josh breitbart, arun, lee, ….devoting ourselves with such fury to the idea that ‘all voices should be heard’. and brad was just about the most devoted devotee to that idea, that vision.

i hear his voice now, in my head, so matter-of-fact, so ready to face any force…but not to be a hero! no! just because (hear brad’s voice now), well hey, there are people being oppressed, so _of Course_ we’re gonna stand up and be there with them. of Course we’re gonna tell their story, capture their struggle on our cameras, broadcast their voices to the world. i mean, that’s what any reasonable person would do in such a circumstance.

by Scott

I just saw Brad a few weeks ago. He came by our house and pissed me off when I caught him helping himself to my personal supply of olive salad & tahini from the fridge :) We travelled together briefly in South America and sat through more than our share of boring meetings in NYC. If I’d known I’d never see him again, I guess I would have bought him a beer and invited him to the rest of that olive salad.

GREAT SADNESS AND MOURNING

Modern Pitung

The last time I spoke with Brad was all too brief, but touching. I was in a small but crowded group in Bluestockings Books, at a fundraiser for tsunami relief in Aceh. Being an Indonesian who was dissatisfied with the way leftists sought to simply ennoble the suffering Acehnese and Indonesians while asking no questions as to why it happened, I was impressed with how Brad seemed to know instinctually that we should question the official feel-good stories there. He seemed to feel, deep in his heart, that his purpose as a journalist wasn’t to manufacture consent but to push dissent.

CARO BRAD

by toya

the solidarity was always with you, from the first time i met you in ny, u helped me get around in a different country….we met many times in the struggles of the repressed ppl….I heard from you always questions of “how this can be more useful” u have always tried to be useful for the struggle.. u always came to ask “what ppl needed”..and u tried your best to make it happen…everywhere, ny, ecuador, bolivia, argentina, brasil…last time we hanged out u asked me…..you were here in brasil, and asked “hey i still have some time here, tell me where should i go, where ppl need help”..and u went to goiania, to fight with the ppl from sonho real… your presence there were very important as your presence has been everywhere you went to and everywhere we will go to, cuz we will always take you with us to the barricades ;)

my thoughts are with you brad, with your glasses, ten thousand media press identification, the long hair…the same person who dedicated your life to our struggle and we will continue it…brad presente!

By jlaw

i met brad a few years back in buenos aires. a huge prison built by the 1976 dictatorship towered over my neighborhood. one of my last nights there, brad and i went out and redecorated it with stencils and messages of hope. the argentine call to arms “¡que se vayan todos!” still rings true.

By Lucy

Brad’s most successful campaign was his own life. No one needed to tell him to “actualize his desires” because his compass was always firmly rooted in his own heart. He pursued his desires like there were no other options; alienation was an abstract concept to him. He never hesitated, and I admired him for this tremendously. This impulse also put him in danger, but he lived and died like a hero. We should all be so lucky to do the same. I am forever indebted to Brad for reminding me, directly and by example, that we are all complicit in our own oppression. His life provided an example of the alternative.

BRAD ON THE ROOF OF 5TH ST. SQUAT

By Fran Luck

I met Brad as part of the squatter movement on the Lower East Side and loved him as a brother as we fought the gentrifiers, city bureaucrats and even neighborhood housing associations who were to get the squatters out of the abandoned buildings they were making into communities. In the early 90’s Brad and many others were living in a longtime squat on East 5th St. which they had made into a beautiful and political home and gathering place. Other forces wanted that buiding and there was a “mysterious fire”- -a small one–that was used as an excuse to order this considerable community to leave the building without even being allowed to take their possessions or save their animals. An order for a bulldozer was quickly granted by the city. As the bulldozing was about to start and a crowd stood on the street helplessly watching, a lone figure appeared on the roof of the building–refusing to leave and risking his life to make that statement (the building could have been easily bulldozed with him in it–followed by a claim that they ‘didn’t know’). A cheer went up. Somebody had defied the insane and brutal eviction. It was Brad.

The image of his tall figure walking back and forth on that roof and defying the pig-landlord city government was burned into everyone’s mind. There are many photos of it. It was a signal of hope even in that desperate and griefstricken moment. Brad was clearly and consciously risking his life for his principles then–just as he was doing in Oaxaca. He was that kind of person. The very best of us.

Compiled from nyc.indymedia.org.
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BRAD WILL: Su vida

Brad Will’s Remarkable Life
By John Tarleton
From the November 1, 2006 issue | Posted in International
Brad Will was someone who seemed to be everywhere.

Most knew him as an Indymedia activist, but he was also a passionate environmentalist, freedom fighter, musician, and anarchist who was also close to the Earth First! movement where he was a beloved character by many. Here are some of the campaigns he was involved in:

STEAL THIS RADIO 88.7 FM – Brad was an active participant in this irrepressible Lower East Side pirate radio station that defied the Federal Communications Commission (FCC) and helped spark a movement that culminated in 2000 when the Clinton Administration reversed itself and began granting Low Power FM broadcasting licenses to hundreds of community groups around the country.

SQUATTING – Brad was a part of a movement that turned abandoned buildings on the Lower East Side into free housing. With squatters already under siege from the Giuliani administration by the time he moved to New York in 1995, Brad stunned his fellow squatters in Feb. 1997 when he snuck back into an East 5th Street squat and emerged atop the roof to try and stop a giant wrecking ball which had begun battering the building.

FOREST DEFENSE – Freight hopping and dumpster diving back and forth across the country, Brad hooks up with old-growth forest defenders in Oregon. The forest defenders used an innovative range of innovative direct action techniques including “locking down” to blockade logging roads and “tree-sitting.” Will once conducted a tree sit while living in a helicopter cargo net dangling 200 feet up in the canopy of giant Douglas firs and hemlocks

COMMUNITY GARDENS – As Mayor Rudy Giuliani moved to wipe out hundreds of community gardens (see page 8) in the late ‘90s, Brad helped energize the community gardens movement by introducing non-violent direct action techniques learned in the Pacific Northwest. The More Gardens Coalition that Brad helped found would later migrate from the Lower East Side to the South Bronx to help mobilize community support for dozens of endangered gardens in Melrose Commons and Morrisania.

BATTLE OF SEATTLE – Experienced forest defenders like Brad train thousands in non-violent direct action and spearhead mass protests that shut down a World Trade Organization meeting in Seattle in November 1999. Images of police firing tear gas and rubber bullets into throngs of mostly youthful protesters speed around the world and help inspire a new generation of radical activists here in the United States.

GLOBAL JUSTICE MOVEMENT – Brad travels to Prague, Quebec City and Quito among other locales to participate in mass convergences against corporate-dominated trade summits and international financial institutions like the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund. As he travels, he continues to develop a far-ranging network of friends and allies that enables him to immerse more deeply in the global justice movement, especially in Latin America. When he’s in New York, he continues to actively participate in Food Not Bombs, Critical Mass bike rides and efforts to save community gardens in the South Bronx.

INDYMEDIA – Inspired by the Zapatistas and launched on the eve of the Seattle WTO protests, Indymedia’s innovative self-publishing newswire inspires thousands of activists to “become the media.” Local Indymedia Centers quickly take root in over 100 cities on all six continents. In 2001, Brad becomes involved with the New York City chapter and contributes as a writer, photographer, videographer and audiographer.

SOUTH AMERICA – Brad makes his first extended trip to South America. Living on the outer edges of Buenos Aires, Argentina, he finds an economically-devastated populous organizing and mobilizing through neighborhood assemblies, factory takeovers, communal soup kitchens and more to regain control over their lives from the bottom up. Inspired by the militant, grassroots social justice movements that were flourishing throughout Latin America, he would return again and again to chronicle and share in the struggles of the oppressed in various countries including Bolivia, Ecuador and Brazil. In February 2005, he was nearly killed when Brazilian police violently raided an encampment of 12,000 landless squatters who had occupied an abandoned industrial park for nine months.

GLOBAL WARMING – Brad played a founding role this summer in the creation of Rising Tide North America, a decentralized network of groups and individuals organizing against the root causes of climate change.

MEXICO – In January 2006, Brad chronicles the first leg of the Zapatista’s Other Campaign, a national listening tour that travels to the poorest and most exploited communities in Mexico and encourages them to organize “from below and to the left.” In June, striking teachers in the state of Oaxaca spark a popular revolt against an unpopular governor. Sensing the showdown in Oaxaca was heading toward a pivotal moment, Brad returns to southern Mexico at the beginning of October with a video camera in hand.
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Brad Will, asesinado en Oaxaca

Por Al Giordano
27 de octubre de 2006

Brad Will, documentalista y reportero para Indymedia en New York, Bolivia y Brasil, murió hoy por un balazo en el pecho, cuando agresores a favor del gobierno abrieron fuego contra una barricada en el barrio de Santa Lucía del Camino, localizado a las afueras de la ciudad de Oaxaca, México. Murió con su cámara de video en las manos.

Brad viajó a Oaxaca a principios de octubre para documentar la historia que los farsantes de los Medios Comerciales – como Rebecca Romero de Associated Press – distorsionan en lugar de mostrarla: la historia de un pueblo harto de la represión y la injusticia, el cual busca recuperar un gobierno que es suyo por derecho. En ese contexto, su asesinato es también consecuencia de lo que pasa cuando los medios independientes tienen que hacer el trabajo con el que los Medios Masivos no cumplen: decir la verdad.

Era mi amigo y colega desde 1996, cuando trabajamos juntos en la emisora 88.7 FM “Steal This Radio” (“Roba esta radio”) en el Lower East Side de Nueva York. Me encontré con él otra vez en Bolivia en 2004, durante una recepción pública de la Escuela de Periodismo Auténtico de Narco News, y nuevamente en la península de Yucatán el pasado enero, donde llegó para informar sobre los inicios de la Otra Campaña zapatista. Brad murió para dar a conocer la auténtica historia al mundo.

Fue en Oaxaca a principios de octubre sabiendo, asumiendo y compartiendo los riesgos que implicaba informar sobre esta historia. Su último artículo, publicado el 17 de octubre (en inglés) y titulado “Muerte en Oaxaca”, reportó el asesinato de Alejandro García Hernández en las barricadas instaladas por la Asamblea Popular de los Pueblos de Oaxaca (APPO). Brad escribió:

“…Caminé de regreso de la barricada de Alejandro con un grupo de simpatizantes que venían de una zona de las afueras, a una media hora de distancia… me fui caminando, con gente furiosa, rumbo hacia la morgue… entré y lo vi… no he visto muchos cadáveres en mi vida… te abruman… un montón de cadáveres sin nombre en la esquina… el número que había muerto más o menos… nada de refrigeración… el olor… tuvieron que abrir su cráneo para sacar la bala… regresé con él y los demás.
“Y ahora Alejandro espera en el zócalo, como los otros en sus plantones, espera un punto muerto, un cambio, una salida, un camino para seguir adelante, una solución… esperando que la tierra se mueva y abra, esperando a que llegue noviembre cuando pueda sentarse con sus seres queridos en el Día de los Muertos, para compartir comida, bebida y canto… espera que la plaza se entregue a él y reviente… solo esperará hasta la mañana pero esta noche espera al gobernador y su parcela, a que salgan y nunca regresen… una muerte más, un mártir más en una guerra sucia… una ocasión más para el llorar y sentir dolor… una ocasión más para conocer el poder y su cabeza fea… una bala más ruptura la noche… una noche más en las barricadas… algunos mantienen las fogatas, otros se acuestan a dormir, pero todos están con él mientras se descansa una noche más en su guardia…”

El 26 de septiembre pasado, Brad, rumbo a México, me escribió:

“Oye Al,
“Soy Brad de Nueva York… sería buenísimo conocer a tus contactos de Narco News en Oaxaca… me voy para allá y quiero conectarme con toda la gente que pueda… ¿estas en el DF? Debo pasar por ahí y sería excelente salir por un trago.

“Brad”

Conociendo la mala suerte que había tenido Brad cubriendo otras historias (la policía lo había golpeado en Nueva York y en Brasil mientras hacía este trabajo importante pero peligroso), sus dificultades con la lengua española, y el riesgo elevado para periodistas independientes que no han sido “incrustados” a través de un tiempo (y de esta manera reconocidos por la gente) en Oaxaca, le rogué que no fuera, que viajara a Atenco para informar sobre lo que estaba ocurriendo ahí con la llegada de los comandantes zapatistas.

“Nuestro equipo en Oaxaca está bien incrustado. Hay un chingo de otros internacionales vagando por ahí buscando hacer el super reportaje, pero la situación está muy delicada. La APPO no confía en nadie que no conozca desde hace años, y me siguen diciendo que no envíe novatos, porque la situación está tan jodidamente tensa… Si vienes a México, te recomendaría que vayas a DF y Atenco para que informes sobre lo que está por empezar. La APPO es (con razón) muy desconfiada con gente que no conoce desde antes. Y ya tenemos suficiente mano de obra ahí para seguir informando las novedades. Pero lo que va a pasar en Atenco-DF sí requiere más manos a la obra.”
Brad contestó esa misma noche, sin inmutarse:

“Hey
“Gracias por la respuesta rápida… tengo una cámara HD profesional… he escuchado rumores sobre el nivel de desconfianza en Oaxaca y es desconcertante.. Creo que voy de todas formas… no les diré que me enviaste y estoy dipuesto a tener en cuanta otras sugerencias sobre como pasar mi tiempo allí… No sé que pasará en Atenco durante los próximos días. Tal vez me comunico con la otra capítulo dos en algún lugar por el camino. Qué bien recibir noticias tuyas. ¿Tienes un numero de cel/telefono?

“Solidaridad,
Brad”

No me sorprendió que terminara decidiendo ir a Oaxaca. Brad siempre tomaba riesgos: ya fuera viajando por los planos de Norteamérica en vagones de mercancías de ferrocarriles, o atrincherándose en su okupación de Fifth Street en 1996, cuando la policía y la bola de demolición invadieron. Su vida fue una de valentía. Le di mi numero de celular en caso de un urgencia. Escribió de nuevo el 7 de octubre, hace tres semanas:

“Hey Al,
“Te escribe Brad… gracias por los contactos y la información… aterricé en DF bastante enfermo y me fui directamente a Oaxaca. Ahora estoy conectado… Si quisieras compartir tus contactos aquí me sería muy útil… Creo que me quedo por un mes… Nancy dijo que tenías contacto con un abogado de derechos humanos que podría ayudar a periodistas a que no los deportaran… Por favor, ayúdame con esa información también… Sé que andas ocupado y espero con ganas ver más de tu trabajo.

“Paz,

“Brad”

Estas son las palabras de un compañero valiente, quien – sabiendo bien que este reportaje podría ser su último – decidió compartir los riesgos con la gente sobre cuya causa informaba.

También compartiendo estos riesgos hoy en Santa Lucia del Camino, Oaxaca, se encontraba el fotógrafo Oswaldo Ramírez del diario Milenio, herido por los tiros. Fue el corresponsal de este periódico, Diego Enrique Osorno, quien confirmó la noticia de la muerte de Brad a las 4:30 esta tarde. También dijo que en otro rincón de la ciudad, afuera de la oficina de la Procuraduría Judicial del Estado, pistoleros dispararon contra otros integrantes de la APPO; que tres resultaron heridos, y que hay rumores de un maestro muerto, aunque no se han podido confirmar.

Foto: D.R. 2006 El Universal
Brad Will era conocido y querido por todo el hemisferio, y en los centros de medios, desde Nueva York, pasando por Sao Paulo hasta la Ciudad de México. Esta noche, su cuerpo yace en la misma morgue oaxaqueña que visitó la semana pasada para hacer su reportaje. No desaparecerá silenciosamente dentro de la noche noche de represión que el gobernador ilegitimo Ulises Ruiz Ortiz, el presidente Vicente Fox y su sucesor ilegitimo Felipe Calderón han creado en Oaxaca y, de hecho, en muchos partes de México. Era inevitable que pronto un reportero internacional se uniría a la lista creciente de los asesinados bajo los regímenes represivos de México (ya violaron y golpearon a otros periodistas en Atenco, y los deportaron del país el mayo pasado). Esta noche fue Brad – haciendo el trabajo responsable y urgente, cámara de video en la mano – quien rompió el cerco de los Medios Comerciales.

Mientras hablaba en un mitín público de la Otra Campaña en Buaiscobe, Sonora – al recibir un resumen de los sucesos del dia y la noticia de la muerte de Brad – el subcomandante Marcos dijo a la gente y la prensa:

“Hace unos minutos, nos avisaron a nosotros que paramilitares del gobierno atacaron a una barricada, una concentración buen de gente, y mataron cuando menos a una persona. Esa persona que mataron trabaja en los medios alternativos, decimos nosotros. O sea que no son de la televisión o de los grandes periódicos, sino que es gente como la que viene aquí en el autobús, está mirando la gente de abajo y sacando su voz, para que se conozca. Porque ya sabemos que en la televisión sólo salen las cosas del gobierno, y en los periódicos también. Y esta persona, un compañero de la Otra Campaña, que había andado por varias partes con nosotros cuando andábamos por Yucatán, estaba ahí, tomando pues foto y película de lo que está pasando, y lo balearon, y murió. Saben sí que hay otra persona muerta, y el gobierno no quiere hacerse cargo de lo que hizo, el ahorita lo que nos dicen es que de todo el pueblo de Oaxaca se está movilizando nos se están con miedo sino que se están movilizando para tomar la calle y protestar por esta nueva injusticia. Y nosotros estamos haciendo un llamado a toda la Otra Campaña a nivel nacional y a los compañeros y compañeras que están en otras países, para que nos unamos para exigir justicia para la muerte de este, nuestro compañero, especialmente a todos los medios alternativos y medios libres que hay en México y todo el mundo.”
Esta noche, desde la morgue de la Ciudad de Oaxaca, Brad Will grita “¡ya basta!” a la muerte y al sufrimiento impuesto (como bien lo entendió él, un anarquista pensador y serio) por un sistema económico: el sistema capitalista. Su muerte será vengada cuando se destruya ese sistema. Su máximo sacrificio expone la violencia autoritaria del régimen mexicano que ocultan los Medios Comerciales del mundo, y así impulsa que llegue más rápido el día en que la justicia vendrá de abajo para sacar los regímenes de dolor y represión que requiere ese sistema. Brad dio su vida esta noche para que tu y yo pudiéramos saber la verdad. Le debemos el actuar con ese mismo objetivo y compartir los riesgos que tomó él. Adiós, viejo amigo. Tu sacrificio no será en vano.

Actualización 10:30 p.m., Oaxaca: La Asamblea Popular de los Pueblos de Oaxaca ya confirmó que el maestro Emilio Alfanso Fabián ha muerto por tres heridas de bala tras un ataque llevado acabo por pistoleros de Ulises Ruiz Ortiz afuera del Palacio del Gobierno.

El fotógrafo Oswaldo Ramírez del diario Milenio resultó herido en el ataque por pistoleros de Ulises Ruiz Ortiz en Santa Lucia del Camino
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Canciones para Brad

Por /By: Mitchel Cohen



ANOTHER SONG FOR BRAD WILL (WHEREVER WE MAY FIND HIM)

More than anything in this world
I want peace to blossom
More than anything in this world
I want love to flow
More than anything in this world
I want freedom to ring out
Write me a long letter
Tell me how hopeful you are
Roll me a sonnet
Have another hit of life




More than anything in this world
I want to know you like a river
More than anything in this world
I want our streams to flow together
More than anything in this world
I want to sail upon those waters
Write me a long letter
Tell me how hopeful you are
Roll me a sonnet
Have another hit of life

- Mitchel Cohen
By Mitchel Cohen mitchelcohen@mindspring.com Brooklyn, New York Brooklyn, New York


SONG FOR BRAD
October 31, 2006 10:18AM EST




Por Stephanie Rogers submitted by Christy Will


SONG FOR BRAD

36 years
can’t count the tears
which fall before
your life of labor

the youngest child
so brave and mild
a family
of grace and beauty

you couldn’t turn your heart away
from feeling someone else’s pain
a heart so strong
a life not long enough

you gave your life
for others’ rights
and now you’ve won
a silent freedom

you couldn’t turn your eyes away
from hardships others have to face
a heart so strong
a life not long enough

you heard a call
to rise and follow
the road unpaved,
forgotten way,
a sign of grace

you couldn’t turn your head away
from all the troubles others face
a heart so strong
a life not long enough

you lived so much
for truth you sought
left not in vain
but to make change

you’d never turn yourself away
from helping someone else feel safe
a heart so strong
a life not long enough, not long enough…

you may be gone
never forgotten




I just loved that kid

written by Stephanie Rogers
http://www.hipchick.com
Por El Stephanie Rogers submitted by Christy Will willcomm@aol.com


http://nyc.indymedia.org/es/2006/10/78292.html
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Brad Will en Argentina

Brad Will en Argentina en el año 2004. Movilización de la comunidad Ava Guarani al Instituto Nacional de Asuntos Indígenas (INAI). Fotos: Zula (zula@riseup.net)
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Brad en el Foro Social Mundial, 2005

Ante la muerte de Brad Will

Un recuerdo en homenaje al compañero caído en Oaxaca, México.

Por El el_gato (uruguay)


En la edición 2005 del Foro Social Mundial (Porto Alegre, Brasil) conocimos a Brad Will junto a otro compañeros de diversas nacionalidades, con los cuales convivimos durante una semana en un espacio maravilloso, el Laboratorio de los Conocimientos Libres, donde los activistas de Indymedia compartíamos la sala de redacción con otros colectivos relacionados con la comunicación libre.

No es el único reportero ni el único militante caído en estos días en Oaxaca, ciudad donde germinó, contra todos los pronósticos neoliberales y pseudo-izquierdistas, una rebelión contra lo que Zapata llamaba con razón "el mal gobierno". Nos sensibiliza especialmente por habernos relacionado dentro de una misma organización, y mucho más por haberlo conocido personalmente.

En este momento donde la realidad se hipertextualiza, donde las imágenes y las palabras fluyen como vorágine por el aire, por internet, sufrimos el doble efecto de ser receptores de información en abundancia, y a la vez saber muy poco sobre lo que está pasando. Por un lado, nos llega información aparentemente objetiva, pero objetivamente manipulada por los medios masivos de comunicación, que van moldeando nuestra percepción del mundo, condicionándonos para reaccionar de modo pasivo y sumiso. Por otro lado, las informaciones, como enjambre, parecen disconexas, y a lo sumo se nos plantean torpes redes conceptuales para relacionarlas, dentro de discursos maniqueos y simplistas, que aluden a la fantasmagoría medieval de dios y el diablo, y/o a la dicotomía amigo/enemigo -por citar algunos de esos ejes de discurso-, que habilita al patrioterismo y al cierre del pensamiento. Y la hipertrofia informativa, manipulada y de mala calidad, mostrando los horrores como espectáculo, van horadando nuestra capacidad de sensibilizarnos ante el dolor.

Aquí está la tarea de los medios de comunicación independientes, libres, alternativos, comunitarios, o de la denominación que prefieran, pero que parten de la convicción de la relación entre la información, o mejor, la comunicación y la emancipación de las personas y los pueblos. Contra la desinformación planificada de las cadenas internacionales, se levantan, con medios escasos en lo material, pero con una fuerza emocional y moral inigualable, los medios alternativos, pensados y sentidos para contactar precisamente a las personas y a los pueblos.

Nos hemos enterado de lo que algunos denominan "La Comuna de Oaxaca" (evocando seguramente a la Comuna de París) gracias a los medios alternativos; Indymedia entre ellos. Detrás de las noticias sobre la rebelión de los maestros de Oaxaca, de la solidaridad de los sindicatos, de las organizaciones estudiantiles e indígenas, de las personas particulares, están seres humanos concretos como Brad Will, que con su cámara, grabadora de voz o bolígrafo y papel, han registrado y compartido lo que ven y lo que sienten, para que nosotros podamos nutrirnos de esas experiencias y, dentro de nuestras posibilidades, solidarizarnos.

Más allá de lo que Brad Will representa, más allá del símbolo (o casi más allá de él, porque si fuera posible ese "más allá" entre ustedes lectores y este escribiente, quizás muchas de estas palabras serían mejor comprendidas, o hasta innecesarias, mirándonos a los ojos), quiero compartir con ustedes imágenes mentales, recuerdos de ese ser humano concreto. Viene a mi mente el amanecer de Porto Alegre, la gente saliendo de las carpas, los cuerpos somniolentos lavándose la cara en las duchas, Brad levantándose de su "cama" -bajo una mesa del Laboratorio, compartida con una inglesa muy graciosa y malhumorada- entre otros cuerpos que resistían el comienzo de la jornada. Y viene a mi mente la noche en que la policía militar (esa guardia brutalizada a quien el gobernador derechista del lugar encargó la seguridad del Campamento de las Juventudes), para evitar una tragedia -el linchamiento a un presunto violador- casi genera otra, encima de sus caballos, con los sables en mano, con una mezcla de miedo y temor, dispuestos a cargar contra la multitud predominantemente adolescente. Recuerdo también que esa misma noche Elisa, una compañera de São Paulo, corrió conmigo hacia la caballeriza, para intentar negociar en medio de la locura. Junto a nosotros, estaban Diego, un compañero de Goiás, y Brad, de New York. Pudimos festejar que nadie salió lastimado, bebiendo cerveza y vino más tarde. Eso también recuerdo -y con ese recuerdo me quedo-.

A Brad Will, mi humilde homenaje. A su familia y amigos, a sus compañeros de IMC-NY, y al valiente pueblo de Oaxaca, mi solidaridad.

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Nota tomada de nyc.indymedia.org
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La demolicion de 5th Street Squat (Video, 1997)

Tomé este video super8 hace casi diez años en la mañana en que el gobierno de la ciudad demolió de manera ilegal el edificio de la calle 5 del este 537-539 en Nueva York. Hubo un fuego pequeño interior y el gobierno de la ciudad, violando una orden judicial, se movió rápidamente para destruir el edificio con las pertenencias de los residentes y los animales domésticos aún dentro. Brad se había ocultado en su interior y como la garra arruinadora comenzó a romper en el edificio, él subió a la azotea, levantando sus brazos triunfante. Todavía recuerdo la sonrisa desafiante en su cara cuando el policía lo escoltó abajo de la Calle 5 esposado.






1997 footage of Brad Will / 5th Street Squat Demolition

1997 footage of the city's illegal demolition of 5th St. Squat while Brad Will was STILL INSIDE

Por El toddchandler

I shot this super8 footage almost ten years ago on the morning that the city illegally demolished the building at 537-539 East Fifth Street in New York City. There had been a small fire inside and the city, in violation of a court order, quickly moved to destroy the building with residents' belongings, pets, and Brad(!) still inside.

Keywords: Analysis, Local,

I shot this super8 footage almost ten years ago on the morning that the city illegally demolished the building at 537-539 East Fifth Street in New York City. There had been a small fire inside and the city, in violation of a court order, quickly moved to destroy the building with residents' belongings (and pets!) still inside. Brad had been hiding out inside and as the wrecking claw began smashing into the building, he climbed onto the roof, his arms raised triumphantly. I still remember the defiant smile on his face as he was escorted down 5th Street in handcuffs by the police.

If this video doesn't load, visit http://missrockaway.org/fifthstreet_demol_brad.mp4

See full article about the demolition of 5th Street Squat here: http://nyc.indymedia.org/en/2006/10/78033.html

Por El toddchandler http://toddchandler (at) gmail.com
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Videos de Brad en mayo de 2001 en Nueva York

Por El viddeohacker

Conocí a Brad en Centro de Medios Independientes de Nueva York, en 2001. Pasé un mes hospedado allí y Brad fue mi profesor de inglés y mi guía turísitico-activista. Nos movíamos en bicicletas por manifestaciones, plazas, teatros, muestras de video, fiestas y reuniones, sin gastar casi ningún dinero.
Brad era un maestro en el arte de vivir con poco dinero. El era un tipo de norteamericano idealista que yo no conocía antes. Tenía ideas bastante primitivistas en relación con la naturaleza y llevaba el concepto de acción directa a su vida diaria.

Por ejemplo él estaba viviendo en lo alto de un árbol milenario y gigante, el Red Cloud Thunder, a muchas decenas de metros de altura, en una reserva natural en Oregon para proteger el bosque de la destrucción.El estuvo en varias de las grandes manifestaciones del llamado movimiento antiglobalización: Seattle, Quebec, Praga...Y estaba envuelto en decenas de luchas locales de Nueva York.

Después de eso, como un soñador de esos que ya no hay más, él viajó por las más importantes luchas de América Latina. Con una cámara en la mano dando voz a esa gente invisible.

Un pensamiento viene todo el tiempo a mi cabeza. Pude haber sido yo.
Como saber hasta qué momento uno tiene que grabar y cuando es hora de protegerse? Parar? Justo cuando acontece lo más importante

Y Brad no paró.
El grabó no solo el momento del disparo como a la multitud que le cargaba. Y la cámara siguió grabando hasta que alguien se dio cuenta de su parada, y de alguna forma la hizo llegar a personas del cmi.

Esta entrevista fue grabada en la sede del cmi de Nueva York, en mayo de 2001. En ella él canta (mi preferida es "I Really Like The Cops") y habla sobre el movimiento, grupos de afinidades, accion directa, Seattle y Quebec. Lo pongo a disposición aquí como una forma de matar las nostalgias y de darle voz a él por una vez más. La grabación está dividida en pedazos y hay versiones en video o solo con audio.Las radios que quieran utilizar el material son muy bienvenidas.

Brad canta "I Really Like The Cops": video | audio em ogg | audio em mp3

Brad canta otra con guitarra: video | audio em ogg | audio em mp3

Brad canta una a capela: video | audio em ogg | audio em mp3

Brad habla sobre el movimento: video | audio em ogg | audio em mp3

Brad habla sobre grupos de afinidades: video | audio em ogg | audio em mp3

Brad habla sobre acción directa: video | audio em ogg | audio em mp3

Brad habla sobre Seattle: video | audio em ogg | audio em mp3

Brad habla sobre Quebec: video | audio em ogg | audio em mp3

Por El viddeohacker http://videohacker@riseup.net

------

(PORTUGUES):

Conheci o Brad no cmi de Nova Iorque, em 2001. Passei um mes hospedado la e o Brad foi meu professor de inglês e meu guia-turístico-ativista. Nos moviamos de bicicleta (achamos a minha no lixo) por manifestações, palestras, teatro, mostras de video, festas e reuniões, sem gastar quase nenhum dinheiro.

Aliás o Brad era um mestre na arte de viver com pouco dinheiro. Ele era um tipo de norte-americano idealista que eu não conhecia antes. Tinha ideais bastante primitivistas na relação com a natureza e levava o conceito de ação direta à sua vida diária.

Por exemplo ele esteve morando no alto de uma arvore milenária e gigante, a Red Cloud Thunder com muitas dezenas de metros de altura, numa reserva natural no Oregon para proteger o bosque da destruição.

Ele esteve em várias das grandes manifestações do chamado movimento antiglobalização, Seattle, Quebec, Praga...

E estava envolvido em dezenas de lutas locais de Nova Iorque.

Depois disso, como um sonhador desses que já não se fazem mais, ele viajou pelas mais importantes lutas da América Latina. Com a câmera na mão dando voz a essa gente invisível.

Um pensamento vem o tempo todo à minha cabeça. Podia ter sido eu.

Como saber até que momento você tem que gravar e quando é a hora de se proteger? Parar? Justo quando acontece o mais importante?

O Brad não parou.

Ele gravou não só o momento do disparo, como a multidão lhe carregando. E a câmera seguiu gravando até que alguém se desse conta dela ali parada, e de alguma forma fizesse chegar a pessoas do cmi.

essa entrevista foi gravada na sede do cmi de Nova Iorque, em maio de 2001. Nela ele canta (a minha preferida é "I Really Like The Cops") e fala sobre o movimento, grupos de afinidade, ação direta, Seattle e Quebec. estou disponibilizando aqui como uma forma de matar as saudades, e de dar voz mais uma vez a ele. A gravação esta dividida em pedaços e há versões em vídeo ou só com audio. Rádios que queiram utilizar o material sao muito bem vindas.

Brad canta "I Really Like The Cops": video | audio em ogg | audio em mp3

Brad canta outra com violão: video | audio em ogg | audio em mp3

Brad canta uma a capela: video | audio em ogg | audio em mp3

Brad fala sobre o movimento: video | audio em ogg | audio em mp3

Brad fala sobre grupos de afinidade: video | audio em ogg | audio em mp3

Brad fala sobre ação direta: video | audio em ogg | audio em mp3

Brad fala sobre Seattle: video | audio em ogg | audio em mp3

Brad fala sobre Quebec: video | audio em ogg | audio em mp3

Por El viddeohacker http://videohacker@riseup.net

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http://nyc.indymedia.org/es/2006/10/78149.html
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El Jardin de LA CALLE CINCO - The Fifth Street Garden

El Jardín de la Calle Cinco
por Brad Will



La historia del Jardín de la Calle Cinco está profundamente conectada a la historia de la Casa Ocupada (Squat) de la Calle Cinco. El viejo Squat vio como el edificio inmediato vacante se convirtió en el basurero del propietario y zona de descargue de los desperdicios de sus renovaciones. Las pilas de yeso de apartamento tras apartamento, madera podrida y hierro viejo, sobrecargó el edificio viejo hasta que colapsó de abandono (y soledad).

En los años 80 Jimmy Stewart, entre varios otros, acompañó el viejo Squat y ayudó a remendarlo y mantenerlo en función. Jimmy vió cuando la ciudad vino y acabó con el edificio vecino y se lo llevó. Los residentes llegaron y se fueron hasta que, comenzando con un pequeño grupo de refugiados del Squat Casa de Vidrio (Glass House), un nuevo grupo (tercera generación) de jóvenes ocuparon el edificio. Sangre fresca y renovada energía empezó a hacer que el edificio funcionara tiempo completoÑhicieron renovaciones y mejoramiento estructural y, increíblemente, limpiaron las inmundicias y comenzaron un jardín comunitario.

Hostigamiento constante del departamento de salud hizo poco para atemorizar el brote de verdor, aunque algunos de los tomadores caninos si interrumpían el impulso.

Yo conocí a Kzrt en Dreamtime Village en la lejana de WI rural, compartiendo la agricultura orgánica, la vivienda colectiva, y técnicas alternativas de construcción. Pasó por India y llegó a la ciudad de Nueva York sin un centavo, se mudó a Calle Cinco trabajando por un jardinero de la ciudad. Yo me mudé a la gran (mierda) ciudad, sin rumbo y fascinado aterricé desesperado delante de su puerta.

Kzrt trajo a casa los lujosos desperdicios de los soberbios, objetos de los jardines en los rascacielos los puso de nuevo en la calle. Recuerdo cuando llegó el camión y Kzrt gritó por ayuda--habrían 100 sacos de tierra y turba. Finalmente hicimos un arreglo para tener recogidas regulares de basura frente al edificio y un espacio inmenso se abrió en el jardín para eventos de la comunidad.

Slevitch y Patrick estaban felices cuando terminaron el asado--un tanque de aceite abierto por la mitad, lo acomodaron a lo largo como una ostra gigante con bisagras y un sostén angulado de hierro. Nos comprometimos a hacer un guizote cada fin de semana asoleado, y mantuvimos el compromiso alimentando todo tipo de gente de la vecindad, un lado carnívoro y el otro vegetariano. Los niños del barrio y sus padres pasaban corriendo y jugando en la tierra fresca. Amigos llegaron con comida para el asado o solo con barrigas vacías. Un poco de música y travesuras y los perros enloquecidos.

Mi amigo John se mudó al vecindario y comenzó trabajando duro como voluntario, utilizando sus experiencias de jardines piratas y masonería de piedra al uso. Solía llamar a mi ventana con el umbral de una ventana bajo el brazo. "Hay un contenedor lleno de ellos, vamos!," decía. Con su coordinación transformó una pila de ladrillos a un pasillo elegante y cercó las plantas elevadas con paredes retenedoras. Me contó una historia sobre las piedras que pavimentaban el viejo Nueva York. Ellas eran piedras lastre cortadas por los prisioneros en Inglaterra y traídas en barcos grandes que dejaban en los puertos con inmensos viejos pinos blancos cargando los barcos. Slevitch escamotaba un vagón lleno de ellos que traía de los puertos abandonados de Williamsburg, y aquí estábamos, volviendo ese desgaste y calzada en sencillos jardincillos, manteniendo la tierra nueva sobre el polvo feo de abajo.

Lo que transformamos con nuestras manos y esta simple tierra. Kzrt tenía un plan para un lecho espiral de especias que formaran un pico con dos caminos curvos de cada lado. Jimmy dañaba los planes a diario, diciendo que el camino iba derecho por diez años y que el no iba a parar ahora. Una batalla se armaba. John llegó con unas piedras impresionantes del Río Este y colocamos un lindo camino por las plantas y apoyamos los lados. Dice Krzt: "Wow, esto es maravilloso. Había decidido matar a Jimmy y que así todo iría bien, pero esto resultó mejor."

Un grupo de la casa fuimos al Jardín Elizabeth Christy para la repartición gratuita de plantas de la Guerrilla Verde, celebrada anualmente. Nosotros rogábamos. Ellos dejaron que los regulares respetables escogieran primero mientras nosotros esperábamos en el perímetro, cuando nos dieron la entrada limpiamos la casa. Nos dieron una docena de varas de pino, una carretilla, muchas plantas y un contenedor prefabricado para abono.

Nos tomó tres viajes trasladar todo con carreta. Plantamos una hilera de arbustos espinosos que darían fruto que atrajera los pájaros, pero tenía doble función como seguridad contra el fastidioso superintendente vecino.

Los girasoles crecieron alto, y las Glorias Mañaneras, se sobrepasaron la cerca y empezaron a crecer sobre el Squat. Hicimos paz con la Òmujer de mugreÓ del lote Sección Ocho de atrás, que había incitado una disputa por llevarse una gran pila tierra que debíamos compartir. Pero le caí bien y nos dio un pequeño árbol de capullos rojos para que lo transplantáramos con la esperanza de que nuestro jardín le diera mas luz y un mejor hogar.

John y yo estábamos afuera mirando el panorama y dos monjas del centro Cabrini de ancianos se nos acercaron y nos dijeron que bello jardín teníamos. Whoa! Dos semanas mas tarde un oficial de alto llegó a decirnos lo mismo. Esto de un lugar que comenzó una petición en el vecindario para que nos desalojaran. Que poder transformador tiene un buen espacio verde.

Estábamos sucios. Solo teníamos agua del hidrante y un par de sanitarios para todo el edificio. Era difícil solo sobrevivir y prevenir que los sanitarios se congelaran en el invierno. También había que estar atentos que la ciudad nos cayera en cualquier oportunidad. Fue un milagro hacer el bloque mas limpio, más seguro, más orgulloso. Estaba bien.

El viejo albañil Sammy nos consiguió a todos trabajo moviendo carbón por $5.00 la hora, debajo de la mesa. Un hombre especial de la vieja escuela-- del squat de la calle 13--hacía la albañilería en todos los squats, un borracho contento que se puso sobrio y empezó a hacer buen trabajo con ACT UP. Nosotros lo recogimos cuando tropezó de nuevo y poco tiempo después lo encontraron muerto cerca del río. Plantamos un árbol de en honor a ese pobre infeliz, Slevitch y Patrick estaban solemnes y silenciosos.

Nunca lo vimos florecer. Los puñeteros botaron mi edificio sobre el jardín--casi me matan quebrando el edificio cuando sabían que estaba adentro, todas las salidas estaban bloqueadas y la tropa Gestapo estaba preparada para aplastar una revuelta. Cientos en la calle decían "no", y yo estaba solo en el edificio oyendo sus gritos cuando la grúa empezó a subir. Creó un humo de pintura de plomo y asbesto que quedó en el aire tres dias, y quebró un hueco de diez pies de hondo y diez de ancho en la casa vecina.

Violados: nuestra casa, nuestro jardín, nuestros vecinos, nuestra comunidad. De alguna manera un pequeño pedazo del jardín colindando el edificio vecino se salvó de ser enterrado. Ese árbol de capullos rojos aun está allí, un poco abusado por los consumidores de Crack que acampan debajo.

Lentamente regresa a ser un lote de basura y drogados. Encontré un idiota que dijo que pronto sería un estacionamiento de carros. Que júbilo. Pero la Agencia de Protección de Ambiente tuvo algún control sobre la propiedad hasta que blah blah blah... Es difícil dar la espalda y dejarlo todo. Pero se hace.

Ahora intercambio entre el bello jardín de Dos Blocos en el bajo Nueve Este y el jardín de la Asociación Cerezo (Cherry Tree Association) en el sur del Bronx. En el pequeño nido de meditación detrás de Dos Blocos las viñas de frijol subieron y florecieron en el alambre de puntillas. Todos los bienes: abono, comida y cosecha de hierba, arbor urbano, ahorro de semilla y praxis permacultura. Los otros jardines por cual luchar la buena lucha. No importa. Esta tierra no morirá.

Pequeños humanos vienen y van como un virus. Nos enlazamos, picamos y criamos. Pero nuestros más notables logros son pequeños brotes sobre el pulso latente de la vida. Somos una piedra quebrada de esta tierra. No hay naturaleza. Está en todos lados y, sí, hasta aquí en esta ciudad de tablas de concreto. Somos vida. Y la vida siempre vence.

Amor y tierra
Brad Will

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The Fifth Street Squat Garden
by Brad Will
El Jardín de La Calle Cinco - en Español

The story of the Fifth Street Garden is deeply connected to the story of the Fifth Street Squat. The old squat watched its adjacent building go from vacant tenement to dumping ground for the next building's landlord and his renovation blunders. Apartment after apartment's piles of plaster, rotted lumber and old steel bloated the empty building until it collapsed due to neglect (and loneliness). Through the eighties Jimmy Stewart, among a slew of others, kept the old squat company and helped stitch it together and hold it up. Jimmy watched the city come and finish off the adjacent building and haul it away. The residents came and went until, starting with a small group of refugees from Glass House Squat, a new ("third generation") group of younger squatters moved in. Fresh blood and renewed energy got the building moving full time -- renovation and structural improvements and, lo and behold, clearing out the junk yard next door and starting a community garden. Constant harassment from the Sanitation Dept. did little to deter the green emergence, though some of the dog squatters sure put a dent in the momentum.

I met Kzrt out at Dreamtime Village in way rural WI sharing the permaculture organic farming, collective living, and alternative building techniques. He wandered India and landed in NYC penniless and moved into Fifth St. working for a city landscaper. I moved to the big shitty wandering wonder-eyed and landed desperate at his doorstep. Kzrt brought home the righteous kickdowns from the snobs and their terrace penthouse gardens back to the street. I remember the company truck pulling up and Kzrt yelling for help -- must have been a hundred sacks of soil and peat. We finally finagled regular garbage pick up in front of the building and a huge amount of space opened up in the garden for community pursuits.

Slevitch and Patrick were beaming when they finished the barbeque -- an oil drum sliced down the middle that sat long ways and opened up like a giant clam on hinges and an angle iron lip. We pledged a cook out every sunny weekend and made good on our promise, feeding all kinds of folks from the neighborhood, one side carnivorous and the other vegan delight. The kids from the block with negligible parents running around playing in the fresh dirt. Friends showed up with food for the grill or just empty bellies. A little music and mayhem and all the dogs going at it crazy.

My friend John moved to the neighborhood and started volunteering hard core, putting his pirate garden experience and stone masonry to work. He used to yell up to my window with a huge window sill stone cradled in his arms. "There's a dumpster full of them, come on!" He organized turning the scrap pile of bricks into an ornate walkway and worked over the raised beds with retaining walls. He told me a story about the cobble stones that used to pave old New York. They were ballast stones cut by prisoners in England and brought over by big wooden ships and left on the docks with with huge old growth white pines weighing down the boats. Slevitch would scavenge a van full of them from the abandoned docks in Williamsburg and here we were, turning all that pillage and roadways into simple garden blocks, holding the new soil above the lead nasty dust below.

What we transform with our hands and this simple soil. Kzrt had this plan for a spiral bed of spices crawling upward toward a peak with two trails curving around either side. Jimmy busted up the whole program on a daily basis, mumbling that the trail went straight through for ten years and he wasnÕt gonna stop now. A battle was brewing. John showed up with some fat ass stone from the east river and we laid a beautiful walkway through the bed and shored up the sides all spiffy.

Kzrt: "Wow, this is great. I had decided that I had to kill Jimmy, and then everything would be all right. This is a much better option."

A crew of us from the house went out to the Elizabeth Christy Garden for the Green Guerrilla annual plant giveaway. We begged. They let the respectable regulars have a first nab while we held off on the sidelines and cleaned house when they gave us the go ahead. They floated us a dozen pine two by fours, a rickety wheelbarrow, plants galore, and a prefab compost bin. It took three trips to haul it all back by push cart. We planted a row of thorny bushes that would bear bird attracting berries come springtime but doubled as a security against the pesky super next door. The sunflowers sprang up tall and the morning glories surpassed the fence and started climbing up the squat. It took three trips to haul it all back by push cart. We planted a row of thorny bushes that would bear bird attracting berries come springtime but doubled as a security against the pesky super next door. The sunflowers sprang up tall and the morning glories surpassed the fence and started climbing up the squat. Even made peace with the "dirt lady" in the Section Eight lot behind ours who stirred up a feud by snagging a huge pile of dirt we were supposed to share. But she took a liking to me and told us to transplant this little redbud tree in the hopes that we could give it a little more light and a bit better home.

Me and John were standing outside surveying the rapture and two nuns from the Cabrini old folks home across the street came over to tell us what a lovely garden we had. Whoa. A couple weeks later an office high up came by to spread the same sentiment. This from the place that started a petition on the block to get us evicted. Oh the transformative power of the green good space. We were dirty. Only running water from the hydrant, just a couple of toilets for the whole building. It was hard just to get by and keep the toilets from freezing in the winter. And you have to deal with the city wanting to pounce any chance they get. It was a miracle making the block safer, cleaner, prouder. Just fine. Old Sammy the plumber got everyone hired shoveling coal at the Rivington school off the books five an hour. A real sweet heart -- old school from 13th street squats, did all the plumbing for the squats, a jolly drunk that sobered up and started doing bad ass work with ACT UP. We took him in when he fell off the wagon head first and not too long after was found dead down by the river. We planted a pear tree for the bastard, Slevitch and Patrick all proud and silent.

Never got to see it come to fruit. Fuckers dumped my building on top of that garden -- ready to kill me tearing at the building while they knew I was inside, all the exits blocked off, and the gestapo horde ready to crush any revolt. Hundreds in the street to say "no" and me all alone in the building hearing them scream when the crane started to rise. Crashed a cloud of lead paint and asbestos into the air three days running and smashed a ten by ten foot hole into the next door neighborÕs house. Violated: our home, our garden, our neighbors, our community. Somehow a little sliver of the garden hugging the next building survived burying. That red bud tree is still there, a bit abused by the crackheads camping out under it. Slowly returning to a garbage filled, junky lot. I ran into some schmuck who said there would be a parking lot there soon. Oh joy. But the EPA had some hold on the property until blah blah blah. It is hard to turn your back and just walk away. But you do.

Now I trade off from lovely Dos Blocos Garden on lowly East Nine and the Cherry Tree Association Garden up in South Bronx. In the little meditation nook behind Dos Blocos the bean vines crawled up and bloomed in the razor wire. All the goods: composting, food and herb harvest, urban arbor, seed saving and permaculture praxis. Other gardens to fight the good fight for. No matter. This earth will not die. Little humans come and go like a virus. We cling, tear and breed. But our greatest achievements are little pimples in this coursing life beat. We are a birth stone split from this earth. There is no nature. It is everywhere and yes, even here in this city of concrete slab tombstones. We are life. And life always wins.

love and soil
Brad Will



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PUBLICADO ORIGINALMENTE POR SU AUTOR EN: http://www.interactivist.net/gardens/gs_5thstreet_en.html
Leer más...

La historia de Brad Will sobre los jardines comunitarios

Por Brad Will

Cultivando la esperanza
(artículo publicado por Brad Will, en 2003)

En Nueva York sucedió algo realmente sorprendente.... La gente tomó lotes de terrenos detrás de sus vecindades, una porción a la vez. En ellos cultivó jardines para uso de la comunidad. La gente traía sus hogares con ellos: del sur rural a Harlem; de Puerto Rico al lado del este más abajo; de Jamaica a Nueva York del este; de la República Dominicana al Bronx del sur. Desatendieron los derechos de propiedad e hicieron lo que creyeron correcto para sus vecinos. La historia de los jardines de la comunidad son millares de historias. Puedo contar algunas.



Brad Will's story of NY community gardens

Cultivating Hope, a story published by the great raconteur, Brad Will, in 2003.

By Brad Will

"In New York City...something really amazing happened.... People took back their neighbourhoods, one lot at a time. They cultivated unique community greenscapes. They brought their homes with them: from the rural south to Harlem; from Puerto Rico to the Lower East Side; from Jamaica to East New York; from the Dominican Republic to the South Bronx. They disregarded property rights and did what was right for their neighbors. The story of the community gardens is thousands of stories. I can tell a few."

Keywords: Analysis, Global, Bradley Will,

This story of Brad's, in my opinion, demonstrates some of the best of him, qualities he had that all of us who knew him can nod and say, "Yep, that was Brad." Qualities like dedication, commitment, curiosity, up-for-it-ness, creativity, courage, and hope. Especially hope.


Intro to Cultivating hope: the community gardens of New York City

Few cities are as desperately in need of transformation as New York. This became even more evident during the eight-year reign of Mayor Rudolph “zero tolerance” Giuliani, who rigorously applied neoliberal principles to the city. He slashed university funding, criminalized the homeless, gentrified neighbourhoods faster than eviction notices could be delivered, and waged a concerted campaign against the urban poor’s last bastion against hunger and misery: their colourful and productive gardens, vehicles for social organizing, cultural renaissance, ecological recovery, and spiritual regeneration.

For politicians, city planners, landowners and developers alike, food growing as a land use is never going to take priority over housing developments, shopping centres, parking lots and hotels. After all, food can never hope to compete with this form of “development” in terms of financial returns. By cultivating unused derelict land without consent of local authorities and other landowners we present a positive demonstration of community initiative and resistance to the set of priorities that sees our local environment as just another tradable commodity.

This is why illicit, or “guerrilla” gardening is not just about planting vegetables in cities and towns, nor limited to one-off, symbolic stunts, such as planting in locations like Parliament Square, or the White House lawn. At its deepest level, gardening is a way of reconnecting people to land, teaching children that carrots come from the earth, not the supermarket; it’s a way of reminding us of our incredible power to plant seeds and create sustenance autonomously, to experiment, to build connections with other gardeners which cross generations and borders. It’s remembering that we also can be pollinators, fusing ideas together to make new ones, collecting and broadcasting seeds and shared visions.

“Just as we sow seeds on a street pavement, not knowing whether they will take hold or die, not knowing what influence the tiny flowers will have on the ecology or passers-by, so we can sow beautiful ideas to grow in peoples’ minds, not knowing where exactly they will go but hoping for some beauty.”
– anonymous gardener



Cultivating Hope: the community gardens of New York City

by Brad Will

“Here’s a story that you may not understand,
but the parking lots will crack and bloom again.
There’s a world beneath the pavement that will never end.
Seeds are lying dormant, they will never end.”
– songwriter Dana Lyons, Willy Says

In New York City in the 1970s, while the white flight flew and the city coffers choked up blood, a procession of torched buildings tumbled down, block after block, at the same time that firehouses were closed, trash services cut off, police retreated. The public face of NYC hung its head and caved in. These rubble-strewn lots were magnets for trash, rats, prostitution, drug dealing, dirty needles, hepatitis. The city’s only response was to spend thousands on fences. But then, something really amazing happened. Realizing the government was not interested in helping them, people took back their neighbourhoods, one lot at a time. They cultivated unique community greenscapes. They brought their homes with them: from the rural south to Harlem; from Puerto Rico to the Lower East Side; from Jamaica to East New York; from the Dominican Republic to the South Bronx. They disregarded property rights and did what was right for their neighbours. The story of the community gardens is thousands of stories. I can tell a few.

I moved to the big shitty as Giuliani-time kicked in. Hard times for the fiscally disinclined. Hardest of all for communities of colour. Land under your feet grew more expensive by the minute − they still call it real estate, even under a garden. Down at the 5th Street squat, we cleared out the adjacent lot of rubble, junk carts, piss bottles, and rot. We started a green space. The neighbourhood kids ran wild between the fragile beds. The nuns from the Cabrini old folks home came across the street to praise our goodly green emergence. The year before they were lobbying for our eviction. We turned the ghost fragments of rubble into elaborate brick walkways and stone-raised beds. I heard the tale of the cobblestones, cut in debtors’ prison in England, used as ballast for the rough sea, and dumped on the docks in exchange for old growth white pines. They became streets, then were ripped up and poured black. We tried to set them right. Getting your hands in the soil is such a simple and human thing. You are moving contrary to the concrete.

A crew of us went out to the Liz Christy garden for the Green Guerrilla annual plant give-away. In the 1970s, the Green Guerrillas formed a band of night-time raiders, kick-starting the gardening movement with bolt cutters, trainings on appropriate trespass tactics, “seed bombs,” direct support. Natural allies. We cleaned house: a rickety wheelbarrow, shovels, dozens of plants, and a compost bin. It took three trips to haul it away. We planted a row of thorny bushes whose berries would attract birds and doubled as security. We planted a pear tree for sweet Sammy the plumber who passed away. Never got to see it come to fruit.

When they came for our building there weren’t any eviction papers, and they came with a wrecking crane. I snuck inside, felt the rumble when the ball pierced the wall. I was alone. From the roof I watched them dump a chunk of my home on my garden. Everyone screaming from behind police lines. When it was all over: a rubble heap. And later, it returned to a junkie’s trash den.

I was feeling displaced. The good people at Chico Mendez Mural garden wanted to fight. I shared some Earth First! blockade techniques. It was a brand new confrontational stance for the gardeners. It became Fort Chico. Barricades went up. We had pre-dawn bike reconnaissance, patrolling for police mobilizations. Squatters from the Tompkins Square riot days dropped by. The city got nervous.

Chico Mendez Mural garden was a miracle. Neighbours dug in next to the most notorious crack house in the city—a tenement fortress dubbed “The Rock”. The kids with negligible parents were almost adopted by Agi, the garden saint. They didn’t understand when Don Garcia from Little Puerto Rico garden walked up to me on the stoop of a friend’s squat and offered to buy us beer. The next day I was in his beautiful garden where the sound of merengue charged the cool night air. This small liberated piece of land brought us together; I never thought I could set foot there, and I was welcomed as an honoured guest.

The Angels' garden had a little casita with old men playing dominos with a bottle of rum. Maria's garden had an intricate nuyorican (Puerto Rican New Yorker) shrine. A rooster called me as I biked past at the crack of dawn. All were destroyed one day before New Year’s, 1999, when most were out of town. They were turned into government subsidized condos. The developer, Donald Capoccia, showed up as the bulldozer finished off lovely Chico. About a dozen community members lunged with a volley of spit. The police turned the other way.

Rapid response. Activists chained themselves across a rush hour street in front of the Manhattan Institute, the right wing think tank that was the Frankenstein behind the Giuliani monster and had shaped the neoliberal policy sweeping the city. NAFTA for the South Bronx, bringing all of the five boroughs under the thumb of Wall Street wizards, making nothing out nothing and the bubble was yet to burst. People were making the connections.

It was a non-profit shell game. They called them “blighted vacant lots”. Public-private partnership. And the spin was that they would be low-income housing, even though only 20% were lower than market rate, and only for ten years. After that they were sitting pretty. Gentrify your portfolio. And it is never enough.

Giuliani went for the jugular. No more pretence of “affordable” anything. “This is a free-market economy – welcome to the era after communism.” 119 gardens going to the auction block. This was an act of war.



“Even in this city where the shadows seem victorious,
Sunflowers stand tall and put them all to shame.”
– songwriter Casey Neil, Emma’s Garden

In a green space between the towering dark projects in the South Bronx, the More Gardens! Coalition was formed. Gardeners, squatters, and young activists changed the language of the struggle. Sharing food cooked over an open fire, we strategized a fresh mix of direct action (with puppets) and lobbying with love for the land.

The smell of garlic, greens, and tomatillos in an old squat. A gang of friends making puppets by candlelight. Standing in a circle for the solstice. We were a new communicationof dissent. Proactive element – not only protection, but extension of green space. We fought before the execution was imminent. We brought the gardeners together to decide for themselves what to do.

Talking democracy while walking to the hearings at City Hall. Whole classrooms coming downtown to tell the truth. We came dressed as flowers and bugs. My testimony was a song. Went to the gardeners on their block to gather information for the court battle. Helped get the court actions moving. Sweet escalation. I stole a kiss in the paddy wagon leaving city hall, and when they lined us up, boys versus girls, we did the hokey-pokey at the station house. The cops were impressed.

Training folks to sit down and get busted for the first time. I got hauled away with granny gardeners and a preacher. And still that day was coming. We came at them from all sides. Actions in their offices, up in a tree, down in their courthouse with a lawyer playing for real. One sister compiled all the information needed for a court challenge against the auction and, dressed like a sunflower, delivered it to the State Attorney General Eliot Spitzer in Albany.

I stumbled out of jail, dreary-eyed at dawn, and stumbled to another rally to support the legal battle at the federal courthouse. They raised the money for my fine on the spot. Just days to go. Right down to the wire with many interesting plans for the auction and a photo finish. The mayor conceded defeat. May 1999. Every garden on the auction protected. He should have known better.


El Jardín de la Esperanza

There is a myth in Puerto Rico. A monster approaches the forest intending to destroy it. The tiny thumbnail-sized coqui tree frog steps up, and is able to scare away the monster with the loudness of its voice. This was the perfect analogy for a community facing off against bulldozers.

Alicia Torres, a saintly grandma, came from the embattled island of Vieques, Puerto Rico and started El Jardín de la Esperanza (The Garden of Hope) in 1977. Across the street there was a line down the block for the dope shop for years. It took the Drug Enforcement Agency with machine guns to put an end to it. But the Torres family just kept digging, clearing out their lot and building up a casita through it all. They grew medicinal plants for healing teas. A twenty-two year old rose bush, and lots of changes in the ‘hood. But there was a plan to destroy hope.

Doña Alicia talked to the plants and prayed for them. She even prayed for the developer, that he would have a change of heart. With the go-ahead from Doña Alicia, we started a full time encampment. We built a giant coqui guardian in the front of the garden, with room inside for three to sleep, raised up ten feet with window watchtower eyes and concrete-sealed lock-boxes. In the back of the garden rose a 26 foot sunflower made of steel with a lock-box on top, nested between the petals, which read: “Esperanza / Hope, Lindo / Beauty, Communidad /Community, Oxygeno / Oxygen, Comida / Food.”

We recycled Christmas trees to feed the fire and pitched tents to stay warm as winter drove in hard. They always come in winter. Our day in court had come, and Giuliani sent in his troops to steal it. We had 12 hours notice. Over a hundred people gathered. We filled the lock-downs on the fence and buried in the ground. We sang to gather strength. Dawn came quick, with the special Emergency Service gestapo cutting open the front fence. Sudden surge of police. Yelling, scrambling, friends dragged away. Cold wet smother from the fire. Soon the taste of burning steel close to my lips, and a burn on my wrist. I asked the cop if he was going to tell his kids what he did today. He didn’t answer. On the other side of town, the State Attorney General was arguing a case that would put a temporary restraining order (TRO) on the destruction of any garden in the city. We held on to the ground. The TRO came 40 minutes too late. But it protected all of the gardens in the city, for the time being. When asked why he took the case Spitzer said, “A sunflower asked me to.”

In Washington DC, we inspired actions during the World Bank meetings. The A16 Guerilla Gardening Collective hit the streets armed with seedlings and kale seeds. These anarchists didn’t come to break windows, they came to break the ground.

Mayday 2000. The kids in NYC Reclaim the Streets marched in solidarity with immigrant workers, then broke off and beelined it for a neglected spot by the East River, where they pulled the chain and cleaned and cleared and got the green rolling with hundreds of NYPD watching. The only thing we smashed was a piñata in the shape of a bulldozer. Inside were seeds I had saved from destroyed gardens. They scattered on the opened ground.



Under Your Feet

A quiet moment in Melrose neighbourhood of the South Bronx. It is Luis’ fourth garden, Cabo Rojo. This is one of the poorest congressional districts in the US. They can’t afford to leave their job for a week, let alone summer in the Hamptons. The neighbourhood has the highest rate of asthma in the country. The gardeners saved their blocks from blight. They don’t get awards for all their hard work. They don’t even get notice of demolition. These are the real heroes of the city.

A shock wave. An endless cloud of dust. The financial district burning for months. A new tourist attraction downtown. A new billionaire mayor. A cold winter by the wood stove in the Cabo Rojo encampment. I remember the smell of squash baking in the coals. The garden was destroyed, another death in the family. I watched the kids walking home from school stop in horror. The work crew clearing out the garden was doing "community service" to pay off fines owed the courts.

At the time of this writing [2002] the TRO is about to be lifted. Either the city will sell out half of the gardens to a land trust, or city council legislation will establish a process for community boards to decide their fate one by one. A big shift is under way, and 200 plus gardens definitely will be put at risk. But one thing is certain: whatever deals they try to swing, people will fight for the land. Now we are connected.

I shared a meal with the Movimento Sem Terra in the countryside of Brazil. I slept with eco-warriors in the high canopy of an old growth forest. I joined in a sweat lodge at an occupation with the American Indian Movement. I sat in a circle and decided together with my friends that we would not obey. Luis began his fifth garden. We are dreaming the same dream.

The humble story of stones returning to the ground. A family growing their food, and growing with their food. This is a quiet revolution. The soil churns. And lead turns to gold in a sunflower. Simple alchemy of days. Because there is no such thing as “nature”. It is always under your feet.



Brad Will is an anarchist and environmental activist who is now doing solidarity work in South America with Black Bridge International.



[Originally written in 2001, and updated in 2002, this was first published in We Are Everywhere: the irresistible rise of global anticapitalism.]
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Brad y la demolicion del Squat de la Calle 5

Detalles de cómo la ciudad de Nueva York quiso matar a Brad hace 9 años

Por Steven Wishnia

A las 4:30 P.M. del lunes 10 de febrero, una grúa arruina- ciudad perforó un agujero en el quinto piso del Squat en la quinta calle del este 537-539. El scooper hizo pivotear un golpe en el sexto piso, abriendo otro agujero más de diez pies de ancho. El edificio no estaba vacío. La voluntad del ocupante ilegal todavía estaba adentro, él se ocultó antes que el equipo de la demolición de la ciudad llegara al bloque a las 9:00 que mañana. Habían intentado ya golpear el edificio la tarde anterior con él adentro, pero sorteando la mitad del parapeto, Will emergía sobre la azotea. Cuando el policía no podía encontrarlo, comenzaban otra vez.
"It was fuckin' scary, man," decía Will, un mensajero de bicicleta de 26 años que había estado viviendo en 537 por dos años. "podía sentir la sacudida de las paredes. Me aferré a las paredes y comencé a gritar porque era un edificio fuerte y era una vergüenza lo que le estaban haciendo. Amé ese edificio."

Brad Will & The 5th St. Squat Eviction (From The Shadow--Feb. 1997)

A detailed account of how the City of New York almost killed Brad 9 years ago.

By Steven Wishnia

At 4:30 PM on Monday, February 10, a
city-hired wrecking crane punched a hole
in the fifth floor of the squat at 537-539
East Fifth Street. The scooper swung back
and slammed into the sixth floor,
battering open another hole more than ten
feet wide.
The building wasn't empty.

Keywords: Local, Bradley Will, Housing & Development,

CITY WRECKS FIFTH ST. SQUAT
AFTER MINOR FIRE
By Steven Wishnia


At 4:30 PM on Monday, February 10, a
city-hired wrecking crane punched a hole
in the fifth floor of the squat at 537-539
East Fifth Street. The scooper swung back
and slammed into the sixth floor,
battering open another hole more than ten
feet wide.
The building wasn't empty.
Squatter Brad Will was still inside,
where he'd been hiding ever since the city
demolition crew arrived on the block at
9:00 that morning. They had already tried
to knock the building down earlier that
afternoon with him inside, chomping off
half of the parapet before Will emerged
onto the roof. When police couldn't find
him, they started again.
"It was fuckin' scary, man," said
Will, a 26-year-old bicycle messenger who
had been living at 537 for two years. "I
could feel the walls shake. I clung to the
walls and started crying because it was a
strong building and it was a shame to tear
it down. I loved that building."
Will told the SHADOW that police saw
him on the roof both times while the
wrecking ball was swinging, but the
demolition didn't stop until he showed
himself to the workers in the street. He
was arrested and charged with reckless
endangerment and three other misdemeanors.
The 26 displaced squatters are now
suing the city for contempt of court and
$2.6 million in damages. As the wrecking
ball was crashing into the building,
lawyer Jackie Bukowski was in court,
trying to get an emergency order to stop
the demolition. The city's lawyer, Arthur
Shaw, was notified at 2:00 about a 3:00
hearing and he showed up at 4:30.
By 6:13 PM, when State Supreme Court
Justice Barbara R. Kapnick issued the
order, most of the building's right front
quadrant was already down, and work didn't
stop until 6:40. At 6:55, the wrecking
crew started tearing down 535, a vacant
building next door, just as Bukowski
arrived at the scene. When she showed the
court order to police, she was hustled
away from the barricades and almost
arrested.
"You are in violation of the law. Do
you understand?" she told Ninth Precinct Captain Flores.
"I hear you," he responded. Demolition continued.
The next day, Judge Kapnick issued an
order barring both the city and the
squatters from touching what remained at
the site, neither what was left standing
of 537-539 and 535 nor the rubble that
many of the squatters' possessions were
buried in.
Demolition continued that night. "That
crane was in full effect," one witness
said. "The whole block was sealed off. It
was nothing but police. The whole place
was lit up like daylight." The demolition
of 535 broke windows and knocked holes in
the wall of the occupied building at 533
next door. Two weeks later, the site had
been scraped clean, with nothing left but
a few piles of bricks.
City officials maintained a stone wall
about the demolition. Is it standard
procedure to knock down buildings when
there's still someone inside? "An
inspection was conducted before the
demolition and no one was found,"
responded Sheila Green, a spokesperson
for the city Department of Housing
Preservation and Development. Mayor
Giuliani's office refused to comment,
referring calls to police. "I don't know
what happened," said police spokesperson
Olga Mercado. Why did the demolition
continue after two court orders to stop
it? "We have been acting consistently with
the court order," said Assistant
Corporation Counsel Gail Rubin. "The
matter's in litigation and we don't think
it's appropriate to comment further."
The demolition was set off by a fire
in the squat on Sunday, February 9, which
started, ironically enough, in Brad Will's
second-floor apartment, apparently from
an electric space heater. (Will now says
the fire was suspicious.) Squatters say
the Fire Department let it burn before
putting it out. "I did not witness them
pouring any water for approximately 20
minutes to a half hour," building resident
Garth Wood testified at a February 11
court hearing. The fire burned out rooms
on the second through sixth floors of the
building's left front quadrant.
Nevertheless, the rest of the
building was undamaged. Residents say
both firefighters and police at the scene
told them they could get back in to
retrieve their possessions the next
morning.
They waited outside all night, wrapped
in Red Cross-issued blankets against the
20-degree cold. But the Giuliani
administration moved into action
immediately. By 9:00 the next morning, the
city Buildings Department had declared
that 537-539 East Fifth Street was in
imminent danger of collapse, and an
HPD-hired wrecking crane was rounding the
corner of Avenue B, protected by riot
cops.
City officials at the scene refused to
let squatters go into the building to get
their belongings. Instead, police herded
them into pens on the south side of Fifth
Street, and they handed over hastily
scribbled lists of possessions to city
workers. The workers carted out random
chunks of people's lives: two milk crates
full of P-Funk records; a half-dozen
bicycles and three battered TVs; a woman's
stretchy silver top; a cheap old electric
guitar and a Fender; a white-pearl drum
kit and an ancient IBM-clone computer;
black plastic garbage bags full of
clothing; and a few boxes of books, from a
lesbian philosophy tome to a James Bond
novel.
Most people's stuff was left inside.
Jason Fitzsimmons says he lost several
hundred albums, two basses, and his
turntables and DJ gear. Heidi Fuhr says
she got nothing. One woman said her ID and
clothes were still inside, but she was
more upset about losing her collection of
Star Wars toys. "I've been collecting it
since I was a little kid," she said.
Others were not allowed in to rescue
their cats. Squatters Nate McDonald, 19,
and Roger Varela, 25, were arrested when
they tried to enter the building to
retrieve the bodies of Varela's two dogs,
who died in the fire. The Red Cross left
the scene in disgust, refusing to
collaborate with the eviction.
At 1:20, the crane began ripping
537-539's fire escape off. Brad Will was
still inside. Squatters on the street
screamed his name. "C'mon Brad! Brad, show
your face! BRAD! BRAAAD!" Police ignored
them. The crane whirred and rotated. At
1:25, it chomped off the first piece of
the parapet, dropping bricks six stories
down into the garden next door. Police
shoved the protesters down the block, away
from the building. Five minutes later,
Will emerged onto the roof, straddling the remaining parapet
trium-phantly to shouts of "You fuckin'
rule, Brad."
Demolition stopped, and Will
disappeared inside about 15 minutes
later. The crane lifted a search team of
Emergency Services Unit cops up to the
roof, while the riot cops downstairs
pushed protesters and press people off the
block, continuing the no-witnesses policy
of past evictions. At 4:00, the demolition
resumed in earnest, to shouts of "You
trying to fuckin' kill him?" Will
re-emerged five minutes later, waving to
the protestors. He was arrested almost
immediately--but had time, he said, to get
off a quick "Fuck Giuliani!"
As police handcuffed him, pulled his
hands over his head, and slashed open his
pockets, Will says, he told them he wasn't
resisting arrest. "I wish you were
resisting," one officer replied. He was
charged with resisting arrest, reckless
endangerment, criminal trespassing, and
obstructing governmental administration.
Squatters say that the Buildings
Department inspector who arrived at 537-
539 after the fire never went inside.
"They didn't go in the freakin' building,"
said squatter activist Shawnee Alexandri.
"They got out of the car, said `Tear it
down,' and left."
Buildings Department spokesperson
Steve Hess said he didn't know if the
inspector went inside, but was "sure he
did." The order to demolish the building
was signed by Ron Livian, Manhattan
borough commissioner, on Monday morning.
Hess wouldn't release the actual report,
calling it "in-house information," but
said the building's floors had collapsed
and that it had makeshift ladders instead
of staircases. He said he wouldn't
comment on why the demolition continued
after the court order, but speculated that
it might have been dangerous to stop in
the middle of the demolition.
Several witnesses dispute those
claims. Even after the front wall of the
fire-damaged section had been torn off on
Monday night, the floors were still in
place. Squatter Heidi Fuhr, who was
watching the demolition from the building
next door, testified on February 11 that
squatters had rebuilt the stairs with
concrete and metal pans, and that she had
seen a police officer try to smash them
with a sledgehammer. She told the court
that "the sledgehammer bounced off the
iron casing" without causing any damage.

Police denied outside experts access
to the building on the after-noon of
February 10 before the demolition was
underway. "We had our engineer at the
scene and they wouldn't permit him to look
at the building," said Joe Center of the
People's Mutual Housing Association, a
neighborhood nonprofit group that had
planned to redevelop both buildings.
They also barred John Shuttleworth,
an architect called by the squatters. He
testified on February 11 that the exterior
walls didn't give any indication that the
building was likely to collapse, and that
when the facade was ripped off, he
couldn't see any damage to the floor
joists. Though 537-539 was not technically
fireproof under the 1968 building code, he
said, its design--a cross-shaped brick
"demising wall" that divided it into four
quadrants--effectively confined the fire
damage to one section.
The building was one of the Lower East
Side's oldest squats, founded in 1982.
Jimmy Stewart, one of the original
squatters, still lived there. It became
heavily populated in 1985 or 1986, and was
evicted by HPD. But Stewart and others
re-entered it on New Year's Day in 1986 or
1987. "We weren't hitting champagne, we
were hitting the bricks," recalls longtime
squatter activist Jerry "Jerry the
Peddler" Wade. According to building
residents, Stewart and a few others had
occupied it continuously since then, long
enough to qualify for adverse possession.
However, they kept it small and low-key
until early 1994, when they took in
squatters displaced by the eviction of
Glass House on Ave. D.
The newer residents were
predominantly younger artists and
activists. Most worked part-time jobs,
says Will, because "the house was a
full-time job." Corinne, a 25-year-old
painter, had moved in six months ago after
be-ing evicted from a sublet in
Williams-burg. Lien, 21, had arrived from
the Netherlands three months ago. "If it
wasn't for the squat, I'd still be
sleep-ing outside," said Jen, a
23-year-old bartender who was homeless
when she moved in two and a half years
ago. Jason Fitzsimmons, 25, a musician
and DJ, had lived there for a year and a
half. He moved in after losing a Brooklyn
apartment when his room-mate didn't pay
the rent, but said the squat provided a
community as well as affordable housing.
Whether or not Mayor Giuliani knew
it, his troops were destroying one of the
Lower East Side's most politically active
squats. Two of the five people arrested in
a January 16 chain-in to protest the
planned eviction of the ABC No Rio
community space lived in the building;
another resident was one of the 30 people
jailed in August 1996 when police broke up
a Tompkins Square Park demonstration
against the 13th Street Squat evictions.
They had also recently started a women's
health group and a coffeehouse called the
Fifth Street Cafe.
The demolition also appeared to dash
the People's Mutual Housing Association's
plans for the two buildings. The PMHA had
lined up almost $3 million in federal and
state funds to redevelop the buildings
into 29 units of low-to moderate-income
housing. Most would have been rented to
families making between about $17,000 and
$23,000 a year, said Joe Center; some
would have rented to slightly more
affluent tenants at $600-$700 a month in
order to subsidize six apartments
re-served for homeless families at the
$286 a month welfare maximum.
Center claims that the building was
empty when PMHA began negotiating with HPD
for it in 1994. He says his group wouldn't
have tried to evict an established squat.
However, he also offers the standard
anti-squatter party line, calling the
Fifth Street residents "a self-proclaimed
elite" denying housing to the truly needy.
HPD, he said, "could have done things
to protect the buildings," but rushed to
demolish them "because of fear that the
squatters would go back."
Jerry McCarty of the Mayor's Office of
Emergency Management told legal activists
at the scene that the city was willing to
absorb any lawsuit resulting from the
demolition. He denies that the Giuliani
administration had any political motives.
"We are demolishing a building that's
unsafe," he said. "The City of New York
doesn't want to see anybody get hurt."
Yet the city has used safety as a
pretext to evict squatters several times
before, most notoriously on East 13th
Street in 1995. In 1989, the Buildings
Department used a rainstorm to declare
319 East Eighth Street in imminent danger
of collapse. The squatters won a court
order blocking the demolition, but the
city got a late-night ruling overturning
it and began tearing the building down at
1:00 AM.
The Giuliani administration's professed concern for tenants' safety is
especially hypocritical, says Kenny
Schaeffer of the Metropolitan Council on
Housing, as HPD has essentially abandoned
enforcing its regulations against private
landlords since Giuliani took office.
"It's ironic that the city has the
resources to do this on such short notice
when it doesn't have the resources to do
code enforcement on regular buildings." he
said.
HPD cut almost two-thirds of its
housing inspectors between 1989 and 1994,
attempting to replace them with a program
where landlords and tenants would tell
the department whether or not violations
had been corrected. The West 144th Street
building which collapsed in 1995 had
thousands of violations listed on HPD's
computer; some had been counted as
corrected because Spanish-speaking tenants
hadn't returned English-only response
forms in 1994.
Squatters have filed a motion to have
the city government held in contempt of
court for ignoring the orders to stop the
demolition. "We're working to show max
damage," Jackie Bukowski told a group of
squatters and supporters outside court on
February 11. "The building's gone. Let's
document this. We have to find ways to
hold them in contempt." They are also
suing the city for $2.6 million--$100,000
per person--in damages for violating their
constitutional rights.
The main issue now, said Harvey
Epstein of the National Lawyers Guild, who
is assisting Bukowski with the case, is to
draw political attention to the Giuliani
administration's "flagrant disregard for
the rule of law" in their rush to oust the
squatters and obliterate the building.

Steven Wishnia is a contributing writer for The Indypendent. He is the former news editor at High Times and since 1995 has edited Tenant, the newspaper of the Metropolitan Council on Housing. He is also the author of Exit 25 Utopia (The Imaginary Press) and The Cannabis Companion (The Running Press).
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