Itâ€™s easy to imagine the end of the world â€” an asteroid destroying all of life, and so on â€” but we cannot imagine the end of capitalism. So what are we doing here? Let me tell you a wonderful old joke from Communist times. A guy was sent to work in East Germany from Siberia. He knew his mail would be read by censors, so he told his friends, â€˜Letâ€™s establish a code. If a letter you get from me is written in blue ink, it is true what I say; if it is written in red ink, it is false.â€™ After a month, his friends get a first letter. Everything is in blue. It says, this letter: â€˜Everything is wonderful here. The stores are full of good food, movie theatres show good films from the West, apartments are large and luxurious. The only thing you cannot buy is red ink.â€™ This is how we live. We have all the freedoms we want, but what we are missing is red ink: the language to articulate our non-freedom. The way we are taught to speak about freedom, â€˜war on terror,â€™ and so on, falsifies freedom. And this is what you are doing here: You are giving all of us red ink. . . .
Carnivals come cheap. What matters is the day after when we will have to return to normal life. Will there be any changes then? I donâ€™t want you to remember these days, you know, like, â€˜Oh, we were young, it was beautifulâ€¦â€™ Remember that our basic message is, â€˜We are allowed to think about alternatives.â€™ A taboo is broken. We do not live in the best possible world. But there is a long road ahead. There are truly difficult questions that confront us. We know what we do not want, but what do we want? What social organization can replace capitalism? What type of new leaders do we want? Remember: The problem is not corruption or greed; the problem is the system which pushes you to be corrupt.
I can accept that there are budget constraints, and space constraints, such that itâ€™s impossible to outfit the holding cells with, for example, bunk beds, and that therefore a number of us had to sleep on the floor. I donâ€™t know why there are no blankets, but maybe this, too, is a budget issueâ€”buying blankets, and keeping them clean, would be expensive. Finally, our copy ofÂ Social AnarchismÂ aside, we were not allowed any newspapers or other reading materials in the cell, and Iâ€™m sure there is some logic that explains why this is so, though whatever that logic is, I suspect it is dubious.
But there simply cannot be any rule, or any carceral logic, or any arguments whatsoever, for filthy toilets. And sitting there, with the stench from our filthy toilet filling the room, and with the filth in our filthy sink making me less eager than I ought to have been to drink from it, despite being thirsty, I became angryâ€”really, honestly, for the first time. I thought for the first time, with genuine venom, of the hypocrite mayor Michael Bloomberg, a billionaire, who shut down the Occupy Wall Street encampment for reasons of â€œhealth and safetyâ€ but has not deemed it worthwhile to make sure that the toilets in facilities that he has control of meet even the most minimal standards of health and safety, such that, while I watched, about forty men, eating a total of a hundred meals, over the course of a day and a half, refused to perform a single bowel movement. This was its own form of civil disobedience, I suppose, and if Iâ€™d had my wits about me maybe I could have organized a meeting of all the inmates at Bloombergâ€™s residence, on East Seventy-ninth Street, so that we could all take a giant shit on his front stoop. . . .
What does it all add up to? I went out into the street and got arrested because I was angry that the cops had tackled our drummer; irritated that most of the Wall Street types walking by could be so contemptuous of people who were more committed, more engaged, more interested in the future of this country than they are; and because I was curiousâ€”about what the process of arrest was like, what the inside of a jail was like. I learned more than I expected to. To be on the other side of the law-and-order machine in this country is awful. It is dehumanizing, and degrading, and deforming. It fills you with a helpless rage: because, once there, you can only make things worse for yourself by speaking up. From the brown phone in our cell at the Tombs, Iâ€™d called Emily a few times, and I called the office ofÂ n+1, the magazine where Iâ€™m an editor. But it felt like those people, my friends, might as well have been on a different planet. They could do what they pleased when they pleased. We could not. I left the world of jail with plenty of relief but more than anything with a sense of unease that I still canâ€™t quite shake. We will be judged as a society and as a culture by how we treated our meanest and most vulnerable citizens. If we keep going the way weâ€™re going, we will be judged very, very harshlyâ€”and sooner, perhaps, than we think.
-- Keith Gessen, "Central Booking," NewYorker.com, November 28, 2011.