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Every political group I’ve ever been part of has always had at least one know-it-all. Someone who just can’t be silent. Someone who needs to add just one more thing to an otherwise agreed upon proposal or plan. Maybe all social groups are like that and maybe it’s a fact of human interaction but this social dynamic isn’t always just annoying. This is the story of how this dynamic sent me to jail.
It was 1987 or so. Reagan was still president and South Africa still had apartheid rule. My college political friends and I had been planning a symbolic action for weeks to coincide with a series of speakers, teach-ins, and demonstrations to get our university to divest itself from South Africa. As with any large institution of higher learning, most of the Board of Trustees of our college had substantial business interests in South Africa themselves. Actually, that was the most important lesson that I learned in college
An obvious target for our wrath were the university bathrooms. One of the more notorious college Trustees was one of the Johnsons of Johnson Wax, an unapologetic supporter of "constructive engagement" if not the apartheid regime. Both the Art Museum and Business School on campus carry his name. Also, in every bathroom in every school building there were soap dispensers which proudly displayed the Johnson Wax logo. As a crackdown on campus protest intensified and divestment got voted down over and over again, washing our hands became a slap in the face for anti-apartheid activists.
We had it all planned. We had cases of blood red spray paint. We obtained keys to as many campus buildings as possible. We had about 15 teams of men and women ready to gender-appropriately* hit every bathroom soap dispenser, make it look like it was dripping blood, and affix a sticker with the slogan of the moment: "Johnson Wax Puts the Shine on Apartheid". After all, that’s what we saw every time we wanted to pee.
As we gathered at our anarchist collective house and divided up the campus, one of our know-it-alls had a great idea. He had just returned to town as an anarcho-tourist and hadn’t been involved in the planning, though he had previously lived in town for a number of years. "Let’s meet up at the Business School after we’re done and spray paint there." There was no real discussion that I remember. We were preoccupied with the final details for the action we had spent the previous weeks planning. Though a couple of people objected, the know-it-all insisted in that loud, forceful way that no one really wanted to fight against at that moment with so many other details on our minds. A Left mistake that seemingly has to be made over and over again, he was also older, butcher and "more dedicate to the struggle", therefore easy to defer to. Stupidly, The Business School Graffiti Fest was left open-ended, an optional part of our plan.
Since I had a car, a 1976 Buick LeSabre, I ferried a bunch of people to the farthest reaches of the school. It went beautifully. We all split up and spread our message throughout the miles of campus buildings. My group had no problems at all except for one spray paint can that blew up in my hand and left paint above the glove I was wearing. An hour later we were done and on our way to the rendezvous at the Business School.
Unfortunately, since none of us went to the Business School, our intelligence as faulty as our lack of planning was. When my carload of people arrived, others in our group** were already spray painting. In direct contrast to the earlier, well-planned and subtle action, more of us were arriving from every direction and it looked like a siege. Uh oh. My carload began discussing getting out of there when a business student came out of the building. Oops, the Business School was open late that week for midterms. The Business Student heroically ran to the Emergency Rape Phone and called the cops.
Unfortunately, my car wasn’t parked so I had to get back in and try to drive away from the scene instead of run. To make a short story shorter, we got pulled over seconds later. The campus cops all knew who we were so there was no talking our way out of it. Especially with my red arm and a couple of empty spray paint cans in the trunk. It didn’t seem like a good idea to try explaining that they were from a different spray painting excursion a few weeks before.
When we got taken to the campus police station, the first thing I noticed was that they had a copy of the poster from my campaign for Student Trustee*** on the wall that made fun of the University President. Because they hated him too? Because they hated me? Probably both.
The second thing we all noticed was that the police radio was reporting vandalism with alarming frequency. "Dispatch, I have a report of spray paint in the Ag school bathrooms. . ." "Hey, I’m in the engineering building and there’s red paint on the walls …." Even the cops were a little awed, not aware of how many others were involved. One said, "Wow. How many buildings did you people hit tonight?" I think he was only half playing Good Cop and despite himself, he was honestly impressed. We said nothing.
Unfortunately, our affinity group efficiency made the damages add up enough so that they could charge us with felonies. Hello Scared Straight program!
(To be continued)
* Though bathrooms are more politicized now, we figured an article in the campus paper headlined "Anti-Apartheid Activist Held on Morals Charge" was probably a bad idea.
**I believe at that time we were the Samora Machel Affinity Group (The Smaggots). This was before EGAG, the Emma Goldman Affinity Group.
***Which is a whole nother story . . .
It was 1987 or so. Reagan was still president and South Africa still had apartheid rule. My college political friends and I had been planning a symbolic action for weeks to coincide with a series of speakers, teach-ins, and demonstrations to get our university to divest itself from South Africa. As with any large institution of higher learning, most of the Board of Trustees of our college had substantial business interests in South Africa themselves. Actually, that was the most important lesson that I learned in college
An obvious target for our wrath were the university bathrooms. One of the more notorious college Trustees was one of the Johnsons of Johnson Wax, an unapologetic supporter of "constructive engagement" if not the apartheid regime. Both the Art Museum and Business School on campus carry his name. Also, in every bathroom in every school building there were soap dispensers which proudly displayed the Johnson Wax logo. As a crackdown on campus protest intensified and divestment got voted down over and over again, washing our hands became a slap in the face for anti-apartheid activists.
We had it all planned. We had cases of blood red spray paint. We obtained keys to as many campus buildings as possible. We had about 15 teams of men and women ready to gender-appropriately* hit every bathroom soap dispenser, make it look like it was dripping blood, and affix a sticker with the slogan of the moment: "Johnson Wax Puts the Shine on Apartheid". After all, that’s what we saw every time we wanted to pee.
As we gathered at our anarchist collective house and divided up the campus, one of our know-it-alls had a great idea. He had just returned to town as an anarcho-tourist and hadn’t been involved in the planning, though he had previously lived in town for a number of years. "Let’s meet up at the Business School after we’re done and spray paint there." There was no real discussion that I remember. We were preoccupied with the final details for the action we had spent the previous weeks planning. Though a couple of people objected, the know-it-all insisted in that loud, forceful way that no one really wanted to fight against at that moment with so many other details on our minds. A Left mistake that seemingly has to be made over and over again, he was also older, butcher and "more dedicate to the struggle", therefore easy to defer to. Stupidly, The Business School Graffiti Fest was left open-ended, an optional part of our plan.
Since I had a car, a 1976 Buick LeSabre, I ferried a bunch of people to the farthest reaches of the school. It went beautifully. We all split up and spread our message throughout the miles of campus buildings. My group had no problems at all except for one spray paint can that blew up in my hand and left paint above the glove I was wearing. An hour later we were done and on our way to the rendezvous at the Business School.
Unfortunately, since none of us went to the Business School, our intelligence as faulty as our lack of planning was. When my carload of people arrived, others in our group** were already spray painting. In direct contrast to the earlier, well-planned and subtle action, more of us were arriving from every direction and it looked like a siege. Uh oh. My carload began discussing getting out of there when a business student came out of the building. Oops, the Business School was open late that week for midterms. The Business Student heroically ran to the Emergency Rape Phone and called the cops.
Unfortunately, my car wasn’t parked so I had to get back in and try to drive away from the scene instead of run. To make a short story shorter, we got pulled over seconds later. The campus cops all knew who we were so there was no talking our way out of it. Especially with my red arm and a couple of empty spray paint cans in the trunk. It didn’t seem like a good idea to try explaining that they were from a different spray painting excursion a few weeks before.
When we got taken to the campus police station, the first thing I noticed was that they had a copy of the poster from my campaign for Student Trustee*** on the wall that made fun of the University President. Because they hated him too? Because they hated me? Probably both.
The second thing we all noticed was that the police radio was reporting vandalism with alarming frequency. "Dispatch, I have a report of spray paint in the Ag school bathrooms. . ." "Hey, I’m in the engineering building and there’s red paint on the walls …." Even the cops were a little awed, not aware of how many others were involved. One said, "Wow. How many buildings did you people hit tonight?" I think he was only half playing Good Cop and despite himself, he was honestly impressed. We said nothing.
Unfortunately, our affinity group efficiency made the damages add up enough so that they could charge us with felonies. Hello Scared Straight program!
(To be continued)
* Though bathrooms are more politicized now, we figured an article in the campus paper headlined "Anti-Apartheid Activist Held on Morals Charge" was probably a bad idea.
**I believe at that time we were the Samora Machel Affinity Group (The Smaggots). This was before EGAG, the Emma Goldman Affinity Group.
***Which is a whole nother story . . .
