Lacy MacAuley


a home for my pen, projects, and passions

waterfall in porcelain teacup

Deep in my chest
an ashen snake is withering
blowing away in the wind
that I make when I whistle a love song

Deep in my throat
a star has been born
again and again so many times
thank the gods for the phoenix
that which rises and finds its voice
that which cannot be silenced

I am that immortal being
waiting with dripping joy
in a pool in that holy site
and I am the scorpion warrior
doing my duty
with a sword made of the sunset
gleaming with creation
that newness that first comes of the end.

Deny me both baffling incongruities
and with your next breath
try to say that the moon is made of cheese
Every mundane thing is magic
and mortals write small tunes
that are but a shadow of the real force

Do heart attacks happen to those who feel love
too much as a fire hose?


The gods and goddesses
can forget their divinity
stay trapped too long in humbler forms
but nothing can ever take from them
their true form
They may stay a long time
in the land that does not see them
but no amount of power or time
can keep them from themselves

There is charge here and the lightning
of holy words will awaken me.

Is it karma that is catching up to me?
Is it all of those heartbreaks that I spurred?
Have the last few years been catching me?

Not seeing is the worst anyone can do to you.
But what of seeing part, ascribing falsehood
pouring meaning like badly-mixed concrete
into a porcelain teacup?
What of the distortion lens?

My true self was here all the time
waiting like the goddess waits inside the waterfall
Eyes that twisted my form
washed out my color in a false liquid crystal glow
bent my smile like a spoon on an LSD afternoon
Translated my Testament into a Nicene Council poison
They did not see inside, though I opened the door.

Where is that pure soul who can see me?

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to my fellow white women

A little heartfelt note to my fellow WHITE WOMEN. Let’s prevent racism in this country, not perpetuate it!

We occupy the middle ground between privilege. We grew up knowing what it was like to be silenced, what it was like to be lesser, what it was like to have to smile through the silent oppression that slowed us down, told us to be careful and behave, ridiculed us, and talked down to us. We also know privilege, because the shade of our skin opens doors and places us on a shelf of unspoken acceptability. We are allowed to be in the halls of power (as long as we are quiet).

We can choose to use our wisdom to enlighten others, to open the door for others, to build the inclusive world that we want to live in. Let’s not choose to blindly accept the mistrust and divisions of our fathers. My fellow white women, let’s choose a wiser path.

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will we act?

The river is at low water lately. A flock of jays calls in alarm. Storm clouds are dark on the horizon but offer no rain. MOTHER EARTH ASKS, will we act? Will we fight for her? Will we fight for ourselves? Will we act on her behalf?

Keep doing the right thing, she says. Keep seeking. Keep listening. Keep being humble. Keep the faith.

For her, for us, and for generations not yet born.


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a year and a half now…

10407054_10205075148466236_881903299741912858_nIt has been a year and half since I moved out of a life of nonstop activism in Washington DC and into the rolling mountains of Floyd, Virginia. What has changed?

~ I get enough sleep on most nights.
~ I see the stars and Milky Way, and I always know the moon cycle.
~ I have stopped drinking, all but the occasional sipper.
~ My daily chronic pain level has gone from a 7 or 8 to maybe a 2. Huge.
~ When I can, I stop to actually find out how people are doing.
~ I know how plants grow. I mean, now I really know.
~ I’ve renewed my promise to myself that I will never, never sell out.
~ My heart has been broken and is becoming stronger than it ever was.
~ I have a relationship with a river.
~ I have re-learned how to sing!
~ I smile a different smile.
~ I breathe.

Knowing what I know now, what I see and feel, I gradually begin to integrate back into the work that I was doing ~ fighting to defend Mother Earth, justice, connection, fairness, love. The most incredible journey has been the one that I’ve taken within. It’s been worth every minute of it.

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poem ~ i tested the lock

You open your mouth to cry
and rusty nails spill out
barbed wire
upon your skin
your longing from the early days
still furrowing your brow

I wanted to sing a song to you
Soft and warm, in that magical scale
that pleased the Lord
that simply says, “I wanted to love you,
and wanted you to love me.”

Your calculus of coded requests
did not fit onto my songsheet
Your equations made awkward guitar chords.
How can hands do what gears are made for?

I wanted to hold his face
cradled as a baby bird
and soothe him with
a cool wind of calm
and love and attentiveness:
I hear you. I care. I love.

Instead he read from his yellowing book
of yesteryear’s dirges.
One soul tested the lock on his door.
It required courage, and I’ve got iron veins.
Some children get security blankets, he had his door
to keep the chill away from cold hearts.
His locked door.

He shut the windows tight
blocking out the birdsong.

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no, radicals don’t need liberals

Radicals dream of something new, and go out into the streets to demand it. Liberals seek to protect the status quo. How many liberals in one city block will defend our electoral system, falsely claiming that if only we only eliminate the corrupting effect of out-of-control campaign contributions, all will be well? Or defend our prison system, claiming that we don’t have a better method for keeping “safe”? Or say that we need “police accountability” without seeing the systemic-violence forest for the trees? Or chase some sort of green capitalism pipe dream, when we need real solutions to climate change? Halfway solutions will get us only part of the way there.

Some may define a radical by the person’s willingness to engage in civil disobedience. But this is only one tiny manifestation of what makes a real radical: A vision that is so vast and transformative that it compels a person to act entirely outside the dominant paradigm, because the dominant paradigm is a false and insane set of 3D glasses that only pretends to depict real life. I do not wish to live in a world in which we radicals are used as a tool of liberals so that they can achieve their policy objectives. No, my friends, I do not see radicals and liberals as needing each other (as stated in this article:…/…/15, which prompted this post smile emoticon ). I see radicals as the real visionaries. Liberals are the ones telling us to be practical, sell out, compromise. But our dreams do not stop on this side of the horizon. We dream outside the margins of the systems that liberals hold dear. Radicals don’t need liberals to wash out and dilute what we are really aiming for. Please, my friends, let yourself dream bigger, and dream in full color!!

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The Sabbatical. The Pilgrimage. The Fallow Year.


Anahata ~ Heart Chakra Mandala

Six months in, finding wisdom in the land of the heart

I’ve been living in the mountains now for almost six months now, a break from almost a decade of a life of activism, advocacy, and institutionalism, crusading for good causes. Or so I thought. Taking this respite has caused me to rethink everything about who I’ve been and what I’ve been doing, working of late in the policy and activism trenches of Washington DC.

In defense of my leaving Washington. Right now, I have never been happier. This happiness is coming off of my skin, in the star-like sheen coming off of the plants in my garden, in the eyes of those who I hold with my smile. I didn’t actually realize that happiness could be this attainable in the life of one whose eyes have been opened to all of the injustices of the world. Even as these injustices, pain, deaths, occur each moment, there is a way to move forward in happiness. Humans have been doing so since the beginning of time.

I had to put down the burden I’d shouldered — one that activists know well. That burden to somehow fix everything, to help everyone, that feeling of urgency to chase every injustice as if it were the last, greatest fight on earth. I was starting to really falter under that burden. Like a hiker stumbling wildly under a heavy backpack, my legs were giving way. I wasn’t able to clearly see where I was going. I wasn’t able to make sense of the map. I was going to die out there in the wilderness. Something had to be done.

After six months of meditation, yoga, and daily connection with Mother Earth, I am actually getting somewhere. Now I walk every day through forest full of birdsong, the sound of rushing water, and nothing else. I do not carry a backpack at all. I have less responsibility than I’ve had since high school. Of course, I also have no money, but that’s another story!

Ten years ago, as I meditated in a feral corner of the Pacific Northwest of the US, overlooking redwoods and ferns the size of grizzly bears, I heard Mother Earth clearly speak to me. She told me that I should be a warrior, acting in her defense and on her behalf. I’d never felt so certain about anything in my life. I commenced in organizing everything around that singular purpose. This took me in so many unexpected directions, and, truly, I do not regret any of them.

Then, this past autumn, I climbed a mountain alone, again in the Pacific Northwest. It was raining and the small cedar trees clinging to this rocky mountaintop were swaying gently in strong winds. Mother Earth again spoke to me in an undeniable voice as loud as an avalanche. It was time. I was released from her service. It was time to let myself go deeply into my own soul and beyond, to learn the secrets of the universe and keep them as a monk keeps temple secrets. At least for this year. Or more. Or less. But now, until I hear again that clear voice louder than sound.

Every activist should take a fallow year. A year to let your soil recharge, to let the plants grow feral. See what flowers grow there. See what enchantments lie in the wild, undisciplined spaces in between. See what you can learn.

I know that this requires privilege. I am of course not blind to that. I was lucky to have friends who live far out in the country, in a little spiritual intentional community where my work is my rent. I have no children. My family has been a bit flustered by my bold moves, but they did not stop me.

I hope that we can all work toward a world in which all of us have equal opportunity to live our dreams. I still believe in the mantra “live your dreams.” The fact that the oppressive status quo denies many people from doing that does not mean that I believe that no one should be living their dreams. It means that we should all demand the right to live our dreams.

Busting apart the oppressive mega-system will take time and bold moves. Me, I’m starting to understand the trajectory of my life’s work, and how to live in a holistic way that nurtures real wisdom and real understanding. I’m starting to see that my life had been conducted in a way that made me feel like I couldn’t truly be myself. I couldn’t indulge in living my dreams, I thought, my dreams are too far out, too wild. My version of utopia, seen in my far-flying meditations, was just too good to be true, I thought. And even if we as a society could get there, wouldn’t it take too long? Humanity can only change so fast, after all…

My true activism seemed too far fetched. The things that I felt were worthwhile as causes were being denied. I wound up working on things I didn’t actually believe in, that reinforced the status quo. I told myself that our movement was taking baby steps, like the healthcare program and working toward immigration reform. Meanwhile I thought that making the changes that were really needed, like seeking to live truly in healthy bodies and physical expression, and eliminating borders altogether, were just asking too much. These changes might take a long time, but we must move towards them. And we’re not going to do so in the same old institutional ways that we’ve been working.

On a personal level, the fantasies that swirled through my mind for my own life, ways of housing oneself, feeding oneself, loving others, and all of the beautiful, creative ways that one can live, were dismissed as unattainable. I’m no conformist, but even my romantic life had veered way off course and I found myself in odd pairings, living as someone completely different.

Like a true warrior, I had subverted my true desires and true self in the service of the greater cause. And again, I have no regrets. But the other me was just under the surface. The huntress who hears plant spirits and knows how to wield a sword. The deeply radical anarchist who longs to live in true connection with community and the earth, whose great-grandfather was spoken to by fairies and who might just be keeping the family tradition. The spirit-dancer who can spend all night in qigong trance under the moonlight, being spoken to by ancestor stars.

So now, I’m starting to truly understand that living a life of fantasy starts within, and starts by simply stepping away from that institutional way of living, and galloping fearlessly in the direction of that which makes your soul sing. Taking a departure, a sabbatical, a pilgrimage to the land of your own heart.

Happiness might just be waiting there. Here. In the depths of your own soul.

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metamorphosis path


a poem by Lacy MacAuley

Glass cage that I cannot see
You will crack under pressure, break into a hundred pieces
As I shattered all those that came before you
My hammer knows the joy of your obliteration
My eyes know that freedom looks like the sun glinting off of
your shards casting themselves in a thousand directions
My ears know the fast-wavelength music of your destruction

You did not see my necklace of skulls?
You did not notice the blood upon my lips?
You did not hear the song of lush verdance that I leave in the hollow of each footstep?

If you think death is near
you’re right.
Something unfamiliar exists beyond.
It pulls you forward whether you will to go or not.

You are the object that began in a star furnace
Fate cooled you, made you rock and soil
Ignited by the fire of life, you became animal
The wheel of time will turn again
and you will become another miracle

And you are afraid to take one more step
upon the path?
This path has carried you through
super nova explosions, lava flows
being breathed in and being breathed out
by countless creatures that gave you life

This sacred path has been your destiny until this moment
It has been yours alone ~ your unique strand through time
Expansion is inevitable
though breaking through the next cage will exact blood

Place that beautiful foot in front of you, creature of so many sacred forms
We await your next joyful metamorphosis
join your way of enlightenment

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light and your source

starpictureMy skin reflects the natural light well.

I am beginning to understand in a new way how the use of artificial light is something that impacts us, all of us. We all look more holy, more beautiful, in light that shows us for what we are ~ a part of the natural world.

The celestial bodies ~ the sun, the moon, the stars ~ are the first forms of natural light. Our bodies are made of particles which came to us from the stars. We are all made of star stuff.

When you acknowledge the divine, celestial origins of your own body, life becomes easier, and more sacred.

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how I exposed an undercover cop

She was an undercover cop who called herself “Missy.” When I first met her four years ago, I couldn’t have known that the small-framed woman with spiky brown hair and intense eyes was anything but a fellow activist showing up for a protest in Washington, D.C.

I certainly didn’t know she was actually Nicole Rizzi, an undercover cop ordered to secretly spy on peaceful protesters, violate our freedom of speech and assembly, and disregard our right to privacy.

Sure, I thought something was odd about her. She stared just a little too long. Her irreverent sense of humor made the hair stand up on the backs of a lot of necks. Her favorite t-shirt read “OBEY” and it wasn’t clear that she wore it for the irony.

A "selfie" photo of Nicole Rizzi, a.k.a. "Missy," posted to her own Twitter account on March 21, 2013. She posed as a protester at a Keystone XL pipeline demonstration that day.

A “selfie” photo of Nicole Rizzi, a.k.a. “Missy,” posted to her own Twitter account on March 21, 2013. She posed as a protester at a Keystone XL pipeline demonstration that day.

When I looked at her rippling arm muscles, I wondered whether they came from workouts at some spy academy or a downtown yoga studio.

So sure, I did suspect from the start that she could be an FBI agent, a police officer, or something else. But if you start being suspicious of newcomers, every honest newbie will look like an infiltrator. I kept my paranoia mostly to myself.

It turns out that hanging out in bars every so often can make good things happen. One late night in November 2012, I was in a bar in D.C.’s bustling U Street neighborhood when a friend of a friend from out of town pulled up a Twitter account on her phone, @snufftastic. It belonged to a humorous motorcycle enthusiast and cop. She lives in the area, she said, asking if my friend and I knew her.

“I absolutely know who that is,” I said.

The Twitter account was shocking. Read the rest of this entry »

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quark love.

quark love.

I’m charmed. Will you be my strange Valentine. QUARK LOVE.

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we are the edge

Long to Become Song 02-14-2013 2

If I say that I’ve always loved you

Please trust that it is true.

I’ll ring that Tibetan bowl

that calls you home
to the red, thumping place

that’s in your chest.

If someone has to say the code
speak the password
that splits the particles
to cause your personal explosion
then I will find that bright red button
that says “Unauthorized – Do Not Push.”
I’ll burrow that one tunnel
that allows the sunlight to pass deep inside
and beneath the earthen mound
and let the light inside
to warm the bones of your neglected hope.
I promise to come every solstice

with rays of light that are yours only

to fall on your lips and tongue.

My people, if we are not the branches that hold each other
we will fall

if we are not the roots that gently cradle each other,
we will erode to the sea.

Read the rest of this entry »

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we will endure


A year ago, police brutally raided Occupy DC and tore down the Tent of Dreams. They punched us in the gut, hit us in the head with batons, trampled our tents, and threw our furniture around. All for sleeping in tents and dreaming of a better world.

They don’t understand that we are flowers who grew from concrete.
They don’t understand that we will endure, and someday they will join us.
They don’t understand that we are learning to use our voices and look within.
They don’t understand that we will all learn to flex our muscles.

We, all of us, will be back, and we will be stronger.

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video: i disrupted the corrupt, secret negotiations for Trans-Pacific Partnership


Today I disrupted negotiations for the Trans-Pacific Partnership, a NAFTA-on-meth trade deal that’s being made in secret, behind closed doors. With two other Occupy DC activists, Marc Smith and Christopher Bartlo, we snuck into this secret meeting in its faraway conference center in Leesburg, Virginia, and performed a “mic check.” We were escorted from the building by security and police, and threatened with arrest. After being detained by police for about 30 minutes, we were given an official stay-away order from the conference center where negotiations were taking place. We were not formally charged with any crime.

The Trans-Pacific Partnership (TPP) will impact 40% of the earth’s population, says the office of the U.S. Trade Representative. As an international treaty, it overrides all of the domestic law that’s currently being negotiated in Congress. It will raise Medicare and Medicaid drug prices, as well as prices on life-saving drugs  in all countries who are part of the agreement, give corporations and Wall Street banksters even more unlimited power, and encourage more terrible destruction of the environment.

Read the rest of this entry »

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g20 summit update: g20 is illegitimate, says mexico

From the streets of La Paz, Mexico, two hours away from the Cabo G20 Summit

G20 protests, Mexico City

Today Mexican President Felipe Calderon, speaking in a press conference to conclude the G20 summit in Cabo, Mexico, reinforced why so many people oppose the G20’s neoliberalism, austerity, and corporate elitism. Austerity measures, he said, are like “bullets” that need to be “reloaded” again and again. His metaphor was appropriate. G20 policies promote systems that lead to suffering, destruction of communities, and destruction of the environment. These policies are like bullets, killing the people of the world.

Here in La Paz, Mexico, a two-hour drive north along the coastline from Cabo, Mexico, the people held their own summit, as the G20 leaders and rich corporate elite met inside a militarized security barrier, in posh hotel rooms with shimmering seaside vistas. It was impossible for protesters to get closer to the official summit, though some tried to find a bus driver willing to brave the checkpoints and the security guards with automatic guns slung over their shoulders. Locals were told that no one could enter Cabo unless they were a documented resident.

Students with “Yo Soy 132” at G20 Protests, Mexico City.

Activists with the Peoples Summit, Cumbre de los Pueblos, went on a colorful march down the main tourist strip in La Paz on the evening before the official G20 summit was slated to begin. Several hundred strong, the march poured into the main plaza of the town, La Kioska, and held a rally and a rock concert. The Peoples Summit also contained two and a half days of energetic panel discussions and workshops on topics like capital flows, offshore tax havens, and climate change and adaptation. Read the rest of this entry »

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g20 summit update: “Alternatives to the G20” summit

In a luxurious beach resort on the West Coast of Mexico, presidents and finance minsters from the “Group of 20” countries plan to meet inside a fortified security barrier to strategize over financial decisions that impact us all. The people of the world have to suffer the G20’s actions, but meetings are held in secret. I’m here in Mexico to join the resistance outside the G20 summit.

“We have to fight together globally – to fight the corporations and the government,” said Armando Robles of UE Local 1110 at Republic Windows and Doors in Chicago, USA. The union’s inspiring shutdown their factory in 2008 has given way to the prospect of a worker-controlled cooperative in place of a mega-corporation. He was speaking at the Alternatives to the G20 conference in Mexico City, June 14-15, organized by the coalition Our World is Not For Sale. “We see it in the US, we see it in Wall Street, we have to fight all over the world. We need solidarity.”

Reasons to hope are everywhere in Mexico City. The Alternatives to the G20 conference brought together people from a variety of NGOs and movements from Colombia, Peru, Russia, the Philippines, Canada, Germany, Ecuador, El Salvador, Mexico, India, Spain, the UK, the United States and others. Mexico City events also put people from the Indignados movement in Spain and the Occupy movement in the United States and the UK in touch with the inspiring local student movement, “Yo Soy 132.”

The conference included panels on the illegitimacy of the G20, the financialization of nature, global agriculture challenges, capital flows, and more.

An overall longing for justice is coursing strong in Mexico, as is an opposition to the neoliberal economic model – the type of economic model that tells Mexico it must lower trade barriers, promote foreign investment, and all the things that greedy corporations want countries to do so they can continue to exploit them. Many Mexicans boldly state that “Mexico is anti-neoliberal.” This has given me hope. Read the rest of this entry »

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g20 summit update: right to energy

I discussed the false choice between “jobs vs. the environment” at the Energy Rights Forum in Mexico City in advance of the G20 summit in Cabo, Mexico.

The Forum on the Universal Right to Energy was held loud and strong today in advance of the G20 summit. The meeting was held at the incredibly large and posh electrical workers union building in Mexico City. I was one of the “international delegates” speaking at the conference, the only speaker from the United States. Inside the giant auditorium inside the hall, there were about 500 workers and activists, being spoken to from the stage. Many listening were not hardened activists, but electrical workers paying a visit to their union hall.

I arrived at 9:30 AM sharp with a Russian energy advocate, Vladamir Slivyak. Indian union leader Ashim Roy, Javier Echaide of Argentina, and others, chaperoned by the fearless organizer with Our World is Not For Sale, Pierre Yves-Saint. As we arrived at the event, Pierre walked us through the giant auditorium, now almost empty except for a few camera men just setting up, and marched us right up on the stage, which was graced with giant fresh flower arrangements and bottles of water. We shook hands with an official of the electrical workers union, who said, “Voyen a esparar,” We are going to wait.

We were walked up to a top floor waiting room and offered coffee and internet. We made small talk and discussed the scenery, then popped open our laptops and went to work. We waited for about two hours. I guess this is what they say about Mexico. You can’t come to Mexico unless you are ready to wait.

Finally we were brought back to the auditorium. I had prepared remarks on the “jobs vs. environment” false choice that is often spun to us by the media. The right wing uses a variety of strategies to make people believe that you support unemployment if you oppose coal, oil, natural gas, oil pipelines, or even filters on smokestacks to keep pollutants out of our air. I believe this choice is ridiculous. We need to be investing in wind energy, solar energy, and other renewables – some studies show that government investment in wind energy creates three times more jobs than the same number invested in dirty energy. I believe we need bold, visionary campaigns to get people to want, to demand, renewable energy jobs. After all, who doesn’t want a clean, honest job that makes the world a better place for our children and grandchildren? Read the rest of this entry »

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police beatings and fran

On Sunday, I was hit with police batons on the head and side while shielding this woman, Fran, from police brutality during NATO summit protests in Chicago. News contains photos of “clashes” with police, but beating random antiwar protesters is an assault, not a “clash.” I was pushed away from Fran by police and she fell over as I was holding her up. (Her walker had been knocked away from her.) She fell and went to the hospital, but was out in the streets to protest Boeing with a new walker on Monday! We will not be silenced.

Filed under: activism, antiwar, police violence

we will always remember anastasio hernandez rojas

Anastasio Hernandez Rojas was tasered to death in May 2010 by authorities at an immigration checkpoint between two countries that people like to call Mexico and the United States. According to Counterpunch, Mr. Hernandez Rojas came to the US when he was a teenager and had lived here for 27 years. He was married with five children. In the heat of the economic crisis, he lost his construction job. He was caught shoplifting in May 2010, and was deported. When he tried to re-enter the US to be with his family and community, he was brutally beaten and tasered. He died soon after.

This injustice is beyond words. The murderers go home to wives and children, while the family of Mr. Hernandez Rojas mourns, weeps, goes deeper into despair — the poverty of having no control over your own destiny, the oppression of being swept up in unseen forces of authority — and the sadness seeps into the next generation. This has happened to so many people swept up at the border, souls whose names we will never learn.

Borders are an inhumane design. Before borders, the earth was free and open to the migration of all. That is how humans came to live everywhere. Now, borders claim territory and create laws and systems of oppression so that the rich, corporate elite pulling the strings can siphon work and wealth from the rest of us. The wealthy manipulators build walls to increase the hate. They develop systems that broker and limit our interaction, to keep other human beings an arm’s length away, on the other side of a wall or, better yet, a locked door. Then they develop systems to control our hate, and pit human against human for their benefit.

This is not how real human beings are supposed to live.

Filed under: activism, global justice, immigrant rights, indigenous rights

the police can’t raid our dreams

This past weekend, I stood in the rain at Occupy DC as police in riot gear trampled through the camp at McPherson Square. I ran as they charged the crowd with police horses. I watched as they grabbed clothing, books, tents, shoes, and other personal property, and tossed it all into dumpsters.

Some are asking how the Occupy movement will accomplish anything now. I say, it already has. It has already changed our world.


I marched through New York in September of last year on the first day of Occupy Wall Street. I laid down my sleeping bag in the open air in Zuccotti Park on the first intense nights of the occupation. Then, I brought my sleeping bag back to Washington DC, where I live. With some hopeful companions, I began occupying McPherson Square on K Street, home to some of the most corrupt lobbyists in the world. We held meetings in the cool October air, not yet the biting chill of winter. And we went to work building a library, a clinic, a kitchen, a media center — a small village. A second camp quickly emerged in another part of town, within sight of Congress.

I occupied because the rich are too rich, because Wall Street and the corporations control too much, and because all of our governments won’t even begin to seriously address some of the biggest challenges of our time, like climate change. I occupied because, like so many in the 99 percent, I am fed up with the status quo. I occupied because people are suffering all over the country and all over the world, while the power to build a better future is in our hands.

Now, most of Occupy DC has been emptied. Many occupiers were made homeless. Miraculously, the cops spared my humble little tent, with a newly broken pole, but sleeping in the park would now likely get me arrested. (I hadn’t slept at the park recently anyway. Another occupier was staying in my tent.)

Was it all worth it? Yes, and I’ll do it again.

This week, the Senate Budget Committee will hold a hearing about inequality and social mobility, hearing from experts like Sarah Anderson at the Institute for Policy Studies, who has published studies on the CEO-worker pay gap for 18 years. Would the Senate be doing this before Occupy? Probably not.

Mitt Romney is struggling to shed the stigma of being a “one percent candidate,” because his Richie Rich image continues to harm his campaign. Even Newt “Huge Tiffany’s Tab” Gingrich is making jabs at Romney’s wealth. Would this have happened before Occupy? Probably not.

One of President Barack Obama’s favorite stump speeches these days is on making the wealthiest Americans and biggest corporations pay their fair share, which would reduce inequality in this country. Would this have become a favorite presidential refrain before Occupy? Probably not.

A thousand plans are afoot to “re-occupy” this spring. But even if the camps were to end now, the Occupy movement has made millions of Americans think harder about our economic, environmental, and political realities, and that has the potential to change everything. It has created spaces for us to bring a bold new world to life. It has sparked conversations and ideas that no police barricade can hold back. And it has opened dreams that we are all still dreaming — whether we campers are allowed to sleep or not.

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Lacy MacAuley

I'm an activist, dreamer, media relations professional, life dancer, and student of the unknown living in Washington DC. If you stand for something, then stand up! Listen, envision, and act.

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Building a better world starts with just raising your voice.

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