Cancun Dispatch: 9/12

Article Tools

Print

E-mail

Comments

RSS

Juniper and Lisa head down the road to look for stragglers, and Brush and I head back across the staircase over the road, through the alley and the plaza, across the parking lot and behind the barricades to our sacred tree, where we've decided to gather. But no one else is there. Brush walks up to talk to a group of people, one of whom turns out to be some kind of security guard, but very sweet and helpful, trying to give us directions and ask us where we are going. "Where do you recommend?" I ask, but he doesn't know the English word and we are still pretending for some reason not to speak Spanish, and meanwhile, out of the corner of my eye I'm looking for others and nobody turns up. We are closer and closer to the time the action is supposed to start, and I realize we have made a big mistake trying to move the group, that they are all probably trying to find their way around the barriers and are now scattered. We are right by our sacred tree and I go over and touch it for strength and comfort, feeling sick at heart. I go sit down, close my eyes, and visualize a circle spinning itself around all the action and the activists, bringing us together, weaving us into a whole. But more and more time is passing, and Brush and I are still alone. We call Lisa, who says she's on her way.

I see Luis stroll up and a few others -- then Rio and a group are getting into a taxi. Elizabeth comes up to tell us that Rio says the location has been changed back to the Hard Rock Café. I feel sick. It's two minutes to action time, I don't know where everyone is, I don't know where everyone is supposed to be or where I'm supposed to be, or what to do.

And then, a little way up the street, five people come out into the road and form a line. The cars stop. We begin strolling, then striding, then running up to them. We skirt the barricades and take the road. A security guard tries to stop us and we weave past, stand behind the students, and begin to form a circle. Out of nowhere, others start to join us. Some sit down with the students, others join in the circle. I whip my drum out of the black bag that's covered it, and we begin to sing and spiral. Two big buses and a mass of cars are stopped behind the students and the internationals on the front line with them. The circle grows bigger and the line grows longer and we spiral and sing, while the news media begins to gather.

"We are the rising of the moon,
We are the shifting of the ground,
We are the seed that takes root,
When we bring the fortress down..."

Now the news media are out in force, their big cameras in our faces, and crowds have gathered on the bridge and the sidewalk behind the fences. We keep dancing. The traffic is in the most glorious chaos. The convention center is between two roads that split into a circle here on the point of the island, and a group peels off and goes over to blockade the second road. We start to see cops massed in front of us and hear rumors that others are behind us, but we just keep dancing.

RSS | Comments | E-mail | Print