Altercation with an Anarchist Clown

I miss the Occupy action that never really happened except in New York for a brief period. Instead of a raging river of protesters, Occupy drained off into much smaller tributaries, or work groups. Those of us who had spent the Bush years sitting quietly fuming in front of our computers, and then watched Obama genuflect to Wall Street, couldn't wait to get out of our chairs and into the streets in search of the equally outraged. But in Seattle, Occupy was quickly divided by purist political views and tactics; the number of protesters sinking to inconsequential.

When two serious organizers tried to revive the march on the banks, I was hopeful. I was ready. The march was advertised as non-violent on the Facebook event page, with an appeal to the more reckless element to stay out of it. The rock throwers did stay home, but the organizers invited the anarchist clowns.

Around 200 people signed up to march; a very modest response. I remained hopeful that others who  had no affinity for Facebook organizing tools would join us, but on that particular morning in mid-July, a cold, battering rain storm came through. The turn out was abysmal. Those who did show up looked like semi-professional protesters; we were very short on seriously fed up members of the civic-minded middle class. The rain had stopped and I was carrying my best protest sign so I dutifully stayed with the cause.

Gen'ral Malaise photo from his Facebook page

The police presence for this march was inconspicuous; the bicycle patrol looked bored and non-threatening. The clowns were prancing about, keeping up a constant patter. The clown known as General Malaise (or Gen'ral as he likes to misspell it), abruptly changed the mood to ugly street theater. He pointed his furled umbrella directly in a policeman's face and pretending it was a gun, began "shooting"  while delivering a taunting harangue. Without conscious thought, I stepped in front of the General, put my protest sign in front of his "gun" and demanded that he stop. I was suddenly a fourth grade teacher on a field trip and I was not putting up with this behavior.

I imagine the General experienced flashbacks of all the elementary teachers who had ever reprimanded him; he went ballistic. I was astonished by his reaction, maybe because he looked like a clown. I reached out to put my hand on his shoulder to calm him down. Mistake. The General apparently decided I'd tried to rip his arm off. Flashbacks of teaching nuns coming after him with rulers raised to strike perhaps. It was a surreal circumstance to have an anarchist clown shrieking that I had assaulted him on a downtown street in front of a stately banking establishment. The police wisely ignored it all.