I'll admit it. I love the idea that a movement like Occupy Wall Street could right the economic wrongs of the past century. Indeed, examples of populist uprisings changing the status quo these days are too numerous to list.
And so I took to heart the advice of one Brooke Gladstone, host of National Public Radio's On The Media who recently told CBC's Stephen Quinn that she felt reporters weren't giving the Occupy movement a fair shake.
True, the demands of protestors in New York and cities across the globe aren't exactly clear, Gladstone conceded. But it's too early to write the movement off. Give it time, she said, go down, hang out, observe and talk to people and you might just discover a movement with the potential to flourish like its counterparts in the Middle East and Africa.
And so I did. Armed with a hastily packed overnight bag and a sense of optimism, I headed down to spend some time 14 hours and change, to be exact with Occupy Vancouver.
I'd hoped to discover a movement sprouting the teeth of an Arab Spring. But I can't say that I did. After spending a night with Occupy Vancouver, the only thing I'm sure of is that it's a strange bedfellow indeed.
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I arrive around 7pm in time for the General Assembly, held twice daily, to meet a standard protest vibe. Drum circle in full swing, dancing hippies, punks, high school and college kids with a mean age of about 25.
Only the infrastructure sets it apart. About 50 tents are packed on the main lawn and various pods nestle wherever else they'll fit. Some are here for the long haul, and no one is sure just how long that is, maybe Christmas, maybe New Year's. Others are plan to "sublet" tents as the protest carries on.
Amenities include a media tent, first-aid tent, library, board room, tea and coffee station, a kitchen from Food Not Bombs, and an info tent manned by a bearded guy with a cardboard question mark strapped to his forehead. I eavesdrop as he explains to another newcomer the General Assembly about to get underway.
"We try to get through the agenda, which usually doesn't happen because we want to reach 90 per cent consensus and people object or raise other issues. It's a good time, good stuff," he says, and strolls out in front of the gallery steps, where I'm introduced to human mike.
"Mike Check," question-mark bellows into the crowd, about 150 strong.
"Mike Check," they parrot back.
In New York's Zuccotti Park human mike's call-and-response system allowed protesters to circumvent the city's requirements for permits in order to amplify sound. At the VAG, however, human mike just seems to be the most irritating guy in the room. Proponents of it and there are many (remember, everything's done by consensus) say the system fosters community and ensures everyone is listening.
But it's also stunningly inefficient. Even Richard, the GA's facilitator, seems to understand the redundancy of shouting en masse when there's a working PA system at your disposal. "I'm just going to human mike into the real mike," he announces about 10 minutes in.
And it takes about that long to conclude that if Occupy 麻豆传媒映画is going to take down the "corporatocracy" this way, it's going to do it in geological time.
About an hour into the GA, the group is still going over logistics, ensuring everyone understands the hand signals they've developed to respond to speakers. Wiggle your fingers if you agree, thumbs down if you disagree and so on. So far the only mention of a way to derail the banking system comes by way of a representative of the direct action committee. He gives an update on Bank Transfer Day, their campaign encouraging people to transfer funds from banks to credit unions, but he's met with another hand signal. The one that means "you're rambling, wrap it up."
Time for a walk. I veer away from the GA and into Larry Ogrodnik and Merlin St. Germain (he swears it's his real name), two boomers lingering around the fringes of the GA like aging activist versions of the Muppet Show's Statler and Waldorf.
"It's a fantasy. These guys think they can just sit in a tent and demand change," says St. Germain. "As soon as it starts raining, they'll go home."
Ogrodnik nods. "These young people aren't acting like the world is going to end in the next 20 years."
Do you really think that's the timeline we're on? I ask. "Well, it won't end, but our humanity may," Ogrodnik responds, painting a picture of a world rife with climate-change refugees, growing economic inequality and gun boats patrolling Burrard Inlet. St. Germain nods in agreement, lounging on his bicycle with the relaxed attitude of one who likely won't be around to deal with the mess his generation created.
I look over at the GA, where hand signals are still on the table. They're on the verge of adopting a new one for "neutral" and I sigh.
By the time the GA wraps up and the djembes start up again, I'm pretty dejected and freezing sitting on the fountain watching the fray. Organizing the 99 per cent, or at least this portion of it, is a little like herding cats.
And then I meed Larry Haines. A nurse's aid at Riverview Hospital, Haines has come down about four times from the suburbs to support the movement in solidarity with his union, but also out of concern for his three-year-old grandson.
"I want to tell him I was a part of history," he says. "I want to say I did my bit."
Taking a seat next to me on the fountain, Haines looks out at the crowd, by now milling around in preparation for quiet hours at 11pm. People must have though Rosa Parks was crazy when she sat at the front of the bus, Haines reminds me. And nobody expected the fall of the Berlin Wall. Sure, we don't know what's happening here, in New York, or any of the other cities throughout the globe but at least something happening, he says.
"Sure, there are fringe groups, but everybody needs a chance to talk. Even at Riverview everybody gets their five minutes."
The important thing is people are realizing something is wrong and coming together to talk about it.
As the night progresses, I think maybe he's got a point. There is a sense of community growing down here and that's worth something intangible as it may be. I'm not sure how it will change the world, but I'm touched by the volunteer who insists I take a hot water bottle for the night. "We have more than enough," she tells me, giving one to me and tucking another into the sleeping bag of a homeless man with a rasping cough. Or the way Jason, the security volunteer, comes over to introduce himself and make sure I feel safe for the night.
The good vibe continues into the morning, when suit-clad commuters cutting through the square contrast the sleepy protesters lining up for free breakfast or meditating in circles.
I stop by the info tent to drop off my hot water bottle just as a cyclist drops by with a bag of food. "I can't be here, but I wanted to give you this," he says, handing the bag to two volunteers, a young man I've come to know as Thomas, and an older woman.
They unearth fresh-baked cheese buns, sausage rolls and then hit pay dirt a stack of Milka chocolate bars, the big kind, the kind you'd bring camping for S'mores.
The woman giddily turns to Thomas and clutches a few to her chest. "Oh yeah," she says, eyes wide in anticipation.
"No, no, just one each," says Thomas. They each take their prize and sock it away.
And here, I think, is the problem with the Occupy movement. Even when you're working for the 99 per cent it's human nature to want to get paid. And no amount of time is going to change that.
