#OccupyWallStreet: Between The Lines

I laid my eyes on the remnants of an old city and what I was about to encounter was an explosive scene beyond the bounds of a typical protest.

Like a modern day refugee camp, citizens with cell phones and ipods danced around tents, tarps, piles of...whatever and sleeping bags that were sprawled across the cement park. A single pathway made it maneuverable from one end of the camp to the other and each station ran over the next with only a cardboard sign to identify its place.

A peaceful war with no destination or anticipated outcome, a spectacle to the public, a threat to city officials, an annoyance to local businessmen. The protesters were definitely sending a message - they weren't moving.

I snapped pictures, took interviews, made friends, and blended in. Dressed in torn jeans, a hoodie, jacket, converse shoes and beanie, no one thought I was any different. I was absorbed by the scene and even the profundity of the protest and honestly, the simultaneous madness of it all gave way for an awkward narrative. As it were, I kept wondering if any comparison could be made with their protest predecessors nearly 40 years ago.

I zipped through the camp like a buzzing swarm, being short actually made it easy for me to dart in an out of crowds and well...crowded spaces. In a fast-paced city with millions bustling and subways racing - a movement of disgruntled locals translates no differently.

One such day of my visit, Golden Sachs was the target of unified loud voices, "Banks got bailed out, you got sold out!" -- voices that disrupted business, protesters who - void of employment and responsibility - were abandoning any prospect of their daily post to join in solidarity for justice..

It seemed that Wall Street was listening. Professionals, suits of many color were investigating the premises, wandering through the group of misfits, asking questions, taking notes. Would these hippies shape up and ship out? Or would they get a grip on how to solve the problems that ailed them?

Of course, then again, who needed a solution - the "wigs" were already supposed to have the answers: stop being greedy, someone said. Maybe, just perhaps, they were onto something.

Like clockwork as the sun set from the afternoon and into the evening, drummers at Occupy Wall Street rigorously called attention to the protesters in Zuccotti Park. In Rhythmic fashion, they set the stage for sign holders to hoist their messages above the crowd. Cardboard pieces that said, "Wall Street, War Street" and others that declared. "This is Democracy." It was as if they were preparing for battle, a daily cry against all forms of injustice.

To the spectators who walked outside the barricades, snapping photos and recording video with their phones, the whole scene was a loud joke. One woman behind me said, "Most of theses people don't even know what they're out here for. This has just become a tourist attraction." Indeed - it seemed to be just that.

But others felt the emotion behind the music, stood together and cheered, rallied and tried to solicit outsiders. All this despite a heavy police presence around the perimeter of the park. And most people told me, "Eh, this is normal."

Several Occupiers wore the masks from V for Vendetta identifying with a character who's face was marred and spirit broken by the corruption and torture of a frivolous government. Flags were raised in declaration of freedom. It was a sight that could draw anybody in...it certainly brought energy and momentum to the spirit of the protest.

It was a mystifying moment as I peered upward at the tall skyscrapers on Wall Street, the rebuilding of the World Trade Center Behind me and the sound of a Sax leading the drummers into a melodious renegade that required something more than what existed. Change. Certainly those who criticized were missing the point. Then again, were the protesters also missing out on what they could really do to get the results they wanted?

In the mean time, meal time was often long lines through a tent at the center of the park and people asking how to get to the back of the line in anticipation of a hot meal - trying to brave 50 degree (and below) weather as the winds flew through the tunnels of skyscrapers around them. Even with thick socks, I think my toes froze more than once and since my body temperature is determined by the state of my feet, I had to find ways to keep moving around the camp just to keep my blood from halting transportation through my veins.

Despite the fact that the generators had been removed by order of Mayor Bloomberg; Occupy Wall Street didn't let that deter them from charging their cell phones - how else could they Tweet and communicate? Two bikes were constructed in the camp - for people to manually hook up their electronics and charge them or create other functions while they pedaled on the bike (I’m sure the physical fitness wasn’t hurting them either, another few minutes to stay warm). While I never got a good look at the construction of the machine, I got the point. It didn't matter what the Mayor tried to do, they weren't going to be thrown out over a little generator, they would just invent their own and keep going.

The leaderless movement they've grown so fond of seemed to function smoothly and yet there was something missing - volunteers at the various tables of information were not often under an area of expertise and who was in charge of organizing it seemed lost on them. But they're were armed with propaganda - fliers, a newspaper: The Occupied Wall Street Journal, and most importantly, "The Declaration of the Occupation of New York City," their creed and manifesto. They began with "We the people..." Much like the Constitution. They listed their frustrations, they wrote down, put in a booklet, got a sponsor to print it up for them and delivered their complaints. While it offered no alternatives, it grabbed my attention, because it existed. And most Occupiers found it "moving," "inspirational," and a point of reference for them them to talk to each other, like mindedness some said, they were searching for it. But I wondered - with so many minds here, were they finding it?

Wall Street, unlike Atlanta (for who I have been working to document since October), was definitely more focused on economics and financial dysfunction. At the heart of Wall Street and the financial district, they wanted change in their pocket and change in policy.

Atlanta over the weeks has moved in the direction of social change in the community looking to Civil Rights leaders as an example in moving forward and making a difference, if there's one to be had.

Some say it's the political Left's response to the Right's Tea Party. I say - I met too many people in the middle, on the Left, on the Right and well, those special Ron Paul supporters. I met Communists and Socialists and Capitalists who want reform. I met wanna be important protesters and homeless and college graduates. I met people running from their problems and others dedicated to the cause.

I met multiple generations, all coming together - on both sides of the Occupy line, those for and against had something to say and they said it, even if it didn't make any sense, then again, maybe more people need to read between the lines.