I live near UC Berkeley, where protests continue against the 32% increase in tuition fees, cuts in course offerings, and staff pay cuts. Today the police began trying to forcibly put a stop to the demonstrations that are now in their third day. Pepper spray, batons, riot gear, the usual violent, unnecessary tactics.
Right now I can hear helicopters in the air. Probably news copters, but no doubt police helicopters as well.
I hear helicopters and I think of Miami. It was six years ago this week that I was there doing legal support for activists protesting the Free Trade Area of the Americas. The helicopters were overhead all day, every day, and all night, too. It was often hard to sleep. When I got arrested that Friday in the police sweep (video, trigger warning) and taken to jail, the one consolation was that the thick walls kept out the sound of the helicopters and I finally got some rest.
I hear helicopters and I still get a sinking, sickly feeling in my gut. I hear helicopters and I know that I was right to stay away from the demonstrations, even though I fully support the students, faculty, and staff who believe that quality public education should be accessible to all, not just to all who can afford it.
It’s been six years, but I’m still selective about the kind of protest actions I take part in. Immediately following Miami, I made the mistake of not waiting longer before jumping back into activism and actions that kept tearing the scabs off my still healing emotional wounds. I didn’t realize how much trauma I’d experienced, not until it began manifesting in other areas of my life, becoming a crippling anxiety that finally forced me to rest and recover.
I hear the helicopters and I am grateful for the healing I’ve experienced so far. I hear the helicopters and in the safety of my home I pray for the safety and emotional well being of the demonstrators.


