The news came early Thursday morning (June 28) that federal agents moved against the occupiers of the Portland Immigration and Customs Enforcement building, so I wouldn’t have been surprised to see the protesters dispersing. When Mary and I went there in the early afternoon, however, the occupation was still going strong. The barricade to the parking lot remains, as does the encampment of tents behind the building. Federal police had cleared the signs and protesters away from the street entrance, as well as the vehicle entrance around the corner. But the people protesting ICE don’t seem to be going anywhere.
Near the barricade to the parking lot, some workers were pressure washing graffiti from the building. I should specify that this was not part of the Occupy ICE action, which is defiant but respectful. One night last week when I was there, some kids showed up who wanted to tag the building with spray paint, but Occupation ICE security, armed with walkie-talkies and techniques of nonviolent conflict resolution, talked them down and convinced them to leave the premises.
A crowd was gathered near the vehicle entrance as people took turns speaking, addressing the federal officers standing guard; the latter were out in riot gear, complete with batons and shields. Officers also lined the side street so that traffic could not get by (one of the speakers’ modest demands was that the officers allow traffic to pass because the street is not, after all, federal property). On one side of the yellow tape stretched across the street were police cars and a line of officers standing at attention; on the other were people sitting in lawn chairs, gathered quietly as on a summer afternoon such as this one. A young woman stood directly in front of an officer, the yellow tape between them; facing into the sun, she held her hand above her eyes to form a visor. In full uniform complete with a helmet shield, the officer looked pretty butch, but she looked tougher, partly because of her utter calm within a vulnerable position.
Mary and I walked among the tents and had the opportunity to talk with a gentleman working ICE Occupation security, our conversation punctuated by his walkie-talkie consultations. Even older than I, this guy had clearly done this kind of work before; it was far from his first demonstration. At one point an agitated young man, his face partially covered with a bandana, reported in. The elder hugged him and gently suggested that he calm down, which apparently he did. We talked a few minutes longer, then Mary and I headed back to the street. Before we did that, however, the gentleman hugged me and said to keep feeling the spirit of peace—just walking around feeling it would help, he said.
I think there’s great wisdom in that, such as one encounters in the writings of people like Thomas Merton and Ernesto Cardenal. Social action and spirituality have to go together; and by spirituality I don’t necessarily mean a belief in God, but rather a way of centering one’s energies and then bringing that centered energy into action. Whether one believes in the divine, a realm of ultimate concern, a universal energy that flows through universe, or something else, it remains crucial to have a way of returning to it often, whether through techniques of contemplative prayer or focused meditation. However one does this becomes, then, an important part of one’s spirituality. Concerning spirit, I think of something I once heard the beat poet Gregory Corso say in an interview: When it comes to the spirit, forget that airy-fairy shit. The spirit’s a touch fucker. Hell yeah.