Report from Seattle's Autonomous Zone!

Report from the Autonomous Zone!

I waited for the sun to go into Cancer, the beginning of Summer, the Summer Solstice, at 2:45 p.m. Pacific Time. Then I waited another hour for the Jupiter rather than Saturn hour to come up, and ventured out four blocks away to the CHAZ, or Capitol Hill Autonomous Zone in Seattle.

It's a nice day; the sun has come out although it was cloudy and rainy in the morning. The Summer is the Summer!

What is autonomous about the Autonomous Zone? Just the fact that the police are not policing it and the police station at Pike and 12th Avenue has been shut down, with a big painted sign on it "Property of the People of Seattle." Noisy protests which might turn into skirmishes with the police are late at night; sometimes I hear loud voices and shouts in my apartment, but so far as I know they have been peaceful in recent weeks. The Mayor has asked the police to leave the Zone alone for the time being. The city is playing it by ear.

On the large more-than-football-size field covered with artificial grass which has become a spot for people to hang out in small clusters of two to five, I observed and then walked through. About 70 per cent white, or maybe 75, I would say, and I might have been the only one over the age of 40 or 45 I was wearing a brown old-man-looking fedora hat, a red shirt with white flames on it, light blue jeans with white flecks on it which I did not put there, and nice-looking Italian shoes. Anything at all is in fashion in the CHAZ.

I walked to a gas station where I bought a container of one of those energy drinks imitating Red Bull. The label said it had the caffeine of two cups of coffee which did not sound excessive. I took it back to the playing field and sat at a respectful distance from other small groups, near the center. The sun was just right, very comfortable. I opened my back tote bag which says in red and white "Doctors Without Borders" and then shifted,, down my face, to my chin, the white surgical-quality mask which I had just gotten in the mail from China Aid as an unexpected gift (it is a group protecting Christians in China, so far as that is possible, and I had given it a small donation). The gift of four white masks came just in time because the string of the only other mask I had had broken, so I had tied it to my dark glasses. (Did I look mysterious or silly? Nobody told me.)

I opened the tote bag again and took out Sri Aurobindo's Savitri and started reading the portion I had bookmarked for the day (four pages). Meanwhile I was covertly (or obviously?) gazing around at other people on the field. Dogs were having fun and the retriever sort were playing their never-boring game with their owners (oops, caregivers) and sometimes with others who would retrieve and toss a ball to them.

Someone was speaking to another person to my left: "Are you talking like a dictator?" Then: "That's an assumption." Then later: "I know that you're Jewish. That's not racist." Why? "Because you're talking like a f'ing schoolmistress." I don't know why you are talking to me. "Because you look like a leader, an authority." Then the conversation came to an end, the young man firing the questions getting up and leaving the young woman there with her boyfriend. She asked him incredulously, "What was that about?"

My reading and people-watching and eavesdropping proceeded. From another group: "The idea is to be disruptive, so they're staying there longer and longer." I assume he was referring to the small number of demonstrators who keep going late at night.

The two most popular signs are "Black Lives Matter" and "Defund the Police."

A man stood above me and mumbled words I could hardly hear, but I knew he was asking for money. "Need some cash?" I asked and he nodded. I opened the tote bag again, fished for my wallet and took two dollars from it, hiding the rest from his gaze as best I could. He thanked me and said "God bless you." I hope it is not racist to say he was black. Or I could say, rather, "He was portly, wearing a blue shirt and blue jeans." Which bit of information about his appearance is more important?

On the northeast side of the field is a cluster of small tents reminding me of one my dad gave me to camp in in the back yard when I was 9 or so. I assume they were being occupied all night by some, in relative "autonomy."

From another group: "That sun is so hot!" "It is hot." But it felt good to me, on the back of my neck.

Someone was serving hamburgers being grilled over on the west side of the field. A long line had formed. Not sure if the burgers were free for a donation or being sold.

A friendly crowd and a nice day. I took my leave.

'Bye, CHAZ, my interesting neighbor.

H H H / C P