Posted on 02/16/2005 1:24:09 PM PST by KidGlock
Give her enough tinfoil to make a new hat and tell her to go home.
When Georgi Page, a 34-year-old web producer from Harlem, heard of an Aug. 31 protest outside a Hummer showroom, she knew she had to go. Page had already paraded two days earlier in her homemade sports utility vehicle costume — a painted packing box with “Bummer” emblazoned across it and a gas pipe feeding it pretend blood.
“Really, the symbol for everything I was feeling was Hummer,” Page said of the military-style recreation vehicle. “It has such low fuel efficiency and it’s so gratuitous. And I feel there’s a direct causal relationship between low-fuel-efficient vehicles and the war in Iraq.”
But when she arrived at the 11th Avenue showroom, ready to join throngs of protesters, Page found that she, with her mini-float, had herself become a symbol. She wasn’t part of the protest. She was the entire protest.
Greeted by two dozen reporters and about 40 police officers, Page looked rather dazed as microphones were thrust toward her.
“I wasn’t really prepared to give a speech.”
And she certainly wasn’t prepared for what happened next. After about 30 minutes, a police captain approached, told her she was causing an obstruction, and arrested her. Her Hummer costume was discarded and her “Vampire Utility Vehicles” sign bagged as evidence while Page, handcuffed and by now near tears, was loaded into a police van.
“I felt crushed,” Page said. “It was so disappointing and I was so sad.”
"my daddy is a Supreme Court justice...."
LOL!!!
aaaaahhOOOOOOOOOOOOOGGGaaaaaaaaaah!
Propaganda disguised as news alert!
here's the little LW moonbats own take on the day
http://bractsrust.tripod.com/id17.html
My Day at Hummer by Georgi Page
...So, today I was illegally abducted by a group of armed thugs and thrown into a cage. I got arrested by the NYPD. At Hummer of Manhattan. It’s funny, after I was released and waiting for the subway a former co-worker asked where I was coming from. “Jail” I replied. She thought I was joking.
But, of course I wasn’t.
This protest seemed to have been made for me – there’s no greater, more repulsive symbol of conspicuous consumption, for me, than the Hummer. SUV's, SOV's, you’re on my list, too. Plus, I had made the costume
and all…
So, once again I put my ‘Bummer’ over my neck and made my way downtown. I was a little leery of going alone – I had told a friend about this and the Reclaim Johnny Cash protest at Sotheby’s (my second choice)
But she was fairly noncommittal, so I thought I’d have to make friends fast when I got there.
Hummer of Manhattan is a little off of the beaten track, so to speak. I took a train to Columbus Circle, then walked the 3 long blocks to 11th, and down to 56th. The Mini Showroom is one block up from Hummer. I gave an internal ‘thumbs up’ to the Minis as I turned the corner, but nothing could prepare me for what I saw…
Nobody! No anarchists in black, no alternative types with noisemakers.
As I got closer a few people eyed me with interest, there was a sense of anticipation in the air. Several men stood outside in suits – I thought maybe they were doormen. As I walked further down the street, looking for ‘The Hummer Bloc’, reporters seemingly materialized from nowhere. Where had they been? Crouching betweencars? Across the street at the park? Disguised as hot dog vendors? Suddenly there were 20 reporters with cameras, video cameras and fuzzy microphones. They were all earnestly and politely asking me questions.
I hesitated before giving my name, then thought ‘Why not?!”.
I told them why I opposed Hummers, the fact that they are the ultimate symbol of America’s wastefulness, and part of the reason we are in Iraq. They asked me if I opposed ALL Hummers, or just the ones owned by urbanites. So I clarified, feeling stupid for not having prepared a statement – which is absurd! How was I to know that I would be holding a press release and speaking for enemies of conspicuous consumption everywhere?
After awhile most of the reporters went back to their vans or doorways and I, visions of Michael Moore in my head, left them and wandered closer to the front doors to see if I could get the attention of the show room manager.
I didn’t want to ‘court the press’ plus I figured if I just shook my sign in an employee’s face I could say I had done my job and leave. There were bright signs in the windows advertising the gas mileage of various SUVs and cars 30, 25 miles to the gallon – but nothing touting the 10-15 mpg of the Hummer. The two suits, who could have been doormen, were still posted outside of the double doors so I went up to one of them and asked if they were employees. They said no, not of Hummer. “Ah, the secret service!” I said, bluffing. “Or the NOT-so-secret Service” I said, bluffing even more.” So as not to be perceived as aggressive or threatening I went over to the curb.
A persistent New York Times reporter got about 50 shots of me trying to text message the rest of the RNCtextmob –
and failing.
Then I looked up from my cell phone to see all of the reporters re-appear, trailing an officer who strode my direction. I don’t know if I ACTUALLY turned around to see if there was someone behind me, and I don’t know when I first noticed the double-parked unmarked police vehicle, siren flashing, but suddenly I realized I may be in trouble. It wasn’t until the officer – or captain, as I later found out – whipped out a piece of paper and started reading a statement, accompanied by the whizzing of camera shutters, that I realized the seriousness of attempting to exercise my First Amendment Right to Free Speech during the Republican National Convention, outside of Hummer of Manhattan.
Several months ago I had picketed a hair salon (Milenio Condes on 151st and Broadway – Beware!) that had burnt off half of my hair. Believe me I had often wished for less, but this was scary. I made a sign, with ‘before & after’ shots and stood outside of the shop handing out flyers for about ½ hour. The owners of the salon called the police.
When they came, they looked at my flyer, told the salon I was within my rights as long as I didn’t block traffic, and left.
So, it never occurred to me that the police, on this day, could or would even try to arrest me. But, I forgot, this is not a small salon up in Harlem, this was Hummer of America. The same Hummer that The Arnold owns 8 of. The same Hummer that people get a full tax credit for buying. The same Hummer that is doing it’s patriotic duty in Iraq, ferrying Halliburton employees between oil fields.
The statement that the police captain read off of a crumpled piece of paper said that I was obstructing traffic and that if I did not ‘disperse’ I would be placed under arrest.
I stared at him in shock. I was standing on the curb between two parking meters, as far away from the building as I could get without being in the street. “I am not obstructing traffic” I stated, looking up and down the street
“What traffic?!” We continued to talk over each other “Ma’am-” “You’re lying!” I looked at the journalists “You are being ordered-” “You saw me!” I shouted to the camera’s eye “I was not blocking traffic!” “We are placing you under arrest” In a state of confusion and shock I didn’t believe them until I felt them yank my arms back and the plastic cuffs cutting into my wrists. ”You are arresting me illegally!” I looked to the journalists again, “Does one of you have a card, so I can contact you?” They gave me sympathetic looks, but stood neutral. I fought tears as I looked at the cameras for help. The police snatched my costume off of my neck and took me into the street where a van awaited on the other side. I didn’t resist.
We stood on the sidewalk for several minutes while the police decided who would be my arresting officer. Some of the cops seemed as confused and dumbfounded as I was about the Captain’s decision and tried to portray themselves as ‘good guys’. “Hey, smile, it’s not so bad”. The took several polaroids and told me to get into the van. I sat there, feeling that once the Captain regained his composure he would have me released. I was slowly disillusioned as I overheard them coordinating and creating the narrative of what had happened and why I was being arrested. I was actually trying to keep an eye on my belongings, afraid that they could plant something on me,
because I knew they had no case.
In the van, the officers were a jovial bunch and tried to make conversation with me. “It’s not our fault” said the one cops. “Yes, it is.” I responded, thinking of the Nazis. “We’re just following orders” I glared. “You’re responsible”
“Well, just cooperate and things will go a lot quicker, you’ll probably be out in a couple hours and just have to appear before a judge” I had every intention of cooperating, but did derive some satisfaction out of withholding my phone number.
On the ride downtown they gossiped about the Captain, and other various police “shenanigans”. Once at the Pier/bus barn, two officers unloaded their guns and escorted me inside, along with my poster.
I was searched, my possessions were bagged, then catalogued, the cuffs removed and I was put in a pen. Then I was transferred to another pen. By the way, 80% of the NYC cops are Italian. As they examined my sign I said: It’s cardboard” The female officer responded in her toughest voice “Do me a favah and don’t tawk to me!”
In the pen I sat in a little pool of light that gave a view of the Hudson River. I swapped stories with the two other inmates and worried about spending the night there – apparently one girl got chemical burns from sleeping on the floor. We could see the statue of liberty – “Ironic, right?”, I said. One was wearing a paper kimono because her original shirt had been the American Flag. She told me of being shot in the back in Miami, twice, as she was fleeing. The other was arrested when police told her to climb down from where she was sitting and she jokingly asked if they would give her a hand.
Don’t try to crack their façade. They hate that.
After awhile I stood up and asked about my subway card fearing that it had been lost in the shuffle I asked one of the 20 idle officers to look on the ground near the table. “You didn’t see it? You didn’t bring it!” “No, I DID see it-“ “I’m not entertaining this!” She snapped and walked away.
After that I didn’t feel like sitting down anymore, I felt like staring at the officers and trying to figure them out. So I got as close to the fence as I could without giving them any excuses to think I was tampering with anything. And I stared, for an hour and a half. A few of the other arrestees (by now there were 7 or 8 of us) joined me. Flag Woman Said, “I noticed that your staring at them is making them uncomfortable, so I decided to join you.”
The female officers closest to me were sitting in a semi-circle, looping and prepping handcuffs, like some weird quilting bee, and what I noticed was that all of them were painfully awkward and trying very hard to be likeable to each other.
Trying to keep the mood light. I tried to understand what would make someone make a career out of contempt.
As my arresting officer had moved me from station to station I couldn’t help but wonder how he touches his wife after Days & years of this. I thought maybe they had childhoods where they were made to feel powerless. Maybe that one there was a battered wife, and that one didn’t have many friends, and this one is physically pretty ugly, and bitter about it. A few times my stare did bother them; they refused to meet my gaze, shifting their eyes away or making lame jokes about it. But, finally they all appeared very smug and pleased with their sense of power, so it was hard to feel sorry for them.
Finally, my arresting officer appeared, still sweating profusely under his bulletproof vest. He walked me toward the exit
And I asked if I would get a copy of my arrest report. “No, you can pick that up at the precinct.” I could see the garage door that I would walk out of, 40 or 50 officers milling around, creating ‘presence’ (there had been protests here). He walked me towards the door, and, as if he were me doing a favor, let me go. I walked away, not looking back, and heard him
Say “You are free to go”
But I am not free – now I know we no longer live in a democracy.
Again, I don't support her ideology but the right to peacefully protest is a cherished right. The cops abuse it IMHO.
Is this the former NFL football player?
Yes...from his bio
Professional Football Player, 1967-1981
Alan C. Page is Minnesota’s first African-American Supreme Court Justice. He has established a foundation to provide college tuition for underprivileged students and has co-sponsored a national essay-writing contest to promote literacy. Known for his staunch defense as a member of the famed “Purple People Eaters,” the Minnesota Vikings’ fierce defensive unit of the ‘70s, he was elected to the Pro Football Hall of Fame. Page is now an ardent defender of equal education for all children.
Mr. Page’s law career actually began during his NFL-playing days when he had the foresight to attend law school at the University of Minnesota at the height of his football career so he could be prepared for life after football. When he retired from the game in 1981, he went to work for a Minnesota law firm before being appointed special assistant attorney general in Minnesota. In 1987, he became assistant attorney general, and in 1993, he became associate justice on the Minnesota Supreme Court.
They probablyjust picked her up as litter.
If it took her eight hours to make that "costume" she would starve trying to defrost a T.V. dinner.
Sounds to me like she was illegally parked...;-)
you can read the court filing here
http://www.nyclu.org/pdfs/hummer_complaint_021505.pdf
Was she standing on the City sidewalk or the dealership property sidewalk? There is a difference.
from her court filing:
Plaintiff Georgianna Page is a native of Minnesota. After studying art and comarative history at the university of Washington and graduating with a Bachelor of Arts degree, she interned at community newspapers in South Africa. She then worked at an internet startup company and wrote for the Washington Free Press, an alternative newspaper, and Real Change, a newspaper for the Seattle homeless population. Ms. Page has tutored disadvantages youth in Seattle and travelled in Brazil as part of a Rotary International group study exchange team. She was a Web producer at Microsoft and Fluke Networks. in november 2002, she moved to New York, where she is working as a Web producer at American Express and developing a career as a freelance writer and copy editor.
"Woman in Traffic Suit in Traffic Suit."
Second page of her court filings says she was on the city sidewalk. I don't know other than that.
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