Free speech for some, repression for others at Western Washington University

I’m no longer a student at Western Washington University - I’m alumni, oh boy - but for some its just another Spring quarter, which brings with it another day spent avoiding the ignorant, anti-Black, anti-Semitic eyesore that is the Genocide Awareness Project (or if you please, “the GAP”). The GAP is an anti-choice amalgam of righteous Christian rage, enlarged photos of lynched Black men, concentration camps, bloody fetuses, and any and all other offensive equations that could possibly guilt a young woman into a trauma-induced stance against abortion.

I could rail on, but the argument is better left to my more articulate friend Ariel Wetzel, who has written an editorial opposing the GAP for The AS Review, a WWU student paper. Each year Western opens up Red Square for the GAP, citing free speech law. She points out that the GAP can ruin an entire day on campus, complete with police protection, protective fencing, the works, but a single person of color with leaflets - SDS member Karim Ahmath - is the one worthy of ‘disorderly conduct.’

Another extended commentary on the situation, an open letter, has been written by a friend of mine who wishes for the time being to remain anonymous. You’ll find it below. It touches on the GAP but focuses more on Karim Ahmath’s case, spelling out the racist and politically repressive implications of such an incident for WWU. It also describes in detail some of the events that have occurred since Karim’s initial arrest, further revealing the biased nature of WWU’s “free speech” practices.

Dear students of Western Washington University,

Let’s take some time to reflect on this place in which we engage in higher education. Bellingham, a nice-sized, liberally progressive, friendly town is home to the equally progressive Western Washington University: our beloved liberal arts school that prides itself on its commitment to creating a welcoming, diverse campus community.

Racial profiling, a concept that is dismissed as a fabricated, conspiracy-theory by those that have the utmost faith in our law enforcement authorities, is for many white people, like me, a phrase only associated with the New York City and Los Angeles police departments of over twenty years ago. However, allow me to recount to you some disturbing recent events.

Please read on below.

Marker, again

The Zapatistas of Chiapas, Mexico call their gatherings to build international solidarity “Intergalactic.” For some reason, I like to think this playful allusion to the other-wordly would tickle the fancy of French film essayist and man of the world, Chris Marker. Perhaps it’s my ability to imagine this about Marker that makes me so partial to his films. Here are some further thoughts about Marker I had tucked away, forgotten, and neglected to revive for the May 1st Lucid Screening feature.

Marker’s spent a lifetime devoted to politics of the left, but his reputation - in the US anyway - seems to be solely among film buffs, not revolutionaries. He’s known as the purveyor of the film essay, a style of film making that brings together the documentation of History (see Grin without a Cat), or of everyday life (see his travel films) , or of everyday life as History (Le Joli Mai, or, again, the travel films), with a strong narrative commentary spoken over the images.

Spoken narration has a bad reputation amongst politically committed, anti-authoritarian filmmakers. It’s often derided as the “Voice of God,” dictating the meaning of an image and preventing the viewer from interpreting the situation themselves. Marker’s films demonstrate that this needn’t be an iron rule. The Voice of Marker never approaches dictatorship because it always remains his voice. Even his less personal commentary plies the viewer with poetry, with parable - recalling in my mind the words of Walt Whitman: “I project the history of the future.”

Film is a medium of History. In Marker’s work, this is not only the case because film captures the past. Marker mines images of the past for signs of the future. The history of the future that Marker projects is always a refraction, as through a prism, of the past. “After so many stories of men who had lost their memory, here is the story of one who has lost forgetting, and who—through some peculiarity of his nature—instead of drawing pride from the fact and scorning mankind of the past and its shadows, turned to it first with curiosity and then with compassion.”

Here is that story, in part, as commentary from Sans Soleil.

In San Francisco I made the pilgrimage of a film I had seen nineteen times. In Iceland I laid the first stone of an imaginary film. That summer I had met three children on a road and a volcano had come out of the sea. The American astronauts came to train before flying off to the moon, in this corner of Earth that resembles it. I saw it immediately as a setting for science fiction: the landscape of another planet. Or rather no, let it be the landscape of our own planet for someone who comes from elsewhere, from very far away. I imagine him moving slowly, heavily, about the volcanic soil that sticks to the soles. All of a sudden he stumbles, and the next step it’s a year later. He’s walking on a small path near the Dutch border along a sea bird sanctuary.

That’s for a start. Now why this cut in time, this connection of memories? That’s just it, he can’t understand. He hasn’t come from another planet he comes from our future, four thousand and one: the time when the human brain has reached the era of full employment. Everything works to perfection, all that we allow to slumber, including memory. Logical consequence: total recall is memory anesthetized. After so many stories of men who had lost their memory, here is the story of one who has lost forgetting, and who—through some peculiarity of his nature—instead of drawing pride from the fact and scorning mankind of the past and its shadows, turned to it first with curiosity and then with compassion. In the world he comes from, to call forth a vision, to be moved by a portrait, to tremble at the sound of music, can only be signs of a long and painful pre-history. He wants to understand. He feels these infirmities of time like an injustice, and he reacts to that injustice like Ché Guevara, like the youth of the sixties, with indignation. He is a Third Worlder of time. The idea that unhappiness had existed in his planet’s past is as unbearable to him as to them the existence of poverty in their present.

Art that fights back

For over two years now, I’ve been writing with anarchist prisoner Harold H. Thompson. He’s not just an anarchist - really though, who’s just an anarchist??-  but also a writer, a jailhouse lawyer, and a painter.

A few months back, his friend and supporter Josh put on an art auction of his work at the Dry River Collective space in Tucson, AZ. The benefits of the auction went to help pay Harold’s legal fees as he sues the Tennessee Department of Corrections for medical neglect (stemming from incidents you can read about here).

Of his paintings, here are a few of my favorites. Visit the Dry River site for more.

The last two are entitled “Bill” and “Hillary.”

May Day!

Comrade Sean Burke (Bellingham SDS) getting pumped before Tuesday’s May 1st Immigrant Rights Solidarity March, organized by Community to Community Development.

This is actually a really bad photo to illustrate an inspiring march full of over several hundred Latino immigrants and their allies, but its the only photo I managed to get before we all started moving. I spent most of the day videotaping for a documentary film I’m helping to produce (more on that someday).

For better pictures of the day, check out Not in My County (pics look like they might be down at the moment).

There’s some godawful corporate press here that reports the day to be “uneventful” because nobody tussled with the MinuteKlan knuckleheads. Also, at the height of the march, there were twice the number reported in the headline.

For reports on May 1st marches across the country, check out Indymedia’s coverage, or deleteTheBorder.org. In Los Angeles, the LAPD assaulted the crowd with rubber bullets and tear gas; more on that here.

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I spent the night before the march working hard on a Chris Marker feature for Lucid Screening. I was up ridiculously late, and have this regretful “morning after” feeling about the reviews I did. I’ve been thinking a lot about my writing lately, and feel it tends to be both verbose and repetitive. For writings done in the wee hours of the morning, the Marker bits are all right, but something is telling me I need to work on my shit.

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And for those that might be wondering, Karim Ahmath’s day in court lasted mere minutes. His lawyer requested the trial be postponed until July, and the request was approved. Meanwhile, organizing continues at Western Washington Univeristy to hold the campus police accountable.