All Hail the Unknown Organizer!!!
Liberated Autonomous Manhattan -- In a century, community organizers will still be debating what to call Zuccotti Park/Liberty Plaza/Liberty Square. The surrounding skyscrapers will be covered with luxuriant tomato vines hanging from rooftop organic gardens. Electricity will be generated by solar panels and fermenting compost. Inside, the skyscrapers will be humming with intense conversation at the Occupy Education Graduate School of Revolutionary Studies, open to anyone willing to teach everyone wanting to learn.
Visitors to the park will meander through meticulously maintained sidewalks that wind in fractals through authentic tarps and wet sleeping bags from the early 21st century. Scent generators will alternately waft herbal cigarettes, sandalwood incense and mildew into the breeze.
In the center of the park will stand a 100-foot statue, cast from the bronze of the long forgotten Wall Street bull that was melted down in 2014 and recast as a 5’1” woman in a windbreaker, waving a big red flag. On the marble pedestal, it shall be carved: THE UNKNOWN ORGANIZER. And below it there shall be some beautiful words, maybe a sonnet, written about October 15, 2011, when The Unknown Organizer, who looked at a distance to be in her 30s, led a contingent of 500 brave revolutionaries from the 10,000 massed in Washington Square Park to defend 20-odd people who were being arrested for the crime of withdrawing their own money and closing their accounts at Citibank, one of the most corrupt, heartless and stupid institutions in all of corrupt, heartless and stupid Wall Street.
It will be written that the 500 volunteers followed The Unknown Organizer from the center of Washington Square Park to the sidewalk at the southern entrance where she waved her red flag in a “Halt!” gesture and asked, “Hey, does anyone know where LaGuardia Place is?”
Somebody did know, and we marched for a few minutes east and south to a Citibank branch where a couple dozen cops, decked out in their body armor and black uniforms and riot helmets, were standing in the middle of LaGuardia Place nervously tapping their extra-long batons.
Suddenly the riot squad didn’t know whether to shit or go blind. “Are we supposed to face the bank where we’re arresting people for withdrawing their own money?” they seemed to be asking as they turned around and around. “Or are we supposed to face these lunatics on the other side of the street who are shouting that they want to save our pensions while Mayor Bloomberg wants to cut them?”
Their fat, red-faced supervisors in the white shirts didn’t know what to do, either, as we screamed, “The people united will never be defeated!” After several minutes of consultation, the police turned as one and faced us. We continued to shout, but I noticed a certain shift in mood (mine, anyway) from defiant exhilaration to “Oh my god, I’m about to lose a hundred points off my SAT scores to that guy’s riot baton.”