Pussy Riot and Thunderstorms, Morning Sunrise and afternoon songs

When our first child was born a decade ago, we started coming to Montauk.  It was a way to hang with the family and spend a day with new kids, as life changed faster than we could imagine or cope and social movements swirled around us in the city.

At home, the anti-war movement and struggles for harm reduction swirled.  Faced with these challenges, the beach seemed an ideal place to be.  A decade later, activists fight for a space in Istanbul, and activists fight for self-determination in the streets of the city and their own groups in the city.   Joyous struggles as well as infighting are part of the everyday life of these groups and efforts.  Sometimes it is good to get away, even if the difficulties and pleasures of the city are rarely far behind.  They all seem to overlap.

The day before I left, I met a group of creative activists to talk with two of the members of Pussy Riot not in jail, who were visiting us here in New York. 

“We operate in New York in an atmosphere of repressive tolerance where sometimes you are ignored vs. you where you sometimes go to jail,” noted Steve Duncombe starting the session. 

Yet, we have our gulag’s holding political prisoners here as well.  Repression is real here as well as Steve knows and has experienced.    We were arrested a lot together in the late 1990’s and early 2000’s.  Those in Occupy were arrested for hanging out in the park, some brutally during the six month anniversary of the movement;  some spent months in jail.  Activists in New York with Times Up! were arrested for riding bikes in support of Pussy Riot last summer, as seen in the picture.  The Black Panthers were assassinated in their beds, arrested, and held in solitary for decades.   Today, the homeless are arrested for existing in space.  Their supporters are arrested for giving them food without a permit.

“ What happens in the jails matters” Julian Beck, of the living theater, reminds us.

Still, what Pussy Riot are enduring is quite extraordinary.  As Nancy Ramsey writes: 

They call themselves "jokers, jesters, holy fools," the moral conscience of Putin's Russia. One patriarch of the Russian Orthodox Church calls them "deranged vaginas."

On Feb. 21, 2012, Pussy Riot, the feminist performance artist/punk rock group, donned pink and orange minidresses and bright neon balaclavas to conceal their identities, and entered Christ the Savior Cathedral, a garish spectacle of a church in the center of Moscow that for them symbolized an unhealthy, authoritarian relationship between church and state. And they did what they had been doing for the previous three months on the streets of Moscow, in beauty parlors and the windows of expensive boutiques, atop a garage rooftop next to a prison, outside the walls of the Kremlin: They performed.

As a priest with elaborate vestments and incense and a long beard offered sacraments to dutiful worshippers, Pussy Riot offered their own punk-rock prayer, "Mother of God, Banish Putin," dancing, screaming, punching the air, calling on the Virgin Mary to "become a feminist" and rid Russia of Vladimir Putin.

Theirflash-mob-like performance lasted less than a minute before they were escortedout by security guards.

Members of the group were arrested.  And their action fit within a pantheon of  disruptions… the Situationist pranks included disrupting Easter high mass at Notre Dam Cathedral, ACT UP’s foray into St Patric’s Cathedral in 1989.  Yet, members of Pussy Riot were sentenced and jailed with two year sentences.  Protests took place in Berlin, Moscow, New York and Amsterdam. The group I work with, Times Up!, had its sound bike confiscated at a Pussy Riot solidarity action in New York.  A women at the World Naked Bike Ride in New York this year wore a Pussy Riot mask.

 And it is up to creative artists to respond in kind.  “The biggest problem for us is two of our friends are in the colonies… Most of our activity is to get them out.  We are working with lawyers to fix problem and cancel ban of our U-Tube videos…. All of the attention we get really helps.  Everyone is really paying attention.  But being anonymous closes things up, we have these characters but then we are ourselves.  We came here to exchange ideas and experience. 

“What can do to help show solidarity?” I asked.

“Its very important that artists work on the same issues all the action we do is very helpful.  We appreciate it.”

“The choice we made to cover the face to not use a woman’s face was to get away from the cult of the face, as trademark,” one of the women from the group explained.  “So everyone who supports the ideas can be Pussy Riot, to be part of the movement.”  Her idea seemed to refer to the anonymous leadership of Zapatistas, in which we can all take  a part. 

Andrew Boyd, Reverend Billy and Beka asked more questions as we shared ideas about corporations commodities, strike dept and occupy sandy.   

“We met people from Occupy Sandy… they told us what they do… We didn’t have this experience.  With this whole negative experience that we see in America, your experience helps us to try to stop the robbing of this system.  Thank you. “

My favorite question came from Robin of the Church of Stop Shopping.  She had been at the condoms as evidence rally the week prior. 

 “I don’t know what I am doing here,” she explained acknowledging the experience in the room.  Speaking from the heart, she noted.  “Even at a protest, I am a targeted.  I am at cross hairs.  I admit I am ignorant of Russian Society regarding gender.  When you plan an action do you promote it in spite of or because of gender. 

“In our country, there is not a question about nationality, but racism is real.  Where a lot of immigrants  and this tendency  that if you are different you are an enemy, especially among Muslims. Now religion is nationalism.  The Soviets said we are all equal.  Now we have our government had propaganda because of nationalism.  Even if government is not religious re constitution, the problem with gender discrimination, this problem is deep in the roots of the cultural past.  Our president looks like an authoritarian  leader, very macho, all that creates a bigger problem.  It creates a Pussy Riot Law, forbidding homosexuality, conflates pedophiles with homosexuality and mental illness, and laws against women, anti-abortion.  The Russian Orthodox Church proposes a code for women.  Women need to get their father  and husband’s permission for abortions.  And their proposed laws force women to breed before 23 years old.

“What?” Robin moaned out loud.

“That is the most ridiculous,” noted the Pussy Riot translator.

Robin responded.  “So to answer my question, you do it in spite of and because of gender.”

“So what is the network of other artists?”

“we don’t have one….” They concluded.  “It is very important for us to be here to know we do it all together… but we do want to plan something…”

The group brainstormed.  Finishing the conversation, I walked home through the rain to see the kids.  Finishing my blog the following day, the police raided Taksim Square yet again in Istanbul, history moving fasters than my fingers could write.  Such is the world of movements and the conflicting forces in which they must contend. 

Driving out to Long Island, I thought of the delight of the beach, enjoying the beauty of the woods and trees on my way out.  But was also aware of the awesome potency of this force of nature, the water, the ways it changes communities, such as this, which depend upon it.  Driving off the Ditch Plains road up to the East Deck, Caroline mentioned the beach had eroded.  Later walking on it, I could see this, more rocks and less sand.  Still the sun shone as the water crashed onto the beach.  While the people of Montauk tend to seem inordinately pleased with themselves, I do still enjoy visiting in small doses.

I still love the water.

Watching this water, the girls played, skipped and worked on round offs.  I jogged on the beach.  We made sand castles, and took pictures of our adventures.

We hiked through a wilderness preserve in Culloden Point, a site where a British Naval boat crashed in 1781 during the Revolutionary War. 

Enjoying the woods, dear ticks nipped at our feet, but we persevered, ripping them off as we wondered, finding an isolated beach where we played, the girls coped with their fears of the bugs, we meditated, and played.

Hiking back, they lead the way, sprinting through the woods.

Our third day, it rained.  So we drove through the Amagansett, listening to music, exploring the cemeteries, checking out the country roads, which reminded the girls of Ireland.

That night, we went to the Montauket for some beer and food.  The kids drew while we took in the scene of the dusty old family, pub overlooking the waterfront since after WWII. 

The girls played on the beach after dinner. 

After sundown we watched surf movies and went to bed.   The first few nights I slept in.  The last couple I woke up early, listening to the rain, thinking about friends and our movements back home.  There is always a moment on a trip when my mind drifts back home… wondering, worrying, and hoping. 

Sometimes these friends fight, or trust is betrayed.  Its hard to watch friends come and go.  More than anything, this is the morning thunderstorm which woke me in Montauk.

The next morning, the waves were as wild as ever.   One surfer sat on the beach with blood on his head.  His board had smashed him.  It was pretty choppy and windy out there… he explained to me.  Lots of swells. 

Boogey boarding the waves seemed to pick me up, like hands, rising into the skies, crashing me down below, crashing on top of me, bruising my  body below the powerful water, shaping our being.  

The kids are still wonderful kids, but they get older, sometimes looking less and less like kids.  Still they enjoyed skate boarding and roller blading, their lanky bodies reminding us for this summer they are still kids.

Finishing the trip, we drove home to feed the cats and off to the Clearwater Festival t see Pete Seegar one, and hang with the gang, hanging by the pool, enjoying a summer along way.  Saturday night in Garrison, I read the news from Istanbul.

My friend Giles Clarke posted a message from

An anthropologist friend tonight in Istanbul, Turkey.

'Dear friends,
I'm sorry to say this evening that there is no more Gezi park to report from. Riot police raided the park today, which was having a very normal, festival like atmosphere. I saw whole families, pregnant women, old people there. We barely escaped. I hear from the streets that people were beaten and pepper-gassed indiscriminately, women with kids on their laps etc. Several kids are lost. Lost kids are taken to the protestors, not to the police, when they are found. A safehouse hotel offering their premises for a volunteer medical center, supplies etc. was also invaded by the riot police. The resistance platform decided to get away from the park so that innocent people (revolution safari tourists) wouldn't get hurt too much. The police is not letting the journalists in the park as they clear the tents etc. There are rumors that they are planting false evidence like drugs, guns, etc. to delegitimize the movement. Currently a solidarity group is trying to form in kadikoy, the Asian side, getting ready to cross the bridge on foot and come for help. People are infuriated, especially because the governor and the authorities are still claiming that a few "small interventions" are taking place, only against a few "marginal groups." Mainstream turkish media continue to show soccer matches etc instead of broadcasting these news. Medical centers are gassed, volunteering doctors are beaten and apprehended. The state is now at a point where it does not or cannot distinguish between civil society and so called terrorists or "marginal illicit organizations". This is not police intervention but a full assault against a civil democratic movement. The situation is dire but people are holding strong, despite the despair.

Binghamton friends have always and consistently showed their support in these last few weeks. I invite my fellow anthropology grad students to show their solidarity by letting everyone know and by trying to follow the news as these events unfold.

All the best,

Hande Sarikuzu, reporting live from Istanbul.

Mickey Z-vegan photo above and caption below

We demand an end to police brutality.
We demand a free media.
We demand open democratic dialogue between citizens and those elected to public service, not the dictates of special interests.
We demand an investigation of the government’s recent abuse of power, which has led to the loss of innocent lives.
Join the conversation and stand with us in solidarity.
Source: http://resistturkey.us/

Sun shone through the window the following morning.  Trees in the distance, I walked through the woods along the Hudson with my friend Norman.  We talked about being dads, our lives, stories, fathers, and ways the river nourished us as we hiked.  Norman read some poetry about the wonderment of such moments. 

BROTHER, I’VE SEEN SOME

By Kabir

Brother, I’ve seen some

     Astonishing sights:

A lion keeping watch

     Over pasturing cows;

A mother delivered

     After her son was;

A guru prostrated

     Before his disciple;

Fish spawning

     On treetops;               

A cat carrying away

     A dog;

A gunny-sack

     Driving a bullock-cart;

A buffalo going out to graze,

     Sitting on a horse;

A tree with its branches in the earth,

     Its roots in the sky;

A tree with flowering roots.

This verse, says Kabir,

     Is your key to the universe.

If you can figure it out.

I probably cant figure it out and that is ok.  Instead, I just walked, looking at the trees, walking over railroad tracks, appreciating the ways nature takes back everything we build.  There is still poetry in these ruins.

'

photos by norman cohen

Leaving Norman trained back to the city.  I drove across Bear Mountain toward Croton on the Hudson for the Clearwater.  I’ve gone most every year since 2007, enjoying singing hanging with the times up gang, and singing with the timeless Pete, as he reminds all of us that we really are the show.  The voice of our chorus really is the performance.  His artistry is cajoling us to participate.

On our return, Caroline and I rode through the city, quietly enjoying a Woody Allan moment along the water.  The bike paths along the waterfront, of our island city,  have helped remind us to love New York over and over again.