At the Boston Social Forum, a speaker tells us there are 2.3 million people in prison in the US, and 7 million in the criminal justice system. Blacks go to jail at 12 – 15 times the rate of whites on drug-related convictions. There are 2 million orphans from the drug war.… After the civil rights movement, the war on drugs emerged as a new mechanism to control blacks and other minorities.… Recently in Texas, an undercover operation arrested half the black population of a town; the victims won a $6 million court settlement.… When John Kerry headed the Iran-Contra investigation, he said "we’re not going to talk about drugs."

A friend who had arrived on the orange line from Malden told me a SWAT team got on the train at Bunker Hill and inspected people’s bags.

Sunday July 25:

ANSWER rallies on Boston Common. "More bombs dropped on Iraq than were dropped in World War 2. … While the two parties collude in plans for permanent war, 62% of Americans reject the war.… Kerry endorses "pre-emptive" wars. Rand Beers, who ran the U.S. terrorism program in Colombia, now works for Kerry.

We begin marching toward the Fleet Center. Police line the streets. Most don’t have I.D.s or numbers on their uniforms. State police have TASERs, Boston cops have pistols. A cop in a black uniform stands on top of the State House and leans against the dome.

"Kerry lies, Troops die, Bush lies, Troops die." "We need money for jobs and education, Not for war and occupation." "Kerry, Bush, Exxon, Shell, Take your war and go to hell."

Three cops with M-16s stand on a bridge as we approach the Fleet Center.

A Haitian guy takes the mike and makes what is to me the most moving speech of the day, because it’s so straightforward and urgent. "They been killing a lot of people since they kidnapped Aristide. They put them in the containers…No peace in Haiti without Aristide. We want our president back in Haiti. They been killing a lot of people in Haiti…"

As the march arrived at the Fleet Center and the "free speech zone," a Simmons college student named Vijay Shah, whose parents moved to this country from India and who has brown skin, dark hair and a full, dark beard, stopped for a minute or two to examine the zone. He walked around looking curiously at the fenced in area, as did hundreds of others, and he even touched the fence, before joining the march back toward the Common.

Along the march back, a man approached Vijay and asked if he could talk with him. "Can we go over there where it’s quieter?" the man asked, motioning to an empty street. Not knowing who the man was or why he wanted to talk with him, Vijay refused, then continued marching. A half mile later, Boston police officers grabbed Vijay and carried him away from the other marchers, through an alleyway and onto some steps near Government Center. I heard about it and arrived on the scene after a minute or two.

About twenty marchers surrounded Vijay and the police. He sat on some steps, handcuffed, guarded by five or so officers. Someone shouted, "No racist arrests!" Vijay, wearing jeans, t-shirt and a backpack, looked harmless enough. "What’s the charge? Why are you arresting him?" They didn’t answer us. Ten or fifteen more cops arrive and stand by. We demonstrators are peaceful but insistent. "Marching while non-white, that’s the crime! Marching while non-white!…" Channels 5 and 7 show up with their cameras. The crowd around Vijay and the police grows to fifty. Attorney John Pavlos arrives and offers assistance. Through Pavlos, the police offer a deal. Allow us to officially photograph you, and we’ll let you go. While he didn’t want to give in on anything, having done nothing wrong, Vijay accepted the deal and was photographed. I went into a portable bathroom, and when I came out, he was gone.

After promising to let him go, the police took him away ! The trip to the station was the scariest part, Vijay told me afterward. Handcuffed in the back seat, the driver accelerated as he drove through downtown streets, and "it seemed like we were going a hundred miles per hour. I was bouncing around so much I was afraid I would fall between the seats."

In the station, Vijay was interrogated by a Boston police officer, a Secret Service officer, and a liaison between the two agencies. Denied access to a lawyer, he refused to even identify himself. Explaining that he knew his rights, he said, "I know about Miranda," to which one of the officers responded, "What did you say about Iran?" After an hour or so, Vijay and the police agreed on a deal that Vijay would identify himself and show identification in exchange for his release. He had to take his I.D. out of his wallet with his hands still cuffed behind his back. The police did not look at his I.D. until he showed it to them himself.

This time they kept their word and let him go. Secret Service spokespeople said Vijay behaved "suspiciously" and that this suspicious behavior involved his "looking around" at the free speech zone and the fence. Two other demonstrators of South Asian descent were also detained that week. Not only did the Secret Service and Boston police engage in racial profiling, but they made little attempt to hide it.

Monday, July 26

Police and FBI kept a close watch on several groups involved in the DNC protests, particularly self-proclaimed anarchist groups. The Black Tea Society, which organized many events during the week, and offered services to demonstrators out of their headquarters at the Community Church of Boston in Copley Square, was one such group.

Their meetings were monitored by undercover agents since since at least February… Members of Anarchist Black Cross were visited by FBI at their homes in Boston and other cities in the weeks leading up to the DNC. I got to the rally on Boston Common, organized by the Green-Rainbow Party and the Black Tea Society as Wati Wancus-Waters, a Native American, was speaking. "This country is the greatest perpetrator of violence and terrorism the world has ever known… I live in a country that has done everything it can, legal and illegal, to eliminate my people."

Chuck Turner, Boston City councilor and Green-Rainbow party member talked about the assassination of Martin Luther King."Martin Luther King was shot because he was organizing the Poor People’s Campaign. Not a march, but a campaign, a SIEGE."

"I say that it’s time for us to go back to DC to build Resurrection City. Because we are at war, brothers and sisters. This country is waging war, not only on others, but it is waging war on us.

"A protracted struggle in the heart of DC will energize the struggles here. I’m not just talking about a one-day march; I’m talking about a permanent encampment in Washington, DC. Congress would need to walk past and see us every day."

"Why talk about Martin Luther King if we’re not going to act? That’s hypocrisy."

Noah Cohen spoke about Palestine. "There is no better issue for illustrating the similarities between the two parties. To immigrants, the Patriot Act was a mere footnote to the Counterterrorism and Effective Death Penalty Act passed under Clinton.…

"Every Palestinian who took the stage at the April 20, 2002, nationwide anti-war demo in Washington DC has been arrested or deported. Law enforcement agencies aggressively pursued the most effective political organizers."

Another speaker: "Four million pot smokers were arrested under Clinton. "

About 200 of us set off on our march, following the bullhorn: "Police state! Shut it down!" A mob of network video cameras. 20-30 bike cops along our right side. A helicopter flies over us. Call and response: "Being black" – "is not a crime!" " Being political" – "is not a crime!" "Being an anarchist" – "is not a crime!" "Being an immigrant" - "is not a crime!…."

Photographers and videographers who look and act like cops take our pictures as we pass. Someone explained to me that it is illegal for police to take pictures of people in this type of situation, so they have a private company take the photos and videos, and pay for them.

The march grows as it goes, hours pass. I start getting bored, but as we head down Cambridge St. closer to the Fleet Center, things get more tense and focused. Now we see riot police and mounted police.

Everyone stops for a while, in front of an Irish pub. A friend went in for a beer, and I couldn’t let him go alone. I don’t think the people working the bar will mind my telling that they opened the windows and blasted the Clash’s version of "I Fought the Law" out onto the street.

Tuesday, July 27:

Since he got the delegates and it secured the nomination, John Kerry has played more and more toward the "center," essentially trying to prove that he can be just as mean and tough as Bush, though more reasonable about it. Dennis Kucinich, meanwhile, continued with his idealistic, anti-war position. Something had to give.

I don’t know why I was surprised. What did I expect? After decades in the Democratic Party, Kucinich was not about to commit political suicide by breaking ranks with his party. It was just hard to imagine him supporting a pro-war stance, so I didn’t think clearly about it.

But this is a week of clarity, where things come into focus. Kucinich is caving in to the pro-war forces in his party, to the privilege, corruption and irrationality, which he spoke so eloquently against all year up to now, inspiring rooms full of people toward his brand of spiritual idealism. This is the week Dennis Kucinich fell in line. "We’re going to help John Kerry to become president and then we’re going to work to change the Democratic Party. John Kerry can be trusted with power. He’s open; he has a capacity to change. We don’t agree with him on everything, but with him we have the best chance to make a new start."

Kerry’s convention organizers took down the Kucinich delegation’s signs and peace signs from the convention hall. They wanted everything to look unanimous, for the cameras.

I join the mob of reporters surrounding Kucinich outside the Paulist Center, across from Park Street. After jockeying for position and playing the weird game of being simultaneously polite and aggressive, I finally get my chance. "Dennis, during the primaries, you said people should vote their conscience instead of voting for the lesser of two evils. Don’t you think [Green Party nominee] David Cobb or Ralph Nader are closer to your views than John Kerry is?

Dennis was not happy with this question and let me know it. "The third parties will bring Bush back,we know that…. We’re changing the Democratic Party. Eight states’ delegations changed the Party!" This is all I can remember of his answer, this and the bitterness with which he said it.

The whole thing made me feel sick, and I hesitate to even write about it. I don’t want to criticize Kucinich or try to make him look bad. I like him. But as much as I admire him, it will do me no good to hide from the truth and that is that Dennis turned tail and ran at a crucial moment. He’s now participating in his own silencing. Back in Cambridge, three people rode past me on bikes. They made me extremely uncomfortable—men and women, talking softly to each other as they rode—until I realized that for the past three days nearly every cyclist I’ve seen was a cop. I’ve forgotten that other people ride bikes!

Wednesday, July 28:

A Kucinich supporter tells me that "Now Dennis must remain invisible because things are so polarized in this country." Now I’ve heard everything! It sounds like a joke, but this is the kind of rationalization required of liberals in order to save face. He must "remain invisible?" What next?

I took part in a "guerilla theater" action. At the entrnce to the "free speech pen," Sergeant Shock of Petrocorps interrogated each prisoner. "Why are you here?" Each prisoner gave a short answer about a political issue—homelessness, war, depleted-uranium weapons. After each answer, Sergeant Shock shouted, "To the pen!" We all repeated, "To the pen!" as he threw the orange-suited prisoner into the fenced-in zone.

I got tired after a while, and, still part of the performance, leaned against the fence, near the entrance to the zone. It was crowded with performers, spectators, media and police. I stood about an inch from a state cop. Strangely, I felt no fear or discomfort around him. It was hot, he was wearing a full uniform, we were all tired, I don’t know, I just didn’t feel afraid. I noticed he was really watching the performance, and I looked around and saw that many of the cops were watching—really watching—as Sergeant Shock screamed and grabbed the poor, helpless prisoners.

It occurred to me then that we were dealing with a phenomenon that the police work with every day—controllers and controlled, domination and submission, masochism, sadism, all that stuff. It’s tremendously complicated, and the performers were opening a door into this weird, seldom discussed subject. Everyone became wrapped up in it, but I particularly noted the intensity with which the police took in the performance.

One woman prisoner went limp upon being ordered into the pen. Sergeant Shock grabbed her and tried to drag her in. She resisted, and they struggled. It became obvious to everyone that this hadn’t really been rehearsed, and they really were struggling. She really didn’t want him to drag her in, and he really did want to. And, like watching a sporting event, no one, not even the participants, knew how it would end. Their struggle brought to the surface all the issues inherent in such real life situations—domination, submission, anger, power, helplessness, sex, rape, secrecy, shame, all of it came spilling out, and everyone—performers, cops, reporters, spectators—we all became uncomfortably aware of them, and we all became aware that the rest of us were aware of them, and we all became, I think, a little embarrassed.

Thursday, July 29:

A block from the free speech zone, a woman came up to me and started talking with me like she knew me. I talked with her for a minute before asking, uncomfortably, if we knew each other. She told me she’d seen the performance yesterday. Performing is a strange thing, because people who don’t know you act and think like they do know you. It might sound good, but ultimately you have to face the fact that they really don’t know you. We talked just long enough for me to have missed a sort of spectacular event occurring just a block away in the "zone," when someone burned a flag, two people tried to cut the fence with wire cutters, a guy knocked a hat off a cop, and several people were arrested.

I would have given anything to have seen that a week ago, but by this time it felt like cheap theatrics. Something about being packed in with everyone, at Government Center, Fanuiel Hall, Canal Street and the "free speech zone" for the last two days of the convention, caused me to see everyone involved as somehow the same. Protesters, delegates, cops, tourists, reporters, videographers, pizza-makers.

Saturday, July 31:

Compared with the clarity of the Convention week, normal, modern reality seems fake and dull. Choices and comparisons between freedom and imprisonment, between peace and war, between harmony and destruction, are here just as much as they were then, but now such choices are hidden, covered with a blanket of normalness. It’s not polite to point these things out— to act upon them, to talk about them, to even show on your face that you’re thinking about them. And so, the sudden, near-complete slide back into the mundane. The lines of cops have been replaced with lines of cars that faithfully patrol the streets and keep them pedestrian-free.

Although I suffer mild post-traumatic stress from their menacing stares, implicit threats, and massive presence in some ways I miss the lines of cops. They seemed to make tangible what is always there. They were the face of some sort of awful truth.

No one could deny it then. Now we all have the option of denying it, of forgetting. And even a mere two days after it’s all over, I already feel shy about mentioning it. The young woman behind the counter at the café asked me how I’m doing, I told her about this feeling, this post-event letdown. She listened politely, even seemed to agree with me. But she was polite, she hedged her bets, she displayed an ambiguity no one could have afforded last week.

Maybe that’s what disturbs me most: the passivity that we’re able to maintain. Downtown last week it wasn’t possible. Everyone was active. Everyone was politicized. Passivity, disinterest were not an option. We were shocked awake. I’m not afraid to admit: I’ve already fallen back asleep. Take ten deep breaths of SUV exhaust and you’re in a deep, deep sleep. Listen to the drone of car traffic, television chatter, some sirens, and the city moan and sing its choking song.

A dynamic ensues, at parties, cafes, on the street, and other random situations, in which people appear to compete to see who can say less, be less substantive. The one who can speak while saying nothing at all is the winner. If I have any one lasting impression of the 2004 Democratic National Convention it is of Dennis Kucinich. His eyes narrowing in on mine after I suggested that David Cobb and Ralph Nader more closely reflect his views than John Kerry does, his bitter tone throughout the week, and, finally, his standing on stage with Kerry at the end, smiling for the cameras.