The Road to Radicalization Part 3: “The port is closed. No work today!”
I began to walk back toward my car, excited to get to my bed, a group of occupiers ran up and informed those of us who had just waited out the cops for 4 hours that more people were needed at the port because we didn’t have enough to cover the intersections. I offered a ride to anyone else who wanted to go and then headed toward the port.
When I pulled up to the intersection of 3rd and Adelaide, I was somewhat surprised. Fences had been erected around the entrance to the port, with one side blockaded by several overturned dumpsters. Minutes later, cars, trucks, and semis began to arrive for work and many turned around and headed home without a word. The rest were a mix between some really encouraging words of support and the most vile obscenity I’ve heard in quite some time. Despite how angry some people seemed, the union workers that found out they got to spend the day with their families were elated and those smiles made it all worthwhile.
Aside from the theatrics of some angry people with a limited vocabulary, the morning was pretty uneventful until a silver GMC pickup drove toward the picket line. Instead of slowing down like most had, the pickup gained speed. The two of us closest to that street yelled for others to get over there because someone was trying to run the picket. We all stood there as he ran the fence down and when he swerved to turn on to the street that led to his underpaid, overworked, low benefit, non union job he hit me. His hood knocked me to the ground and his front passenger’s side tire went over my right foot. His back passenger’s side tire then ran over my hand and his tires squealed as he floored it up the overpass to escape the consequences of his reckless behavior. The irony of this didn’t escape me even as I lay there on the asphalt. The opposition to the Occupy movement talks so much about personal responsibility but this guy, when faced with the opportunity to live up to those principles ran away scared.
One of the other occupiers gave his license plate number to the police and I went back to directing traffic. In retrospect, I probably should have left and sought medical attention but because there weren’t many people there I felt like I couldn’t just leave and risk the safety of the others. I stayed for about an hour longer until the decision was made to divide up and shut down individual gates. More people had arrived and the environment had become substantially less chaotic and dangerous so I headed to the Occupy Oakland camp to get my injuries looked at. After being fitted with a makeshift splint, I called Oakland Police and was instructed to go to the downtown station to file a report. When I arrived, they told me that no one had been notified of the accident because they wouldn’t look for the truck without a police report. I then asked to file a police report and was told I could only do that at the Eastmont station between 11am and 3pm Tuesday through Friday.
The police showed up by the hundreds at 1:00 in the morning to kick a few protesters out of an abandoned building but when I was purposefully hit by a pickup truck that then fled the scene of the crime, the police could only enforce the law between 11am and 3pm. The lesson I learned from that day was one that I will never forget: Government will endanger the life of an average citizen in order to avoid inconveniencing the wealthy and powerful, but can’t be bothered to arrest or even investigate someone who purposefully attempts to end the life of an average citizen.
Bay Area Occupier 
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