An estimated 3,000 protesters gather at Frank Ogawa Plaza for an Occupy Oakland event on Oct. 26, 2011, in Oakland, Calif.
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"They are nihilists, not anarchists," disagrees Claiborne, 24, who arrived from Brooklyn two weeks ago and hangs around Snow Park, a nearby satellite camp in the shadow of the Bank of America office building, one place in the city where protesters have regrouped even after authorities cleared it. He says the "so-called violence" is blown out of proportion, but conceded that it's tricky to manage a leaderless movement without a well-defined agenda. "It's a matter of how can we focus the legitimate anger of people in the right place," he says. "I don't think [violence] is a problem — yet." Added Dee, 21, another protester who spent the afternoon seated in a lawn chair painted with an American flag, facing a barricade: "The consensus among people here is that this would be nonviolent. But there are some people who want to clash with police, that's for damn sure ... This is Oakland."
The East Bay, and Oakland in particular, has had a fraught relationship with law enforcement, which is often accused of being too heavy-handed. Take the 2009 New Year's Day shooting of Oscar Grant, an unarmed African-American male, by a Bay Area Rapid Transit (BART) police officer, which was captured on cell-phone video and widely distributed. Alternately called an involuntary manslaughter (which was what the BART officer was found guilty of) or execution, depending on who's asked, the incident triggered a wave of peaceful and violent protests and remains an emblem for the hardened mistrust that persists in a community gripped by poverty and crime. (Occupy protesters have renamed the central plaza Oscar Grant Square in his memory.) A recent study by a federal court monitor revealed, moreover, that Oakland police are far more likely to draw their weapons against minorities in the line of duty, a pattern that may help explain locals' reluctance to cooperate.
By 6 p.m. on Wednesday, city officials reopened the plaza in an ostensible gesture of good faith. Police were nowhere to be seen, the atmosphere charged and uncertain. News helicopters hovered overhead while a gathering crowd listened to speakers decry the police tactics of the night before, saying there could be no peace until there was justice. On the fringes, some played music and meditated. Tensions surged as a group of young men wearing black bandannas tried to rip down the fence around the off-limits lawn. Mike, the loudmouth who had harassed police earlier in the day, spoke right up. "You're the punks who are gonna mess this up for everybody and get us gassed again," he said. "Stop or get out of here now!" He was quickly challenged by a comrade. "Don't create divisions in the movement, man! This is how you dissolve a power structure." But his effort was in vain: within the hour, the fence came crashing down for good.
It was then a countdown to 10 p.m., the city's stated cutoff for the assembly and the time people whispered that riot police would come marching around the corner. Gas masks were in evidence, and makeshift medic stands were being set up. For whatever reason, though, the authorities held back. The protesters went marching instead. The chant "These streets are ours" went up as they filed down Broadway Avenue, waving posters and upside-down flags. For this night, anyway.
The original version of this story incorrectly stated that Grant was shot by a city police officer. He was shot by a Bay Area Rapid Transit (BART) police officer.