THE BATTLE OF ST. PAUL
My run-in with the new American police state


ST. PAUL, MN � I couldn�t help but think of Mussolini as I sat with my hands on my head, surrounded by cops in riot gear, on the west bank of the Mississippi River in St. Paul, Minn. I wondered which congressman secured the no-bid contract for a buddy of his to make the plastic zip-tie shackles that were sure to bind me.

How I got in that position started out innocent enough. Earlier in the day � which, before Hurricane Gustav, was supposed to be the first day of the Republican National Convention � I attended a mass march that took thousands of protesters from the capitol grounds to the Xcel Energy Center, where the convention was held, and back. While marching near the convention center, protesters were made to walk between a pair of tall metal walls, deemed �freedom� cages.

After the march and then lunch, my father-in-law, Joe, and I decided to follow a smaller group of protesters headed toward Harriet Island, where a few musicians were putting on a politically charged concert. Despite a few run-ins with cops along the way (at one point a group of anarchists surrounded a bus they thought held convention delegates) we made the nearly two-mile trek to the river and got within earshot of the show.

It wasn�t long before the music of local rap group Atmosphere was drowned out by the sounds of exploding tear gas canisters and concussion grenades.

Not sure where to go, Joe and I walked toward the bridge leading to the island. It was blocked off by a line of cops: some on foot, some on horseback, all sporting gas masks and weapons. We turned and headed back, but were met by another group of police. On a third side, a line of cops and National Guardsmen forced us closer to the Mississippi.

Figuring we could jump into the river if things got too nasty, Joe and I got as close to it as we could before the boys in blue closed in.

The game was over, at least for one night. We sat there for almost three hours as the cops rounded up groups of six or seven dissidents at a time. They were frisked, handcuffed and herded onto a bus. Fortunately, our decision to run to the river saved us. For some reason, by the time the cops got to us, they simply searched us and walked us to the street, where they let us go.

A few nights later, on the last day of the convention, I found myself in a similar situation, this time in a full-fledged riot near the capitol grounds.

To me, both clashes easily could have been avoided by both sides. But in a country built on dissent, the burden of peace is left to the state.

When peaceful march routes are lined with hundreds of cops wearing gas masks and donning the latest in high-tech weaponry � guns and explosives designed specifically for use on American citizens � things have gone too far.

When patriots are forced to march through freedom cages in order to have their voices heard, I fear we�ve lost our republic.

And to whom have we lost it?

For Mussolini, I�m sure the answer would lie with those who build our cages.

Fascism should more properly be called corporatism, since it is the merger of state and corporate power. �Benito Mussolini