When the Nazis came for the communists,
I remained silent;
I was not a communist.
When they locked up the social democrats,
I remained silent;
I was not a social democrat.
When they came for the trade unionists,
I did not speak out;
I was not a trade unionist.
When they came for the Jews,
I remained silent;
I wasn't a Jew.
When they came for me,
there was no one left to speak out.
A mindless beast shook itself awake last night, and committed an act of savagery in our city.
The beautiful old Jewish Cemetery, a holy place, and a precious historic landmark was desecrated by one or more Neo-Nazis in one of the worst acts of Anti-Semitism we have seen in decades.
More than a dozen headstones were spray-painted with black swastikas and messages condemning the State of Israel. But in addition, another less-familiar coded symbol, 88, with specific significance to Neo-Nazis was used, hailing Adolf Hitler, the mass-murdering Dictator responsible for millions of deaths during the Holocaust.
This is not the first time the Jewish Cemetery has been attacked, and it will almost certainly not be the last. However, a new force in opposition to right-wing extremism is rising up to counter this evil before it has a chance to take root in our society.
Socialist Aotearoa is making a public stand against Anti-Semitism in response to this senseless attack, and is calling on the wider New Zealand community to rally against hatred.
A demonstration will be held tomorrow, Saturday, 20 October at noon in the park on the corner adjacent to the Jewish Cemetery on K' Road. All persons of good will, whatever their political or religious persuasion are invited to join us.
Cowardly attacks against the dead, and against monuments demonstrate an inhuman disregard for the sacred, and for human society. Veneration for the dead was one of the earliest forms of spiritual expression in human history, and is common to all human cultures. The violation of corpses and monuments is universally regarded as barbarism, and must not be permitted to occur.
Beyond this however, those on the Left are especially angered by this attack. Socialist Aotearoa makes a clear distinction between the political acts, policies and opinions of the secular state of Israel, which isdisputed, and the security of the persons of Jewish people, the sanctity of which may not be disputed or endangered.
Furthermore, as Socialists, we share with the Jewish people a special bond of suffering in the Holocaust. For along with the Jewish people, many thousands of Socialists and Communists gave their lives as objects of special hatred.
The Marxists, Socialists and Communists in Germany, and in every other country invaded by the Nazis, were amongst the first political opponents to be targeted by Hitler, because he feared their political organising ability, and the competing liberationist elements of their philosophy. So intimate was the connection between Socialism and the Jewish people in Hitler's mind that he frequently referred to Socialism as “an International Jewish Conspiracy”.
This was no conspiracy however. Rather, it was due to the fact that many thousands of Socialists just happened to be Jewish, having clearly heard the call to emancipation inherent in Socialism and the Communist Manifesto. These individuals knowingly and deliberately gave their lives to further the struggle against oppression, not only of their own people, but for all workers everywhere.
As Socialists, we understand that Fascism is a cancer on the body politic of humanity, and Neo-Nazism is but one more strain of that cancer. As with all cancers, the time to move against the disease is when it is small and manageable, before it has a chance to grow into a tumour involving vital organs, and before it can metastasise.
“Never again,” should not just be the grim determination of the Jewish People, but also the iron resolution of all Humanists, and all good people everywhere. It is our hope that when these Fascists see that their mindless act has been the catalyst of our unification, and our radicalisation, they will despair of ever trying it again.
Rally tomorrow Saturday 12 noon outside
desecrated Jewish cemetery on K Road, in solidarity with the Jewish
community. Neo Nazi hatred has no place in Auckland Linda M. Socialist Aotearoa
Friday just past midnight, 12
October, 2012, and for Auckland, the most you can say about the
weather is, there's no wind, thank God. You park in an industrial
area on the fringe. You have no idea really where you are, though
eventually, these places will become familiar. There is nothing to
see at first, just a big white blob high off the ground in the
distance. You squint, then you recognise it; another bloody house
is being 'jacked in GI.
It's a bit of a walk to
the main event. It's like going to the circus really, minus the
crowds. It all happens in a big open field, and there, in the middle
of all that prairie grass, somebody has put up a big attraction. As
soon as you see it, even from far away, you feel a twinge of fear and
excitement. You wouldn't miss this for the world.
You walk a little faster,
but there's no hurry. There are cops on the corner, and they aren't
there to take your ticket. Red and blue lights create a festive
atmosphere. You walk past the cops as if you are trying to casually
sneak in. They see you of course. It's obvious where you are
headed. You and the person you are with are well-known activists, so
you expect to be stopped as you pass the first officer. But he
doesn't stop you, and you are quietly amazed.
You make it around the
corner of the big fence, and there, before you, are more cops, more
fence, some lights, and a massive truck in an open, rutted field.
You're here.
Not only are you here,
but your friends are here too. It seems like all of them are here,
everyone you know. But really there are only about 40 or 50 people
milling around, doing stuff. You look where they look. And where
they look, you see three people perched on the roof of the big white
house.
All young women, they're hard
to miss. You recognise them; Kirsty, Myla and Ella. They're
chanting. Some man, possibly one of the Contractors, possibly a
Search and Rescue guy is talking to the girls. The women aren't
listening, why is he talking, this guy, doesn't he know they're
chanting? You take it all in for a good few minutes, giving yourself
the chance to mingle and enjoy the sense of pride and amazement that
comes over you. This is a good protest.
Then it really sinks in;
you're cold. Very cold. Which means that on the roof, it must be
unbelievably cold. So now, not only are these women brave for even
being up on the roof (“you couldn't get me up there!”) but
they're also hardcore.
Now you look around, and
its time to find out from everyone what has been going on. Details
are sketchy, but apparently the first attempt at stopping the house
move failed. This is the staging area, and now the thing is under
siege. The womenfound it, and got up on the roof. Two other
activists had earlier been caught in the ceiling, but were gotten
out. Getting the women off the roof is harder. It's going to
involve removing a section of the roof tiles. The
Contractors look really, really pissed off.
You came to film, so
that's what you do. You get several quick interviews, then you
inspect the surrounds. During one of your interviews, the cops
decide to turn the lights on the crowd, so that filming becomes
difficult. It's an annoyance, but it doesn't stop you getting some
great sound bites. The cops keep trying to either blind you or block
you as you video. It strikes you as kind of childish.
During one such
interview, there is a sudden commotion. A car has driven up. People
are moving toward it. You are naturally attracted to this. You come
away from your interview, and you walk up to the car. A quick peek,
and it looks like Hone Harawira, the Mana Movement Leader. You didn't
expect to see Hone, especially not at that late hour. It's hard to
see, you could be wrong. You confirm with John Minto, who is
standing next to you, “Yes, that's Hone.” You nod and start
videoing.
But it's getting crowded,
and you can't get a clear shot from the passenger side. That's when
you notice the cops are speaking to him. Firmly. Hone appears grim,
determined. A sudden burst of shouting, and there's a loud
shattering of glass. Hone is being arrested. It's friggin' serious
now.
You run around to the
driver's side of the car. There's a posse gathering there now. They're
very angry. You've got no chance of getting close to Hone at this
point, there's just a wall of yellow vests. But you know how this is
going to play out. Directly behind you is the police van. You know
that if you draw a straight line, from the car to the van, 20 meters,
Hone and the cops are going to be walking along that line. So you
move two meters to the side, on the correct angle, and you wait for a
few seconds. Sure enough, as Hone is dragged from the car, he's
secured, and they turn around. There you are.
The wall of yellow vests
is trying to move Hone through the crowd. The crowd is against this,
“Let Hone go!” The cops move toward you. You start moving
backwards, then literally trotting, every now and again glancing
behind you so you don't trip. The idea is to stay in front of the
arresting officers and film everything they do to Hone.
More cops move in to run
interference. Big cops. People are swirling around in the dark like
angry bees, but the shouting, the shouting is deafening, like
banshees. The penalty for failing to stay out of the way is to get
thrown, bodily, with huge force, off to the side. Bodies immediately
start flying around. The screaming breaks out even louder.
Suddenly, someone is thrown very hard, right in front of you, with
shocking force. You can't help it, you cry out, “What the fuck!”
A space opens up. Nobody tries it again.
Still coming, a cop on
each arm, finally, you see Hone's face. It looks serene, like he's
visiting the people on any ordinary day, except he's under arrest.
Above the shouting and wailing of the crowd, one woman says over and
over, with an immense voice, “Leave Harawira alone! He's the
Representative of the People! Leave Harawira alone!” But Hone
looks to her and calms her, calling her “Miss”. Incredibly
self-possessed, even though he is in custody, walking between two
huge police officers, he thinks only of making sure the crowd does
not get out of control or try to break him out. The cops are very
tense. People are regularly “de-arrested”, snatched from the
police by skilled and determined activists. But not tonight. Though
the scene is bedlam, Hone's calmness gradually brings a small degree
of order.
Four meters from the van,
Hone and the officers stop. He is asked his name. The arrest
procedure begins. Now more police completely surround Hone. An
officer blocks you, “Ma'am... ma'am... please step back.” He is
much bigger than you. There is no getting around him. That's the
end of filming Hone's arrest.
But there are others
arrested in the same episode. A small, older woman is swearing a
blue streak and putting up a real struggle. Of course she can't hurt
the officers, nor does she actually try to. But they are cruel.
They push her hard against the van. They twist her arm. You know
this woman. You know that if they push any harder on her arm, it
will break. You speak firmly to the officers, in a commanding tone,
“Do not break her arm.” They relent. But instead of calming
down, the small woman starts up again.
Another activist friend
has been arrested, and you turn to help him. Not so feisty, this man
knows the score. He's very experienced. You ask him a question as he
sits on the step at the back of the big paddy wagon, to make sure
he's not hurt, especially, that he has not been concussed. There's
some blood. You pretend not to notice it. “Omar, are you ok? Do
you want to say anything quickly?” If he's been assaulted by
police, the best time to find out about it is now, before he's taken
out of sight. You want to know what an arrestee's condition is
before they go into the van, for a number of reasons. No, he's ok.
He shakes his head, and that's a good sign. Then, to the officers he
says, “Can I give my keys to this woman?” Some fumbling, and the
keys are handed to you. They're for the van he drove here. After
this, he's readied to go into the truck. An officer speaks to him,
softly. You can barely hear him, something like, “Are we going to
have any trouble?” Omar goes into the back. The
door is closed.
With most of the early
arrests processed, almost on queue the women are brought down from
the roof, one at a time. They come down as if they are being rescued
off a mountain or a cliff face. But most people being rescued do not
smile or laugh. The crowd cheers. The house has a massive hole in
its roof. The stand-off on the roof is over.
The veterans of GI now
know what this means. You've been to GI many times yourself. But
never in this field. Never in precisely this situation. So you mill
around, while others move purposefully. A line is formed. You are
one of the last to join it. The line crosses the gate in the fence.
The fence, such as it is, is closed. It's flimsy. It wouldn't hold
up in a stiff breeze. It's no real deterrent. Those who are
responding to a Higher Law of course dismiss the fence. It's kicked
and shoved til it's closed by a pair of activists. Less than five
minutes later it's opened again, with a scowl, this time by the
Contractors.
Show time.
The cops form a line,
parallel to your own. Yours is longer than theirs. But then someone
says, coldly, “They've put on their gloves.” At which point you
realise you definitely don't have enough people for a beating like
what you can expect shortly.
“The
scrum” you call it, but it's not really a football scrum, it's two
lines pushing against each other. It's a ritual of sorts. You've
done it many times in other actions at GI. Because you are filming
however, you can't lock arms this time. You instead try to film and
push at the same time. You have to stay free, and out of the line,
so that if something odd or important happens, you can get to it,
without breaking the line.
The early tussle begins,
and the long line holds for a while. The danger at this point is
very real; a slip, a fall, a cracked skull, or worse. This is the
way it has to be, this is the ritual. But a thought crosses your
mind, “what if we did it differently? There are actually more of
us than there are of them. What if we scattered, then regrouped?
What if someone got back into the house?”
It's an intriguing
thought, but it's not to be. Eventually, that house is going to be
moved. If not today, then tomorrow. We all have to go home. The
line is pushed back, then a corner is turned. The cops push harder,
we retreat further, now on the main road, the truck picks up speed.
Our good order is lost. Some are left behind. Some fall. Some are
pushed. Some are nabbed. The truck keeps coming.
You push your luck as
hard as you can. You think, let's see if the truck driver can stop
in time. You run toward the truck, even as the driver changes gears
and accelerates. You are right in the way. You're very angry now.
There's a part of you that doesn't care, you are daring the truck to
run you over. It's getting very close.
Suddenly, a cop grabs you
and flings you away. He's much bigger than you, and you are shocked
at how strong he is. You cannot help but let out a scream. Being
spun around sends your phone flying into the road, and you imagine,
there it goes, smashed, and all your footage gone. You used
to think police were Workers like you. But they aren't. Or if they
are, they're an alien species of worker, one you never signed up to
save. You've seen too much blood, you've seen too many of them throw
evil punches, punches that could kill, but don't quite. They hurt
activists, and many of them hate activists. They can't be trusted,
and you know it, and it makes you sad, because anger is natural, but
hate is bad. Hate will hurt you more than them and you have to purge
that.
So you get back into the
Zone, and you and the cop go your separate ways, back into the fight.
You pick your phone up off the road, and when you stand up, you look
around. There's bodies scattered all over the place. People moaning,
and up ahead, Cate, holding her head in her hands. James is helping
her. A cop with a big-ass video camera is kneeling down, offering to
help, but he's wearing an odd shit-eating grin for some reason, or so
it seems to you. Someone gives him a verbal blast, a stunning stream
of cursing, and he's sent packing, back to his own kind. You missed
what came before... how did she get there? What happened? Later,
you learn she was thrown down, by a cop. Maybe the same cop with the
shit-eating grin, who knows.
Suddenly, it's quiet.
The truck is gone. The cops form up into a column and march out, hut
hut hut. Everyone picks themselves up. Now it's the aftermath...
“Have you seen a black shoe? I'm missing a black shoe.” “Who
has Malcolm's camera? Have you seen a camera laying on the ground?”
“Where have they taken our people?”
Is it really 2 AM? You
didn't plan to be out this late. But you're so full of adrenaline
you know you won't be able to sleep anyway, so of course you
volunteer to go to the cop shop with the comrades who got arrested.
Solidarity.
You won't sleep properly
for days, but you don't care.
You genuinely care that those houses do not make it out of the yard.
Defeats are hard to take, but they make the triumphs that much more
precious. The fight in GI is one battle in a larger struggle that's
sweeping the whole country. As such, GI matters. It matters more
than your day job. It matters more than sleep.
You
have learned this lesson well, and you repeat it often; you cannot
fight for a group of people for very long before falling in love with
them. Those beautiful Maori aunties... someone's mother, someone's
sister, many kaumatua,
many more mokopuna,
but never enough, never enough. You love them. Their faces swim
before your eyes at night, pressed into your consciousness in a way
that only happens in times of extreme exhilaration. This is reality,
and nothing, absolutely nothing compares with it.
Wide awake, you drive
across town. At 3AM, at the cop station, you sit on the stainless
steel bench, staring at the tiles, listening to stories from older
activists, of how Bastion Point supporters used to spend their time
here. Nothing has changed they say, the tiles are the same, except
the paint looks fresh. Rightly or wrongly, you conclude that inside
Cop Land, everything must always stay the same. As an Agent of
Change, you consider this to be significant. After all, “change”
is the whole point of the struggle. So you have to ask, please tell
me, outside, in the real world, has anything changed since you fought
at Bastion Point? Yes, and no. Yes, and no.
Your comrades come out
one by one. They sit on the floor, on the tiles, those same tiles
their parents no doubt sat on during the Bastion Point Occupation.
This is one more price of freedom; hours spent waiting in police
stations. Some angel has brought a big cache of snacks and food and
hot flasks of tea. You are grateful.
Everyone is mildly drunk
with exhilaration, just as you are, on a high. Cuts and bruises are
compared. Charge sheets are handed around. Gaol-house lawyer-talk
is exchanged. Past exploits are projected onto present
circumstances, with many “oohs” and “ahhs” and respectful
nods that send activist cred skyward. At last, when everyone is
accounted for, and all charges have been read, the secret, malevolent
intentions of the authorities are able to be assayed; all agree,
things are definitely escalating, but tonight has given us a
re-charge. We will be in court soon, even those not arrested, but
that doesn't matter.
It doesn't matter,
because we are together, as comrades, and we accept this is the risk
we take. We fight together. We are non-violent combatants. And
because of this hard action tonight, an unbreakable bond has been
formed between us, between all of us who were there, sitting on those
tiles, the night that Hone was arrested.
October 15th 2012- One year after Occupy Auckland begins, Auckland's Clocktower is occupied. We Are the University activist Stacey Henderson writes-
"Today the University of Auckland Council held a "public" fee setting
meeting in the Clocktower. The clock tower was completely locked down
and students locked out of this "democratic" process. After being
promised the opportunity to view the meeting via live stream. Students
met at 3pm for a rally outside the VCs office before heading over to the
meeting together, over one hundred students in attendance. This was the
second protest as part of the campaign 'Fight the Fees' following a
street party held last Thursday.
Through the strategic use of
fire alarms students managed to evade security and make it into the
building. Some members of security handled the students quite violently.
30 of the students remained barricaded in the staff room for nearly
two hours as the rest of the protestors chanted outside in solidarity
and searched for a way to join them. Several police officers arrived
however no arrests were made.
Every year since 2010 and the
fees have been raised the legal maximum, 4%. This equates to several
hundred dollars and when added up over the length of a degree, these
increases are another serious barrier to accessible education for all.
Last year management claimed they were unaware students opposed the fee
increases, this year the aim was to be heard. Unfortunately it seems the
message was ignored as again the council voted to raise the fees.
It
is absolutely disgusting that in New Zealand we have the 7th highest
tertiary fees in the developed world. It is absolutely unacceptable that
15% of students live in financial distress. There is a growing divide
in New Zealand between the rich and the poor and the steadily increasing
financial barriers to tertiary education will only deepen this divide.
Education is a right which should be available to ALL, not just those
who can afford it. "
Austerity is full of shit. It would cost less than
$1 billion to fully fund course fees in NZ Universities. That’s half the
amount the government has given since 2010 in tax cuts to the richest
10% of New Zealanders. The Vice-Chancellor is getting paid $800,000, while 15% of students aren’t able to afford basic
accommodation, food and clothing requirements.
We are sick of
this mindless politics of austerity, which makes education into a
privilege for the rich or puts students and families into a lifetime of
debt. We are sick of the University’s profit-driven and market-oriented
agenda, which is rapidly eroding its ability to function as the ‘critic
and conscience of society’, and as an open space for expression of
dissent.
Enough is enough. Meet Wednesday 10th October, 2pm in the
quad. LINE UP
Lecturers
Spoken word Anthony Drent and the blood of the innocent
HDSPNS Beach Pigs Street ART! Coconut shy! Food Stalls Open forum on 'what to do next'? Trip to see if the VC is in.
Aotearoa is Not for Sale has called for direct action protests to shut the conference down on December 8th.
In the lead up to D8, Socialist Aotearoa host a screening of the film "The Battle of Seattle", and a forum on the tactics used there that successfully derailed the World Trade Organisation's agenda.
Can we see the same here?
Come to the screening- 7pm Thursday October 11th at Unite Union 6a Western Springs Road, Morningside.
Pussy Riot. Whether you've heard the name said by news anchors struggling to maintain professionalism whilst saying the word 'pussy', or whether you have heard it chanted in solidarity - the name has been on many lips. Throughout history men and women have been locked away or severely punished for speaking or working against their government. Pussy Riot are the latest in a long line of strong men and women who have been made to pay a harsh price for airing their political views. The feminist punk band were sentenced to two years in jail in August (2012) for speaking out against President of Russia, Vladimir Putin.
Throughout history men and women have been locked away or severely punished for speaking or working against their government.
On Thursday the 4th of October a number of students, led and organised by Cate Bell, staged a protest in the University of Auckland Quad. The protest involved a number of students sitting inside a cage as a symbol of Pussy Riot's imprisonment, whilst the other students spent the day encouraging fellow students to write and sign letters of protest to both the Russian ambassador in NZ and the prosecutor general in the case. The Auckland based punk band "Penny Dreadfuls" played in the quad with one of their songs written about and dedicated to Pussy Riot.
“This is part of the continued silencing of dissent in the country, in a concerning shift to heavy hand state practices reminiscent of Stalinist totalitarianism,” said Cate Bell. “Pussy Riot’s struggle also cannot be separated from the New Zealand government’s treatment of political dissent such as in the cases of Tame Iti and Rangi Kemara. The protest aims to demonstrate the similarities between the two governments’ treatment of political prisoners and to engage debate surrounding the concerning trend of western government’s when dealing with dissenting political opinion.”
The Auckland based punk band "Penny Dreadfuls" played in the quad with one of their songs written about and dedicated to Pussy Riot.
Approaching students for signatures can occasionally be difficult with apathy and cynicism being barriers to wider political involvement and the growth of political movement on campus.
"Excuse me, do you believe in freedom of speech?"
"Nah.." came the reply as the student I had approached pushed passed me.
However many students were very supportive and either knew and had been following the Pussy Riot case or were eager to learn more. Many were shocked that in an era where 'freedom of speech' is a right many expect and enjoy, people engaging into political discourse - people exercising that right, were being jailed and punished. We ended up with over 700 letters to send away. This is not just an attack on the band, but it a threat to all political activists who continue to speak out against their government. It is crucial that we show solidarity, speak out in support and urge governments around the world to free ALL political prisoners.
- Stacey H. ~ Politics student at University of Auckland
Scottish socialist and Auckland Councillor Cathy Casey speaks out in solidarity with the Wharfies of Auckland Port. She'd make a better candidate for mayor than that scab Len Brown.
