Just a Job
Trampling Civil Liberties in New York

Excerpts from a letter
by Bethany Yarrow

Photos by Tanya Gingerich

I went to the rally on February 15th in New York City. At least I tried to go.
Subway service to Manhattan from Brooklyn on the "L" line had been cut, so we
had to take the car over the bridge and then the 6 train to 42nd Street.

With these thoughts I now find
myself in the midst of tens of
thousands of people who are
trying to get to the rally, but we
are all corralled like sheep and
split up into groups of a thousand
or so on each block all the way to
87th street on 2nd and 3rd
avenues, looking at lines of helmeted troopers with billy clubs in their hands, protecting their barricades at each corner.

Although the streets and avenues have all been blocked, we, the penned-in
protesters, are incredibly calm and non- confrontational, under the
circumstances and given the fact our civil liberties have just been reduced to
levels reminiscent of, oh... the Pinochet dictatorship in Chile in the mid-80s.
(This was confirmed by my Chilean husband, Sebastian, who was flabbergasted
and outraged. It brought him back to memories of the good old days of living in a
police state.)

Now there is absolutely nowhere to go, (other than west... I forgot to say that
you were only allowed to move west, AWAY from the rally...) and we have been
standing in the freezing cold for an hour and a half waiting for who knows what,
when the police start coming at us with their horses trying to get us to clear the
streets -- but now they are pushing us EAST, into their own barricades; and of
course there is nowhere to move because they have blocked all the streets. So
now they start backing the horses up into us, (or, I should say, me, as I am in
the first row of people).

Sebastian starts screaming and grabbing at me so that I won't get trampled; my
friend Tanya is terrified, but trying to take pictures for her journalism class at
Columbia of the horses' rear-ends and hoofs and this blond cop, up on his steed,
whose face is twisted into a knot of rage and aggression.

I'm not hurt, but Sebastian gets stepped on by the horses and is now screaming
in pain; and I am in shock. The crowd starts chanting "shame, shame"... and I
look into the eyes of officer D'Angelo who is all red, breathing hard and has tears
in his eyes, and I say "Shame, shame on you". And he, trying not to cry, says,
"It's just a job, I'm only doing my job."

So, for those of you who told me that the rally was amazing, I am glad to hear it.
But on 3rd Avenue it was clear that we are no longer living in a world, or a
country, at peace; and for the first time in my life I am afraid not just of war, but
of my own government, for the utter disrespect of those who have their hands on
the reins of power, for us -- the people they supposedly represent -- and for our
basic liberties.

Call me naive, or someone who has failed to see the writing on the wall, but this
is news to me. I have always taken my so-called "freedoms" for granted. At least
the freedom to say what I think, go where I want, and disagree as I wish.

I'm sorry, but I was born in New York City. Mayor David Dinkins married me. The
streets, the sidewalks and the very air of this city are more than just a place
where I live, they are what I am. September 11th happened here, in my city, but
it is no longer September 11th. And that tragedy is not, and will never be, an
excuse to cordon me off like a sheep and trample me with horses.

I am furious. And I will be damned if I am going to let some failed oil executive
from my alma mater change this world into an unrecognizable place of hatred
and revenge. This is how 100 year wars are started, like the kind I studied in
high school. And I do not want to have to one day say to my son, or daughter,
"Once upon a time there was peace... before curfews, before retaliatory
bombingss, before we all lived in a constant state of fear...."

The war against Iraq will not just be a war over there, it will be a war here too.
And it will destroy the things we hold so dear. Especially this thing called liberty,
which represents so much of what I am -- and what New York is -- embedded in
its streets and sidewalks, the very smell of its air.

New Yorkers, you will know what I am talking about.

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