Notebook: Opening Salvo

DENVER, COLO. — It was 2pm yesterday when I arrived at the Colorado State Capitol, expecting to see Blue Scholars and Common Market holding court over a promised throng of anti-war protesters. I didn’t quite know what to expect, but there were clues offered up in the names of the groups organizing the demonstration; Recreate ‘68 and Funk the War. The references were decidedly 20th century, set on chaos and kicking out the jams, if you will. On this day, these two groups were united, it seemed, in opposing “The War,” but rumor has it that the relationship between the two groups (and two other groups of demonstrators) was strained, and that none of them were working directly with one another any longer.

On my way to the capitol, I happened across one of those other groups, a cluster of 200 pink-clad people facing a row of riot cops stationed in front of the Virgin Megastore. They were swaying slightly and singing sweetly, monotonously, “All we are saying, is give peace a chance.”

Cue the demonstrators:

This would be Code Pink, the pro-peace group started by women (but not exclusive to women) during the lead-up to the Iraq war. For those of you not counting, that is almost six years of operation, making the group the most established of the anti-war crowd. It’s hard to believe, given the contentious atmosphere of the last three election (2004, 2006, 2008) that during the 2000 election, war was not even a talking point for demonstrators, taking a far back seat to social justice and trade. Now, war is the rallying call for demonstrators of all stripes and, obviously, color.

Further down street, another group, dressed in black, was evidence of this. The Iraq Veterans Against the War marched with great authority. There was no singing and swaying for this group of 50 or so, consisting (as far as this reporter could see) of all men.

Cue the veterans:

Like Code Pink, the veterans were unified and purposeful, even though their pleas were likely not heard by the politicians arriving at the Denver International Airport and checking into their hotels. Rather, these demonstrations seemed to simply feed the glut of amateur and professional media folks, pointing cameras and microphones. The estimate is that there are 15,000 to 20,000 members of the media here and they are all, it seems, looking for conflict.

To be honest, so was I. The idea of Blue Scholars and Common Market inciting to riot was not explicitly hoped for in my journey to Denver, but it was definitely a possibility that I entertained, in my most wrong-headed dreams. It was in this state of mind that I entered upon the capitol grounds and started hunting for the crowd of feverish demonstrators. But there were none. Aside from a giant orange bus, a large inflated liberty bell with a Ralph Nader sign asking the reader to “Stop Corporate Control of the Debates” and a few dreadlocked malcontents, there were just a few guys sitting next to a PA on the steps. Those guys were the musicians I came to see for the punctuating performance to the anti-war rally. Earlier in the day, Dead Prez had played on the steps to 2,500 Americans eager to march. Now, at 2pm, Geologic, Ra Scion and Sabzi were supposed to play their return. The crowd counted 30.

Backstage, the crew conferred on a set list. “Well, we’re definitely playing ‘Opening Salvo,’” said Geologic. “Yeah,” said Sabzi, before Ra Scion interjected, “Well we’re not doing ‘Come Together.’ Not for a crowd this small.”

Five minutes later, organizer Ben Yager, frazzled from numerous sleepless nights of organizing, grabbed the mic and implored those present to gather round. “We’ve got one of the greatest hip-hop groups in the nation here right now,” he said. “So come on up and give it up for Blue Scholars.” With that, Geologic took to the mic while Sabzi dropped the beat.

A few songs in, the emcee introduced “50 Thousand Deep” from its 2007 full-length Bayani. “Right now we’ve got to make 50 people feel like 50,000,” he said. Sabzi dropped the beat.

“November 30th, 1999,” Geo imparted in the group’s revisitation of Seattle’s WTO Riots. “No sunshine. Yo, the body rock stopped, probably got caught by the cops. Nearby somebody got shot. But parties don’t stop, and the parties don’t care. It’s a stick up: that’s why we got our hands in the air.”

Some danced. Some stared. And half trained their cameras on it all. Geo and Sabzi continued.

Then Ra Scion was introduced. After two songs, he bluntly addressed the small crowd. “It was my understanding that this being Recreate ‘68, there would be an attempt to recreate a little of the energy of 1968,” he said. “But this feels more like 1928.” He then instructed the crowd in the call and response of “Every Last One of Us.”

Blue Scholars then took over, closing out the set with a song that, I am sure they hoped, would have the anti-war protesters on their feet, fists in the air. At least, that’s what I would have hoped. But when Geologic pleaded for the U.S. Government to “Bring ‘em back home,” there was only a small group present to sing along and no matter how loudly they shouted, their words quickly dissipated in the late-August air, with not a chance of reaching the Pepsi Center, where DNC organizers were setting up for the week’s festivities.

With that, the set ended and the groups packed up, looking forward to a Tuesday night show at Tent State, on the same stage where Rage Against the Machine will play on Wednesday. Then, a flood of black poured out of 16th Street and onto the capitol lawn. One thousand protestors, flanked by police on SUVs, motorcycles and horses took to a street two blocks from the steps. The chanting began.

“Whose streets?” a young man in his greatest revolutionary posture shouted. “Our streets,” the young crowd responded. The police lined up, containing the demonstrators. The rowdy crowd responded, taunting the police, throwing bottles, mooning the officers. “2, 4, 6, 8,” they shouted, “This is a police state.”

A protestor was dragged from the group. As the camera’s rolled, spectators rumbled. “They arrested a little boy,” one woman said in shock. “Oh, no, that was just a girl,” another responded. “Just a girl?”

The crowd moved on, taking over the street immediately in front of the golden dome. The police changed formation. The crowd started. “Fuck the police. Fuck the police. Fuck the police.” For 10 minutes it continued. A rumor swirled amongst the police that the group carried butcher knives. “Fifteen butcher knives,” one of the officers said to another. “Pass it on.”

The proud young man stalked, the crowd shouted and the officers remained calm as the media descended, waiting for something to happen.

Up on the capitol steps, Geologic, Sabzi and Ra Scion watched the conflict as the sound man unplugged the PA, wrapping up cords. “Can they just play a couple more?” asked the two groups’ manager.

“Oh. I don’t know,” said the gray-topped soundman wearing a black, weathered Veterans for Peace t-shirt. “We only have a permit for you to play at 2. I’m afraid someone might get arrested.”

Five minutes later, the protesters were gone.