protest the govemment's failure to establish regulations implementing Section 504 of the 1973 Rehabilitation Act. It’s also the site of a continuous AIDS vigil. Staffed by volunteers 24 hours a day, the vigil’s purpose is to call attention to the U.S. govemment’s inaction in the face of the AIDS crisis and to disseminate information on services and prevention. I’ve spoken to several of these folks over the past several days, and they are very much in support of our actions. People disabled by AIDS too often end up dying in nursing homes, for lack of the in-home assistance they need.

With our chairs, we quickly blockade every entrance to the Federal Building, including the driveway sloping down into a garage. Federal police threaten us with arrest; we hold our ground. It’s the city police, however, who soon start moving in. Things heat up fast. They start hauling us away from the doorways, putting into practice their days of training before our arrival.

Mayor Feinstein’s disability advisor and another local advocate were assigned to instruct the officers in how to forcibly arrest people with disabilities, how to lock and unlock wheelchair brakes, and how to disengage motors in order to push chairs manually. The cop I encountered obviously hadn’t paid close enough attention. He comes up behind me and orders me to move. I refuse. He reaches down to disengage my gears so he can move me. But he grabs the wrong levers, and puts on my brakes instead! This makes pulling my chair extremely difficult; he has to yank so hard that he nearly tips my chair over.

Once they have cleared us away from the doorways, the police quickly erect barriers and form an aisle for the federal employees to walk in and out of the building. For a while, held back on either side of this corridor, all we can do is keep up a steady stream of chanting at the people passing between our two lines.

Then, protestors start wheeling into the street, trying to block the entrance to the passageway. Things get even wilder from there. Cops are trying to restrain wheelchairs, both electric and manual. Meanwhile, they’re going after any ambulatory protestors who steps out of line. Then people start throwing themselves outof their wheelchairs, trying to scramble between barricades, or just sitting there waiting for arrest. That’s what the police are trying to avoid— what with the hassle, the bad publicity, and the fear of inflicting injuries, arresting people in chairs just isn’t worth it. On the other hand, they do want to shut this down.

Faced with few choices, the police start hauling people off. The mass arrest takes hours: two or three at a time, the arrestees are loaded into the lift-equipped vans the city has rented from a local paratransit company. These are the same vehicles, and the same drivers, that transported many of us from the airport.

Our ranks diminished by the 49 arrests, we leave the area around the Federal Building. We find a spot nearby for an impromptu meeting. Wade Blank tells the exhausted troops that this has been a very successful action; we can be proud of a day of strength and commitment. He also says that the police expect us to retreat now. Are we up for another demonstration?

The response is an enthusiastic Yes! So off we go in the direction of a new target. Again, we have been kept in partial darkness about specifics, to avoid cluing in our eavesdropping hotel security guards.

It tums out to be the California State Building. We take its two exits easily, and hold it for the rest of the aftemoon. Then we go back to the hotel, where we greet like heroes the retuming arrestees.

Wednesday: Day Six

For two days we’ve given the AHCA delegates a break while we harassed other targets. Now we head back to the Marriott for our parting shot.

We follow the usual game plan at the now-familiar building. This time we protest even more intensely, shouting angrily at the passing delegates. Our chants are more pointed: “HO HO, HEY HEY, HOW MANY BEDS DID YOU FILL TODAY?” which evolves into “HO HO, HEY HEY, HOW MANY CRIPS DID YOU KILL TODAY?”

The police seem angrier too. Especially two cops near me, guarding a barricade across the hotel’s garage entrance. They delight in making snide comments. When we see two officers handcuffing one of our brothers who has anhritis, his face contorted in pain at the tightness of the cuffs and the angle of his arms, the cop nearest me sneers, “Look at Mr. Hollywood over there. ”

“They're hurting him! ” we counter. “Aren’t'you gong to make them stop?”

“Yeah, we’ll get right on that,” one cop laughs.

This kind of sarcasm continues throughout the aftemoon. I grow more and more uncomfortable and annoyed at the ignorance and disrespect displayed by these two officers.

Finally I decide to leave my post at the garage entrance. I don’t abandon it; I find another protestor to take my place. I want to check out some other action.

Created on

Tuesday 16 July 2013

Posted on

Tuesday 10 September 2019

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• San Francisco, fall 1992

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