Occupy Tucson's members spent three frigid hours Thursday night chasing themselves in circles at Veinte de Agosto Park downtown.
It was supposed to be an important meeting about the group's future, but members couldn't agree on what they are doing or where they are going, so they decided not to decide anything.
Consensus!
Then, as the citation hour approached, most of them went home to warm beds and showers.
Do activists dream of utopia?
If they do, it's not at Veinte de Agosto Park, which is filled with tents and signs for the 99 percent, but is more like a welfare station for our city's neediest.
Earlier in the day, a chilly afternoon, the camp was mostly filled with people who are homeless and mentally ill. They scrounged through the non-cook kitchen: a messy place with leftover pasta, old bread, cereal, granola bars and PB&J sandwiches.
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"All the different issues that are spread amongst Tucson are concealed here," Jon McLane, a 28-year-old street erudite, told me. "We have them all, from mental illness to substance abuse to chronic homelessness to apathy."
Like many non-homeless occupiers, McLane is friendly and easy to talk with. He once served in the Army in Iraq as a fuel supply specialist.
Now he's serving the streets: He had been cited 27 times as of Thursday and unlike many other members, he still sleeps in the park.
He has plans to start a second camp at De Anza Park on Stone Avenue and Speedway that will focus on homeless issues.
"As long as I am involved with Occupy Tucson this encampment will exist," he said.
But compared with other Occupy members, McLane's description of the homeless population is rosy; his conviction to keep the camp going could be unrealistic.
Many organizers are divided and beat down. In meeting minutes and interviews, they complain about turnover, drug use (including meth) and threats of violence. The citations have created real pressure for some people.
"We are being overrun with people who are drinking and using dope and causing fights and things like that," said Sherry Mann, who is 75 and has been with the movement from the start.
Mann and others really wanted to focus on big things: Wealth inequality, bank bailouts, corporations as people. But it's hard to do that when you are worried about someone stealing your laptop, as happened to her, or a growing pile of citations.
This split was clear at chow time.
Around sunset, some Communists began to serve a dinner of beef stew, rice and beans.
"I am not a camper. I am not exactly a participant, but I am a supporter," said Joe Bernick, one of the Communists, sporting a button that said "Support your local Red Menace."
Nearby, a man who called himself Mr. Merrick James LeBlanc - "French," he said with a drawl - chimed in.
"I am a counselor," he said. "I am a camper and a counselor and a lawyer as well."
Chow time.
By a little after 7 p.m. the general assembly meeting kicked off. LeBlanc was long gone, but there were plenty of fresh faces in the 60 or so people on hand: College-aged kids, the working and middle class and occasional misfits. The goal was to figure out the future, but that meant navigating the present.
At first people thought the discussion was about abandoning the camp, which created some serious bad vibes. Then it turned out to be about negotiating with Hizzoner for a 24-hour free-speech zone at De Anza Park (the mayor is against it). Some supported this idea, and some didn't. Some thought the camp should be abandoned, and some thought it should be used as leverage in negotiations over the citations.
As the mercury dropped, so did their numbers.
Occasionally, a mentally ill man swore at the crowd. At one point the meeting stopped because a 16-year-old girl who was too drunk to walk had apparently disappeared into a tent with a random guy - the occupiers intervened.
Someone delivered a Christmas tree.
Round and round they went. Never quite agreeing. Always processing.
By 10 p.m., with the decision made to not make a decision, all that was clear was a lot of people in Occupy Tucson don't like each other.
The people who camp resent the people who don't camp. The day crowd and the night crowd don't mix. Egos have collided.
With possible citations looming, a small number of people lingered, but most took off. A mentally ill man bedded down on the sidewalk, swearing to no one in particular.
The night was frigid. It was hard to imagine anyone shaking in his Italian loafers.
Columnist Josh Brodesky is part of the 100 percent. Complain or praise: 573-4242 or jbrodesky@azstarnet.com
