by James Nova
a chapter exerpt from my book-in-progress, Head Like A Hole, Heart Like A Wheel, Vol.I
And that’s the sad part. There will be no back-slapping or high-fiving for a job well done. No red and black stars will be added to your anti-imperialist crown. You won’t get any bragging rights for pulling off you coup. The collective will not be singing your praises for this blow against tyranny because they will be just as mystified as even the feds as to who carried out the direct action. There will be no toasts to your genius. No one is going to buy you beers for scoring such a propagande par le fait.
And it will be executed in such a way that the usual suspects cannot be credited with it. Which will cause some to be envious of the anonymous guerilla. In fact, the entire city will be broadsided, not least of all the government infiltrators. Their eternal hope of pinning something, anything illegal on the broad coalition of freedom fighters will once again be thwarted. Finally, when a truly subversive act occurs - literally, right under their noses, in the most public of places - das capital’s guard dogs will be caught with their pants down. They will look even dumber and more incompetent than they already do. It may even appear to be an inside job, a plant, a throw-down. Of course, exposing the agents of the State for the fools that they are is the sole intent of this salvo in the battle to dismantle the System. The best defense is a great offence.
Everyone will wonder who did the deed - and why. Accusations will be made, theories will be proferred. Our blowhard chief of police will hold press conferences and give interviews boasting of how the cops are hot on the trail of the insurrectionist or conspiracy of outside agitators, but his blather will be threadbare and appear as such to anyone with a brain. It is even conceivable the some attention-seeking crackpot or a paid agent provocateur will “confess” to being the insurgent. No matter what, the actual perp will never be identified. Nor even suspected. Not in a million years. They will come out smelling like a rose.
Frustration with ineffective leafleting, wheatpasting posters, and marching, and disgust over juvenile vandalism and the taunting of police, demanded more direct action. Going for the belly of the beast. Non-violently, of course, but risky nonetheless. Arrest is not an option. Especially if you already have several citations or convictions on your record, or current ACDs*. This would be a felony, probably even elevated to an act of terrorism, in this post-9/11 world. A long and harsh prison term, without parole, would be certain. No, the strike had to be quick, simple, and fool-proof. Security cams would have to be avoided. Or rendered non-functional. Spray paint and that laser pointer on your keychain are good for all sort of things. All tracks would have to be covered.
The beauty is that no distraction will need to be created: it will already be in place. It would be guaranteed, thanks to the shouting and posturing of those afore-mentioned rugrat radicals, despite the fact that the black-clad kids’ antics amount to nothing more than harmless selfie-posing, it never fails to be a super-magnet for every available cop. Pigs will never pass up any op to hopefully crack some heads. Of course, only white skin privilege separates a smashed face or broken arm from a hale of bullets in the back, which is what you would get if you’re a POC. The irony is that the cops’ unconstitutional assaults on legally-protected demonstrators - as well as the actual physical assaults - ends up costing the city millions in lawsuit payouts. Losing teeth, getting ribs reset and requiring stitches is not a recommended way to get money, though. The financial hit, combined with the added negative publicity, can even result in at least temporary pullbacks from the creeping fascism of the police state. Legal defense committees have been established solely on class action wins. But all that is too heady for a cop’s reptilian brain.
Enough cerebral talk had been talked. It was time to walk the walk. Or in this case, ride the ride. It was difficult to avoid the trap of pridefulness for the cleverness of the plan: arrive and depart as different, yet generic individuals , and carry out the attack as a completely different anonymity. Silently. Obsequiously. Making sure that the known surveillance cameras documented no continuity. [to be continued]