May Day 2017 - Protests

May Day 2017

Monday, May 1, 2017

6:33 AM

May Day - the day that typically signifies the turn of weather from yukky to nice.   I, for one, look to May Day in that light.  Not everybody does.  As I turn on the News this morning and get a review of the three planned protests and the seven other not authorized.  Starbucks along the protest route is closed and has covered their windows in OSD wood.  A smart precaution I think.   Why have I brought this up on my blog about writing? 

Because I'm reading the book by K.M. Weiland 'Creating character ARCS', this thing about protesters interest me.  I know, here I am half way through my first novel and I'm reading a book on characters.  It is one of those things that I've just gotten around to.  This is the second time the term ARCs has come up in my studies.  Before, it was about story ARCs where story elements are tied together like bridges.  In this book by Weiland, it is about the mind of the character and how the story works on it.  The tension is about what the character wants verse what is needed.  The character is living a lie, and in one instance concerning the positive ARC, the character starts off at a low point and rises to an awareness that enables him or her to realize the lie and overcome it.  Thus, if I break down the protest into individual characters that makes up the body of the mob, I come to a couple of questions.  What do they think they want and what is it they need?  What is the lie they are living that brings them to the streets?

It is a long held tenant that we can gather and protest because that was not permitted by the British in the days before our becoming the United States.  Stalin and Hitler first used protests to kick things off then forbid them.   We are adamant about our right to gather and voice our ire about whatever.   We always hope for a peaceful protest and plan for the violence that nearly always ensues.  Understanding of the individual gathering together to meld into a group mentality is great fodder for us writers. 

One of the protests in Seattle today is the "May Day Workers Resistance Protest."  Tongue in cheek, I wonder does that mean they resist working?  I 'm sure that is not the case.  But, what does it mean?   Honestly, I don't know.  Perhaps as you read this, you might have an idea about it.  Nevertheless, we can see the signs, hear the chants see the effects of their actions, all of which we can use in developing our stories.   There are lies, needs and wants embedded in the characters. 

For instance, a protester may want a Mazda WRX, to speed down the road where they can challenge every car to race.  What they need is a job.  The lie is as they sit and toke on a duper, they comment, "It isn't fair for them not to give me a job because I smoke pot at lunch."  Or, the lie might be because it's snowing in Denver on April 30th global warming is to blame and because I had to spend my last dollar on marihuana I have to walk to the protest on global warming.  It doesn't matter for the sake of fiction whether global warming is real or not; it is how the character's frame of mind fits into the scene.  Then their motivation for their action plays out as they set a police car on fire and/or throw bricks through the bank window.

In the mid-1930s the CPUSA (Communist Party of the USA) was peaking.  They were shifting from their battle on capitalism to class warfare.  The CPUSA  would show up and bolster the Unions and sow the seeds of violence in their recruiting efforts. 

In my book, I have an encounter.  For a little background, Ernest is almost sixteen and the protagonist.

#

The sawmill was a buzz of activity.  Four men were handing out pamphlets as a man with an arm missing was yelling at everyone through a large cone.

Leon pulled in at the far end of the employee parking lot.

“What’s that all about?”  Ernest asked. It looked a bit like the union rallies held outside the railyard gate he had seen back in Oakland.

Shaking his head, Leon stared at the disturbance at the truck entrance to the mill.  “I think it’s Union.”

Ernest watched the group as Leon went in the office to arrange for another five yards of sawdust. They were too far away to hear what the man was shouting.  More men were filing out of the gate of the mill, many with axe handles in their hands.

The truck door slammed shut.  Ernest looked at Jason as Leon settled in the seat. “Well?”

Leon sighed.  “All set.  Hate to have to confront that bunch, but it’s the only way in.”  He started the truck and pulled out of the lot and headed down the dirt slope to the Mill entrance and stopped ten yards from the gate.  Sticking his head out the window shouted, “Hey, make a hole.”

It was getting increasing testy in front of the gate.  No one paid any attention to Leon for no hole was forthcoming.  A few words reached Ernest now, downtrodden, communist, and oppressed were a few, but nothing coherent.  He adjusted his seating to reach the club he had in his jacket pocket and laid it next to his leg.  Around his wrist, he slipped the club’s lanyard and pushed the bead tight.  His palm still hurt if pressure was applied.  Mrs. Jamison had taken the stitches out of his palm four days ago, and the labor since kept his hand limber.  The gloves he wore helped to pad direct contact with his work.

“Wait here,” Leon instructed.  Slipped down to the ground and headed over to a man standing by the gate latch.  He waved his hand and pointed at the truck and pointed in the Mill.  The man he was talking to shook his head.  Leon repeated his gestures as suddenly a burly man with an axe handle struck Leon across the back of his shoulders driving him face first into the gate’s chain link.

Ernest was out of the truck and moving at a dead run bringing his club down on the side of the man that hit Leon with a glancing blow that drove down to the collarbone and heard a loud crack as the bone gave way.  Ernest stepped over the fallen man and started helping Leon get to his feet as two more men charged them.  Ducking the first swing of a hickory handle, Ernest jabbed his club end straight into the man’s solar plex.  The fellow dropped to his knees in a gasp and toppled over.  The second man dropped back and went in search of easier prey. 

Jason was in front of the truck, wide-eyed and hopping from foot to foot like he wanted to join in but didn’t

Ernest had Leon under his arm as he half-carried and half-dragged Leon back.  “Jason, help me get him in the truck!”

Jason ran over and shored up Leon on the other side.  Pulling open the passenger side, Jason climbed in and pulled on Leon while Ernest pushed him up from behind.  Once Leon was secured, Ernest slammed the door and ran around and climbed in behind the wheel.  Twisted the key.  The truck roared to life, he jammed it in reverse and gunned it into a backup.  Almost instantly he felt a thump followed by a scream as the rear tire rose and fell.  Ernest looked in the mirror to see a man on the ground writhing around holding his leg.  Quickly spinning the steering wheel to the left, he swerved the truck’s front tires to avoid running over him again.   Then slammed on the brakes.  He jumped down and ran over to help the man.  He saw a sea of flyers on the ground around the man as he approached him to help.

Ernest was just coming up to him as a gun appeared in the man’s hand.  As Ernest drove his club into the man’s hand, more bones crunched. The gun went flying to skid along the ground.  Ernest kicked the gun wielder in the face, and he collapsed into a heap.  Climbing on him, Ernest grabbed his lapels with his sore hand, pulled him up and started slugging him over and over. 

Leon pulled him off.  “Ernest!  That’s enough. STOP IT!”

 Ernest rolled to standing and faced Leon heaving and raised his club.  Leon stumbled back, blood running down his lacerated forehead where sharp beads of galvanized plating on the gate had cut him.  “Ernest.  Let’s get out of here.”  He held his hands in front of him.  Ernest looked at him for a second longer and headed back to the truck, stopping to pick up the gun and a flyer jamming them in his waistband with Leon dragging his feet along to climb back into the passenger side with Jason’s help again.  Ernest put the truck in gear and spun the truck up the assess road to the main street.

This segment is the second time the CPUSA has made themselves known in the book.  The communists have two agendas.  One is to recruit, and the other is to disrupt.  Like protesters today, the motivation of the mob is obscure.   I know you don't have any sympathy for any of the characters, but give me your thoughts on this.  Do you have any ideas for strengthening it?