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"Bum-Rushing the Bulldozers" -- "peace advocates" storm Caterpillar sales office
by Justin Berton, East Bay Express. EFL. Hat tip: LGF. The reporter treats the Cult of St. Pancake with all the respect it deserves . . . .Like many subversive plots, this one began at a cafe. Beneath a hot sun last week, about forty activists met outside a Starbucks in a San Leandro strip mall, their base camp, before heading toward their true target a few blocks away: the local Caterpillar tractor sales office. The group, Jewish Voice for In front of Peterson Tractor Co., a big green lawn welcomed its visitors. A shining bulldozer with the CAT logo was on display out front, its scoop proudly in the ready-to-plunge position. ". . . like a Zionist vulture feasting on the corpse of Palestinian dreams . . . ." The protest groupâs videographer ran onto the grass and stopped behind the machine to get a shot of the activists passing the bulldozer in the background. "It looks so, like, symbolic, yâknow." A few tractor salesmen, who were roaming the lot in short-sleeved shirts and ties, watched the line of people pass them by. The videographer hurried for another shot at the front of the line to get the protesters as they entered the office. The square buildingâs interior was cool from the air conditioning. The lead protesters passed the receptionistâs desk and surrounded the square cubicle station directly behind her, which housed about six file clerks, mostly middle-aged women who wore sensible clothes and had framed pictures of their children on their desks, but were now crowded by strangers reading Jewish prayers and holding lit candles. One clerk stood dumbfounded, a brown file in her right hand dangling at her side, and her mouth gaping open as if thinking: Why do these people have a problem with me? I donât even work for Caterpillar. A few men in suits and ties came out to the front, then walked back down the hallway and closed their doors. For a few seconds, the activists just stood there. One positioned a large cardboard poster of a smiling Rachel Corrie on the receptionistâs desk. Others decided the candles might set off the fire alarms, and yelled to everyone to blow them out, which merely caused a plume of smoke to waft through the office. Finally, a short man in a yellow oxford shirt appeared and asked the lead organizer to direct his minions to leave the building. The man would identify himself only as a controller, and he pointed out that business was being disturbed. "Caterpillar bulldozers disturb Palestinian lives every day," one protester countered, to applause. "Oh, okay then, I guess youâve got me there. Stay as long as you like." The lead organizer read his demands aloud. He likened Caterpillar bulldozers to weapons of mass destruction and considered the company culpable in Corrieâs death, then held the companyâs shareholders and employees all but responsible for the devastation taking place a hemisphere away. One clerk turned up the volume on her radio. The organizer spoke louder. "In addition, we demand world peace, a Palestinian state, a pony for Christmas, $100 gift certificates to International House of pancakes, . . . ." The workers inside the cubicle believed they were the victims of a misdirected effort. They believed right. One woman said to her colleague, "This isnât going to help one bit, I tell you that much." Her colleague nodded in agreement, with a look of such bitterness that it seemed as if sheâd been forever turned off to the activistsâ cause, as if personally insulted by their righteous implications. Why do these people have a problem with me? I donât even work for Caterpillar. The protesters believed theyâd scored a good one. As they exited the office, just ahead of two arriving police officers, they were pumped up with pride. "Did you see that? I Spoke Truth To Power! I Stuck It To The Man, man! I am one kick-ass revolutionary vanguard of the proletariat!" Theyâd established that yes, this was a serious campaign, and they left with the hope that the yellow-shirted controller would tell his boss all about his uncomfortable afternoon, who would tell his supplier, who would tell his boss, who would tell his, who would tell his. Until one day, Caterpillar stopped selling bulldozers to Israel. . . . and Kubota moved in to fill the vacuum in the market. "Hey, you guys," one female organizer shouted as they left the building, "letâs go back to Starbucks and debrief." "After a hard day of Speaking Truth To Power and Sticking It To The Man, I need a double latte!" Posted by: Mike 2004-03-29 |
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