We say no nukes at Seabrook

PLANS WERE laid for the occupation this summer. Posters and stickers reading "See you at the site--October 6" were plonked in obvious places, and naturally the word began to spread.

No one was quite sure what to expect. Red Clams, a militant socialist affinity group (affinity groups were units of 10 to 30 people who shared interests, worked and stuck together, making up larger regional clusters), prepared for the worst.

How many cops would we face? How brutal would they be? Would there be enough of us, and would we be sufficiently organized to avoid a rout? Naturally, these questions couldn't be answered thoroughly.

We attended the six- to eight-hour "preparation" sessions, but didn't feel too prepared. Slide shows and maps are never like the real thing.

At one planning meeting, some 60 people argued over possible directions from which to assault the plant for over two hours (this was just one section of a very long agenda), but a lack of precise information on the feasibility of any one plan made decisions difficult.

Many meetings were so unbearably long that one would have thought that reaching consensus superceded stopping nukes as the coalition's goals. Ultimately, the realization of what we might face didn't sink in until our boots were sinking into the mire of the marsh.

THE BOSTON newspaper, the Real Paper, likened the potential occupiers to the Barbarian armies that attempted to invade ancient Rome. A more precise analogy could not be found. Our ragged army did not seem all that together when it amassed on campsite and began its slow march toward Priority Area One--the core construction site.

The Red Clams were prepared, straining beneath 60-pound backpacks, full with essentials, donning red construction helmets and 40-year-old army surplus gas masks. We raised some chants, but the air seemed too still to pierce...the mood was apprehensive.

The press was there in all their glory, with cameras and floodlights, glaring into our bleary eyes. The whole world was watching, and it felt stupid to know that everyone in the world knew our plans.

Gathered into part of a larger cluster, Red Clams trudged in ankle-high mud toward the site that loomed in the distance. Eventually, all were gathered in front of Priority One. We waited seemingly for an hour for the stragglers, and when all were together, waited a bit longer for good measure.

The first "spokes" meeting was held--that is, one spokesperson per affinity group got together and gabbed long enough for our feet to get numb, and finally decided upon a suitable tactic.

Meanwhile, the purveyors of law and order, who resembled a hybrid between massive Star Wars storm troopers and R2D2, waited impatiently behind the fence for the opportunity to mace a few young upstarts who thought they were above the law. They didn't have to wait very long.

The day's first casualties were a man and a woman who decided that they were going to commit civil disobedience in a suitably nonviolent manner. Rather than cutting through the fence and trying to get past the police, they decided to climb over the fence so as not to cause any property damage.

They informed the officer of their intentions and politely asked to be arrested. As the man began to climb, his fingers were pummeled with clubs and both were maced.

Nervously, we decided to go for it. We surged forth with wire cutters at the ready, sucking air through our archaic nose holes. A few squirts of mace sent us scurrying back a safe distance where we proceeded to have more meetings.

Further along the fence, SCANN (Student Coalition Against Nukes Nationwide), along with some other Boston groups, attacked the fence again and again, snipping here and there, while others held large pieces of plastic for protection against mace.

A teargas canister was launched from the enemy ranks and was promptly tossed back by a brave occupier, thus gassing not only the police but Attorney General Douglass Rath as well. One of the Red Clams at one point in the day managed to grab a club that a trooper was jabbing through the fence. We stashed away our trophy only to find that some others had returned it to its original owner. The masochism of some people...

No more than several dozen were assaulting the fence at any given point during the day. Others sang patriotic songs, some chanted, some lectured the police, some tried to transcend the fence.

In general, the majority stood back, not knowing what to do. Needless to say, we never got through the fence. It was easy to see that we were neither determined nor well organized enough to occupy the site. That night, there was a very long meeting in which it was decided to have another meeting in the morning.

The next afternoon, after a very long meeting, we decided to go for a stab at occupying Priority Site Two, the batch plant where cement is mixed for construction on the site. Failing that, we would block the gate at the North Access road.

AT THIS meeting, an occupier stood up and said, "If we really want to occupy, we're going to have to run this like a military operation." Thus, an important lesson was learned--the fence will not fall down by prayer alone.

It was clear that many had been sobered by the previous day's events. Having established this (or at least some having established this), we gathered our dwindling forces--many of the transcenders had split--and this time, more militant and determined, marched through the woods toward the site.

As we surged forward toward the fence, we were met with determined opposition from the other side. The troopers and guardsmen swept around us, using mace and clubs to drive us back from the fence.

Half of our cluster got maced, some were jabbed, one had a club cracked against her head, but was saved by her helmet, and one was arrested. The badgeless wonders even went so far as to turn on unsuspecting townspeople with their nasty chemicals.

A hundred of us formed a chaotic line and started chanting, "Hold the line." Many were confused and ran or stayed back, but a few managed to cut he fence before being eventually broken by a more organized and aggressive police line.

We all beat a hasty retreat, tending to our wounds and slowly recovering from the panic. Those who came to Seabrook with any illusions learned that the police can and will be brutal if necessary.

Despite the failure, the event created a great feeling of solidarity among us. We headed along the railroad tracks toward the main road not demoralized, but determined to prove our commitment to end nukes, even if we didn't have the immediate raw materials to accomplish the task of occupying.

As we barbarians tromped out along the road to the main gates, the degree of local support was tremendous. Someone began to walk backwards with a sign reading, "Honk for No Nukes." From then on, we had a steady din accompanying us on our way.

Most of the sympathizers were local people, some young, some old. The ways of showing support ranged from polite smiles to affirmative fists and shouts of encouragement,

As if in a B-movie, the weather cleared and the honking and chanting got louder as we neared the gates. We arrived to find a closed gate, tended only by a few bewildered security guards. They were met with a barrage of chants.

The militants shouted "Tear it down, tear it down," while in response, pacifists formed a line directly in front of the fence to prevent anything of the sort from happening and shouted, "Nonviolence, nonviolence."

After 10 minutes of this, several busloads of troopers and guards arrived and positioned themselves behind the line. We missed our chance.

Ironically enough, the picket line that was preventing us from cutting the fence was maced. The pacifists received large doses of boric acid as an antidote to their large doses of nonviolence. Then the cops brought in hoses and water trucks.

We sat down, linked arms, those with nerves of steel and waterproof clothing headed for the front, put their heads between their legs, kissed their asses goodbye and waited to be thrust across the road by a great blast of H20.

When the water was turned on, and no bones were broken, people held the line. More joined in, elated. We raised our fists and cheered in triumph, most of us standing up to face the hoses. Smoke was released to disperse us. We retreated thinking it was teargas, but returned when we discovered it wasn't.

After a while, they gave up. The air was tense, but the police weren't making any attempt to move us. We chanted, "The whole world is watching!" "Call back the guards!" and "Call in sick!" (The following day, 27 National Guardsmen did.) It was a small but meaningful victory.

THE LAST two days were more subdued. On the third day, a picket line was held in front of the main gate. Simultaneously, small commando raids took place at various parts of the fence, heroic but unsuccessful. A group from Texas pulled down 25 feet of fence, which they presented to the Guard later that day.

Other groups were less lucky. In one raid from the north side of the plant, an occupier was beaten senseless and kicked down a 15-foot rocky incline by state troopers. Others were chased away into deep marsh water while troopers shouted "Swim, fuckers, swim!" These attempts were brave but isolated and as such could never have been successful.

Honorary mention must go to those few brave souls who blocked the courthouse on Tuesday and demanded the release of those arrested. The police treated them to the usual brutality, but a few actually resisted, tires were slashed and one protester was so militant as to give a cop a black eye. Right on.

Unfortunately, some no-nukers took up a collection to pay for slashed tires. Those who did the slashing were hospitalized. The money raised to pay for the tires should have been used for the injured comrades. It must be understood that when property is violated--as in cutting fences--violence must be expected from the state.

Many community supporters criticized the coalition's tactics during the action, saying that a more militant approach was necessary. These included a government employee we talked to in a local laundromat, a 69-year-old deputy sheriff who allowed us to camp on his land, and at least two workers on the site itself.

The Edge, a Boston paper, quoted one Seabrook workers' response to an occupier's statement, "We are trying to be nonviolent." "Sure, great. But what did you get for it? Did you expect that they were going to let you move in and live there?

"You've gotta think Japanese. Look it, those Japanese students got helmets, they got clubs. They've even got shields. That's what you need, you gotta have shields." We agree.