One voice among many

Andrew Glazer

The Convergence Center -- normally an abandoned three-story building a

block away from the ducks and preaching evangelists of MacArthur Park --

was abuzz Sunday with activists.

In the thick, syrupy air, they painted larger-than-life puppets,

chopped hundreds of onions for a free salad and trained themselves on how

to deliver a 10-second sound bite.

About a month ago, a nationwide network of activists set up a

makeshift kitchen, sign-making studio and a half-dozen classrooms for

workshops. Since then, the downtown center has been a place for gaunt,

black-clad anarchists to mingle with deadlocked environmentalists and

well-read leftist intellectuals. They’ve spent hours there planning how

to effectively present their often divergent views to the public in the

week of demonstrations outside the Democratic National Convention.

At the center of the commotion, Costa Mesa labor rights activist

Hermine Bender, 24, along with a friend and her 4-year-old daughter,

Cassidy, picked up a stack of fliers calling for an end to sweatshops and

corporate greed.

Bender, her large, brown eyes opening wide as she walked into the

building, appeared overwhelmed and unable to focus on the bustling

activity.

She grabbed a few boldly printed signs announcing Monday’s march from

Pershing Square, where thousands of demonstrators from across the country

had gathered, to Staples Center -- the site of the convention.

She sped by a makeshift shrine, which was draped with saffron cloth

and adorned with small figures of the Virgin Mary and Buddha, where

demonstrators had scrawled their causes on small orange scraps of paper.

“I support the trees,” said one note.

“I support the oppressed,” said another.

“I believe we must change the system,” Bender said of her own reasons

for driving two hours to march in Santa Monica on Sunday and in Los

Angeles on Monday.

“The corporations that are hosting the fancy convention parties have

way too much control over the political process. The average worker has

absolutely no say in government.”

Wearing khakis and a conservative black shirt, Bender and her friend,

Susan Bodok, also 24, looked more like the hundreds of tourists -- who

showed up to watch the bobbing puppets and listen to bullhorn-distorted

voices -- than their fellow demonstrators.

They climbed into Bender’s dark green Toyota and drove down miles of

streets, through posh Beverly Hills and Brentwood to Santa Monica, where

a well-heeled party of Democrats was scheduled to dine and dance at a

fund-raising event Sunday.

“We drove from the center of L.A.’s poverty to the height of glitz and

glamour,” Bender said, towing an giggling Cassidy behind her. “Let’s get

the message out.”

Dozens of Santa Monica police officers, holding clear riot shields and

tear gas guns, stood stone-faced in rows.

Bender -- a psychology major at Cal State Long Beach and a full-time

activist who in December marched in opposition to the World Trade

Organization in Seattle and outside International Monetary Fund meetings

in Washington, D.C. -- barely seemed to notice.

She strolled in front of the Gap clothing store on the popular Third

Street Promenade, held up a sign and distributed to shoppers fliers

condemning the Gap for allegedly exploiting cheap labor abroad.

The glossy fliers, which featured a photograph of a roomful of

sweatshop workers, were printed in the Gap’s signature blue and white.

“People take them because they think it’s a coupon,” Bender said.

“When they see what they say, they go ‘whoa!’ ”

One surprised shopper was Ken, 27, who refused to give his last name.

He looked at the leaflet in disgust.

“What they’re doing really won’t change anything,” he said. “People

never are going to stop taking advantage of workers.”

When Bender first began demonstrating in front of the Gap at about

4:30 p.m., about a dozen legal observers -- volunteer civil rights

attorneys who were on hand to document potential police misconduct -- and

30 other demonstrators were milling about.

But just an hour later, the landscape had drastically changed. The

Promenade became a gushing river of hundreds of well-dressed shoppers,

socialists, anarchists, environmentalists dressed as frogs and turtles,

bewildered foreign tourists, and tanned and well-groomed television

reporters.

A half-dozen police and news helicopters hovered like mosquitoes over

a swamp. Dozens of different chants -- “We want democracy, not more

hypocrisy!” and “What do we want? A living wage! When do we want it?

Now!” and “Stop! Drop! People going to rise to the top!” -- buzzed

through anemic megaphones.

At about 6 p.m., the demonstrators began marching down the Promenade

to the beach.

“Is this going to help?” asked an older woman standing on the

sidelines.

Al fresco diners looked up between bites of their Caesar salads and

tuna steaks as the marchers walked on. Police made sure the crowd

continued moving.

Cassidy, now slumping, sat perched on Bender’s shoulders. She

continued smiling and pointing at some of the more showy puppets.

“This is fun for her,” Bender later explained. “She gets to walk in

the streets and shout really loud.”

***

Perhaps worn out from a day of walking in the streets and shouting

really loud, both Benders looked slightly less energized Monday when they

arrived at Pershing Square in downtown Los Angeles.

While hundreds of demonstrators crammed into sparse patches of shade,

others baked in the sun and exchanged fliers and signs and listened to

various speakers.

Arriving at 4:30 p.m., Hermine and Cassidy Bender stood just outside

the park holding a sign, reading “Human need, not corporate need.” They

waved to passing cars.

“We really need to be out in the streets,” she said. “I don’t think

the Pershing Square demonstration is effective at all. There’s only so

much we can teach each other.”

As if on cue, protest organizers announced a march from the park to

Staples Center for a performance by the popular anti-establishment rock

band, Rage Against the Machine. Police were out en force in an effort to

prevent a major disturbance -- like the one that devastated parts of

downtown after the L.A. Lakers captured the NBA Championship at Staples

Center in June.

Bender marched though the canyon of decaying Deco buildings downtown.

Drummers drummed and danced in front of her. A giant Mother Teresa puppet

bobbed behind her. This time, dozens of different chants filled the air.

Riot police stood in clusters at each intersection.

From afar, as Bender marched with her sign held high, she appeared to

be part of a powerful, unified mass of 10,000 people.

But up close and inside the miles-long human snake, it was apparent

that she was alone -- adding one voice to 10,000 different voices to

create a muddy, memorable, festive display.

“It’s hard to know how much it helps to demonstrate,” she said. “But I

know in my heart it’s better than doing nothing. If I can get five people

to think differently, then I’ve done my job.”