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German police clashed with hundreds of protesters in the port of Rostock yesterday following a much larger peaceful demonstration against this week's Group of Eight summit in a nearby Baltic resort.

About 2,000 protesters, identified by police as a hard core of violent activists, threw bottles, sticks and stones at riot police on the fringes of a rally in the town's harbour area.

The protesters, most of whom were clad in black from head to toe, set fire to a car, damaged shop windows and torched bins.

Tens of thousands had earlier taken part in two peaceful marches protesting against the G-8 that converged at the harbour, where rock music and speeches were planned.

"The so-called `black block' of activists were agitating," police spokesperson Ingolf Dinse said. "They attacked a car and then attacked police massively. They threw stones and rockets at police, prompting us to change our plans and respond."

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The German rallies have been accompanied by demos in other European cities as well--and since the violence, there have been solidarity rallies with the injured and arrested protesters and calls for public inquiries by the EU.

Here are some links to give the protesters’ side of things:

London Solidarity Protest Against G8 Repression In Germany

Protests Underway for G8 in Germany

Police repression at the an earlier protest against a secret EU-Asia corporate meeting in Hamburg

And here's a real atrocity:

Journalist still in jail after protest against G8 2005 in San Francisco

this is from the self-proclaimed--stress self-proclaimed--"land of the free," which has more of its people in jail than any other nation of Earth.

Here's some info for anyone who wants to help:

"Josh has asked his supporters to write letters to the new US Attorney Scott Schools both email and snail mail. Phone calls and faxes are even better. Since he’s new and the wheels of justice grind slow, Mr. Schools lacks a personal email address at DOJ. The best DOJ email address for him is his secretary’s: [email protected]. Please CC [email protected].

DOJ phone number is 415-436-7200.
Fax is 415-436-7234

Snail Mail Address:
The "Honorable" Scott Schools
US Attorney’s Office
Northern District of California
450 Golden Gate Avenue, 11th Floor
San Francisco, California 94102-3495

Here are some points you might keep in mind for your letter:

1. Urge him to drop the case

2. Point out the assault upon civil liberties of free speech and free press

3. Mention that the police car in question suffered very minor damage (a broken tail light) and the punishment of Josh for filming at this event is totally disproportionate to any minor crimes he could have filmed from the location he was at during the protest

4. Let him know this sends a very harmful message to Americans and to the world about the state of press freedoms in the United States

5. Professional Journalist Groups who support him: two awards from Northern California Society of Professional Journalist, Reporters Without Borders, Committee to Protect Reporters, National Newspaper Guild"

Find out what else you can do and more about the case at: www.joshwolf.net

Coverage on Indybay:
http://indybay.org/newsitems/2007/02/04/18357266.php

Society of Professional Journalists:
http://www.spj.org/joshwolf.asp

Reporters Without Borders:
http://www.rsf.org/article.php3?id_article=21229

Democracy Now! Interview with Josh Wolf:
http://www.democracynow.org/article.pl?sid=07/02/12/1540208

Time Blog: http://www.time.com/time/nation/article/0,8599,1222780,00.html

Homepage: http://www.joshwolf.net

I'm sure we'd all love to be there in Rostock and give them some backup. I wonder how many pro-globalization protesters Thomas Friedman and the "coalition to make poor people rich" have managed to recruit.

Viva la revolucion!

[ 03 June 2007: Message edited by: Fidel ]

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PM's G8 pitch: 'No one set solution' on emissions
Canada's economy and energy sector must be acknowledged, officials say
BRIAN LAGHI

OTTAWA BUREAU CHIEF, With a report from David Ebner in Calgary
June 2, 2007

"What we have to be sure of is that we have a solution that, while it advances things internationally, also reflects the fact that Canada is a country with a growing economy, a growing population [and] a major energy sector," a senior official said, briefing reporters on next week's meeting of the G8 industrialized nations.

"We're special, we're unique in the G8. We're not like Europe. We're not like the United States in all respects. We'll be looking for a result that both advances things on an international level but is also true to Canadian requirements.
.......................
Mr. Harper has said he wants Canada to act as a bridge between the European community and other countries, including the United States, and with major polluters that currently have no Kyoto targets, such as China.

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Yes, those silly Europeans and especially dim Putin are going to buy Canada's New Government (TM) as an honest neo-conservative broker.

I shot a lot of video which i haven't had a chance to edit yet but I'll try to upload some in the next day or two.

But I was with the march from start to finish, and spent several hours at the convergence center in the thick of the battles between police and demonstrators, even got hit twice by flying cobbles and have a limp and a scrape on my forehead to prove it.

I need to transcribe an account I wrote on the train coming home. But I can give a bit of a sketch here for those who are curious.

I can compare yesterday to Genoa, or Quebec in which a heavy initial police presence quickly set up a violently confrontational scenario. Truly I am no fan of the police - the private army of capital - but I felt sorry for them yesterday.

The march itself was a fine affair, terrifically colourful and well coordinated. A good atmosphere prevailed under a flat grey sky, a great variety of groups and organizations represented, with the clever addition of roving packs of clowns whose gentle teasing and joking with the police helped to ease any tensions. The police for their part stayed well clear, ranking their obvious numbers at a block's distance or more from the march route. They appeared relaxed, even convivial at this point and the vibe was good. The police van at the head of the march even had a posey of wild flowers draped across the hood. The international press presence was substantial with uplink vans and video crews everywhere.

I took a few detours to admire the nicely restored Hanseatic old town, from which the locals had mainly evacuated themselves in anticipation of bad things. Some storefronts boarded up.

I arrived at the convergence center soon after the head of the march and it was already crowded with people, with reggae booming across the large open space in front of the stage and tents. It was located at the waterfront and a large Greenpeace banner floated in the background. The crowd was a great mixture, more young than old but the latter honorably present, most people with a generally sympathetic air.

At this point I hadn't distinguished any 'Black Bloc' from the rest of the crowd; given current fashion its hard to tell when someone's dress becomes de facto BB rather than simply echoing prevailing trends, with hoodies or caps and sunglasses and neckscarves etc. and a lot of people could have been either. Besides which its only a moments work to transform yourself from one to the other - up goes the innocuous hood, scarf raised from chin to face, on go the shades and presto! There were a lot of punkers who might have been either. But I did remark the high number with this BB look and an awful lot of black about. I even had the private thought that if you had a shop selling black hoodies you'd've made a killing. Among this contingent there was a good deal of beer drinking as well, to the point of drunkeness, which I thought did not bode well; I regarded this lot, despite the smart red and black flags, as little more than hooligans out for a good scrap.

I'd been at the CC long enough to circumnavigate the crowd when I caught the stirring on the perimeter and headed over to check it out. I could see bottles and stones flying from a distance and helmets bobbing up and down. Arriving on the scene I saw a small clutch of riot police, forty perhaps, well within the CC perimeter and under heavy attack. It should be noted that at only one end of the CC were the police lines close to the crowd and it was from there that this little sortie must have been mounted. They were bunching up defensively while still attempting some sort of advance but this stalled under the hail of missiles; eventually the crowd closed around them, things died down and they made a ragged retreat, the volleys picking up as they left the grounds.

And so it went. Before they'd retreated far, more units arrived and the confrontation heated. So-called Black Bloc featured prominently in this area and kept up a hail of abuse and missiles at any police. The latter's charges would send people scurrying only to reform in a different place. When they did catch up with anybody they'd lash out a bit with club and foot and it was heavy but I've seen far worse; this didn't reek of sadism for instance, as the Genovese police did. Tempers were obviously short.

Time and again, a police formation would get so far before it had to retreat under the astonishing volume of projectiles and this was something to behold. They would come in at a fair clip, bellowing menacingly and waving clubs and very quickly you'd see them start to falter, then huddle together and look rather uncertain before falling back, bricks thudding off their helmets and thickly padded riot uniforms. They weren't carrying shields at this point.

Things calmed for an hour but then heated again and both sides went at it with more energy. I watched the cars being flipped, a couple of plastic garbage bins rolled up as barricades; there was usually a space between assailants, dictated by the intensity of the stone throwing - it just wasn't safe to go between these two mobs. BB got busy hauling up paving stones and smashing them into useful sizes; when convenient they'd run up and launch then retreat. More police surges, more retreats; more and more people bloodied and down, attended by paramedics. Busy filming, usually off to the side between the lines or among either group I had to constantly keep an eye in the air for incoming and people around would shout and warn you if they could. I was looking at a fellow four feet in front of me who was looking at me as half a brick hit him from behind and he dropped like a stone. He was instantly attended to by paramedics in bright red vests. I snatched a few other people out of the trajectory of bottles and others did the same for me several times, thankfully. At one point I glanced behind to see a helmeted Reuters crew taking cover behind a kneewall, cameraman busy. The constant din of shouting 'Hau Apt' go away! and the sound of stones and bottles smashing into ground and architecture with the lowflying command and control chopper overhead upping the stress factor.

I have to say, their presence - the helicopters - is a serious offence. The noise prevents people from hearing speakers or music, is hard to relax around, is aggressively in-your-face and just plain rude and its a wonder a few simple strategies haven't been figured out to deal with them. Negotiation with the police for a start.

A stand-off develops at the mouth of a sidestreet where I see the most intense barrages, a complete stalemate; here the BB eventually tore up a cafe patio, some street furniture, lit a couple more fires...the whole area suffused by smoke from the burning car, the sound of its horn which suddenly, in the fire got stuck in the on position....and now a few rounds of tear gas, many collected and returned to sender by protestors. I walk to one end of the CC to find a row of watercannon vehicles and a couple of armored cars and a couple of dozen packed police vans drawn up and standing by; these were deployed a few minutes later, surging into one side of the crowd near the stage and effectively clearing the area. For a time.

By now it was time for me to leave. I was depressed that the police had somehow managed to do such a number on what should have been a safe zone....a good part of the CC now awash in sudsy water, pavement littered with cobbles and broken glass, roving groups of demonstrators, clutches of police wandering through a now emptied area, tear gas wafting through for a little atmosphere, constant sirens and flashing lights...

There was to be a big concert in the evening, which I understand went ahead, with interruptions, but what a shitty way to head into that.

Eh. While I think there's a place for the Black Block - I think its important the police don't win every violent confrontation or it goes to their heads and you get the Toronto or Montreal police - here they simply handed the state the excuse it needed to marginalize the vast majority of protestors, from priests to trade unionists to Greenpeacers, whose humanity should be an inspiration to us all. The international media get their photos of out of control demonstrators and the politicians get to justify their outlandish security budgets. Its all off-message and a profound strategic mistake. I don't think the BB much care but I admit I didn't talk much with them.

But the police also made some serious errors. They should NOT have entered the grounds of the Convergence Center; in so doing they perpetrated a gross injustice. On the one hand, the elites get to meet in luxury resorts behind impregnable multimillion euro iron walls protected by thousands of well equipped riot police, on the other, everybody else gets pushed off their far more humble patch of real estate. People aren't stupid and pick up on this, anger grows and the violence cycles up.

Its all rather sad since its plain a lot of work was done on both sides to build bridges. The police had yellow-vested Anti-Konflict teams in evidence - and wow, at least one of them was a real hottie, sure calmed me down - for the most part endured the missiles stoically with minimal tear gas and until the end of the march kept out of sight, which is smart since their very presence is inflammatory.

I think the organizers could have used a lot more marshalls, and some strategies to contain the black bloc. A no alcohol policy for a start; but also, trained - and sufficiently brave - people to insert their bodies between the two sides as a physical shield; plus perhaps teams to engage the bb and bid them take their yobbo entertainment to a soccer pitch, or at least away from the main body of the demonstration. But I'm still processing, and need to see a lot more analysis from others on the ground before I have a clear opinion.

It raises the stakes on the ambitious week of actions coming up and I think its fair to entertain the strategy that at least some components of the state worked for just such an outcome. No need to pussyfoot around violence for fear of being condemned as the instigator, now that its out in the open and serviceably blamable on 'radical leftist anarchists'.

This was after all a demonstration well away from the criminals meeting place and days in advance so none of the big state players are in any danger. The civil disobedience actions contemplated in the upcoming week are far edgier than a simple march through an empty town; many of the more dangerous BB wont be around after the weekend...it will be a lot easier for the police to pull out all the stops in suppressing upcoming events that have the clearly stated intent of disrupting the summit. They've had a chance to practice with their water cannon and other toys and are no doubt knocking themselves out as I write, trying to figure out how to deal with cobblestones.

Also, the counter-protesters in DC, ex-soldiers were allowed to create a 'salient' in our licensed area without police interference. we were not allowed to access anywhere they had chosen to 'defend', altho they were not licensed. A rumour had been posted on their rolling thunder website stating that we were going to desecrate the vietnam memorial. what a load...

[ 04 June 2007: Message edited by: Merowe ]

A less ambitious return to the environs of the G8 summit in Heiligendamm. I travel up with three younger friends more interested in summer holiday-making than serious anthropology and my own efficiency suffers accordingly.

We arrive at the Rostock Hbf in the middle of a fiercely hot summer afternoon; unlike the previous Saturday only a few bodies milling about, our first order of business is to find where the most activity is and become part of it. Hard information is difficult to come by, eventually at the Convergence Center we determine two blockades are still active. But first we must stop by one of the three established camps – two of my friends are humping packs fit for an Everest summit bid and cannot practically travel any distance on foot. Fortunately Camp Reddelich is on the way to the blockade at the West Gate, we make our way to the relevant train stop. There is some question whether any trains will actually show up, service having been irregular through the week due to police attentions. We fall in with a lot of other protestors, a train eventually arrives and we climb aboard. Its delayed 15 minutes or so but eventually puts us within a short walk to the camp. There are no formalities, we walk past a manned barrier at the gate and into a sea of brightly coloured pop tents with a few larger more elaborate temporary structures dotted about, kitchens and chill-out rooms and info-points and the like. It is vast, draped over gently rolling farm fields as far as the eye can see. There are quite a few people about, stripped to minimal summer clothing, many barefoot...black remains the flavour of choice, a lot of the field caps they favour here; haircuts and anarchist logos and dreadlocks and rainbow flags, a fairly heavy looking crowd; I'm vaguely reminded of the International Brigades of the Spanish Civil War. Some Mexican anarchists are running a Zapatista kitchen. Tough inspirational messages are dressed about the camp, daubed on sheets and poster board. Fuck Capitalism being the consensus, makes me feel all warm inside.

I press my friends to be quick, painfully aware that while we dither about here there must be exciting developments at the blockades. We finally head off on foot: map in hand, I set a restless pace and quickly leave my companions behind. I accept a lift from a hippie bus, one of many shuttling demonstrators around the summit and its expensive fence. Dropped at a final checkpoint I am dismayed to note very few people travelling in my direction, against a ragged horde obviously returning from the blockade. Many have felt the attentions of water cannon; people are quiet, subdued and when I ask a group I learn police have just cleared the blockade with nine watercannon and some force.

I decide I still want to see for myself and travel against the flow, leaving the road and stepping into ripening fields of grain, now multiply traversed by lines of retreating demonstrators picking their routes to avoid police checks. It is a glorious afternoon and the pair of large helicopters hovering overhead are strangely disconsonant with the pastoral idyll through which I'm hiking. Large fields roll away to a horizon dappled with old forest, copses and hedges, quaint rural buildings. Turning a corner I see what must be the center of the action in the distance, an unimaginably long line of winking police lights and sun glittering off ranked helmet visors and riot shields and I make my way there. Drawing near I come to a recently cut field where the paths of departing protestors converge, the perimeter defined with an alert-looking row of police. I must run this gauntlet before I can join the dwindling groups of demonstrators still to be found loitering in front of a dense line of riot cops drawn up before the gate and a large herd of support vehicles, water cannon featured prominently and still aimed at the emptying field. Off to my right I see the infamous fence itself, strung along the margin of tall forest and grain fields. It is buttressed at regular intervals of fifty meters or so by police vans, doors and windows flung open against the heat, occupants lounging breathlessly inside.

I take out my video camera and hover near the frontline where a handful of clowns are still busy winding up the police, engaging with them in an edgy and very brave game of finding how far they can go, how close can their parodying and mockery come before a temper flares and the batons or pepper spray come out. There is still an international press presence and a couple of satellite trucks lurk in the background with equipment and support staff.

While most protestors have quit and are travelling away perhaps a hundred or so maintain a presence , eventually the police decide this will not do. Instructions are given over a PA system, presumably as much for our edification as theirs – 'left flank advance slowly...' 'right side close up a little' etc. - and warnings to disperse with the threat of consequent violence are repeated to a notably unbothered response from the demonstrators. But the police lines start to move quickly and people casually fall back. A pair of clowns string a line of emergency police tape across the police path; it is quickly torn to pieces by the advancing line. Another marches towards them in exaggerated military gait and stops challengingly before them. He is pushed away and falls back.

I've had enough and decide to make my way back to camp for fresh information and a break; this show is over. Hiking back through fields with a scattered group of clowns I chat them up a bit and note their international character, Dutch, Spanish, another Canadian, two Germans, an Italian. They're in high spirits and if nothing else these events provide valuable social opportunities. Later, as I've fallen back some meters from the group I notice one of the large military birds is hovering rather pointedly directly over my head. Well, perhaps I am malingering a little. It's very loud, bushes and other plants around me are whipping about a bit in the wind and I am angry as I finally stop and fix a dark stare up in their direction. After a long moment a searchlight flashes briefly from the chopper's belly then it lazily moves off. Oh cool...did I just get my picture taken?

Back at camp with a cold beer I learn there is a barricade at the east gate still maintaining with several hundred people planning to sleep a second night on location. They're supported by a sound truck and the police presence is apparently light and laidback. After some discussion I head off with one of my friends, what the hell. The more bodies the better, right? A similar business of long walking through field and forest along narrow village roads heavily trafficked by convoys of police vehicles. Eventually as before a lift arrives, we run the gauntlet of several concentrations of police and vehicle before being dropped in the middle of a grand avenue lined by tall and beautiful trees. It is dark by now and we make our way first to the sound truck, pumping out techno to a few dozen dancers and then on to a general survey of the blockade. Several hundred demonstrators have laid out their night's arrangements atop the road before the gate, a dense patchwork of plastic tarpaulins and blankets and sleeping bags and backpacks and bodies seated around small camp fires. Away from the dancers the crowd is calm and quiet, settled in for the night. The remains of an evening meal rest along a bank of rough and ready furniture, catered from the camps in a very organized manner. I'm not hungry but note the wholesome looking fresh brown loaves, remains of salads and stews, presumably all vegan. I pass the road-campers and have a look at the contentious gate. A thin line of police are dispersed along a plastic tape line that marks out the entrance, a couple of meters away impromptu signs note that this is the point where democracy ends...some people already in their bags here, sound asleep barely four meters from the police line. The police stand quiet and peaceful, a long dull night ahead.

At 11 the music truck packs up for the night. A spontaneous march supported by drums and dancers makes a final tour up to the fence after which I settle down beside a small fire with my friends. There is an older woman seated opposite, she's very quiet but I learn she's from Cologne, has left her friends and spontaneously decided to spend the night at the blockade. All she has is a plastic film 'space blanket' atop her t-shirt and I press my jacket on her. I regret this later, once I've bedded down using a similar space blanket for a ground tarp, with my ancient Afghan shawl draped atop. The ground is cold, those bits of my body that stick out from under the shawl are cold...I spend a sleepless night tossing and turning and trying to accommodate the hard surface beneath me, coarse gravel and debris at the roadside. A few times I glance up and see a line of police streaming silently past the protestors, new shifts spelling out those at the entrance. Their forms silhouetted starkly against the moonlit sky, a wierdly martial vision. Every few minutes a helicopter thunders across the camp, lights raking the sleepers and I wonder how this traffic doesn't bother the heads of state tucked in a few hundred meters behind the wall.

By 4 am I rise for good, roll a cigarette and pace about the mainly sleeping camp enjoying the warming dawn. A few heavily laden photographers appear and tiptoe among the sleepers taking candids. An Indymedia reporter delivers a report to his cameraman, describing conditions and interviewing a couple of sleep-fuzzed blockaders.

I learn that a march is to leave from here at 10:00 or so, to officially conclude the barricade. But I'm impatient to be off and head into the brightening day with my freshly roused friend. We pick up other mates back at camp and join the throngs heading back into Rostock for the big final afternoon demonstration.

I have to give this one a miss since I've business that evening in Berlin but on my way to buy a ticket I'm 'controlled' by a group of police in the train tunnel running beneath the platforms. The crowds here are slowly thickening as arriving trains spill hundreds of demonstrators freshly arriving for the afternoon's march and the police have established a heavy presence here to screen the new arrivals.

I get a tap on my shoulder as I'm about to mount the staircase out of this hot zone and turn to see four greenclad riot cops who want to talk to me and Jens. Really? I'm surprised, even a little tickled – hey, do I look dangerous? How cool is that?

There's nothing to it, of course. I'm no criminal and just feel awkward and increasingly impatient as I'm asked a few questions, my passport details are radioed in to somewhere and an officious little policeman goes through the contents of my shoulderbag, closely. But then, he comes across my black wool winter hat - which I'd made good use of the night before. It also has a feature I'd never used, it unfolds into a balaclava which of course was very interesting for my new green buddies and my heart sank as I thought, oh here we go. I'd given them the toehold they needed and could only watch as the business complicated itself.

I suffered this annoying little man with his too-perfectly gelled hair lecturing me on the German states' attitude towards....fuzzy black hats. While standing in the middle of these macho young policemen so obviously thrilled with their puffy new riot suits, striking poses and practicing their cold unmoving stares on me. When he tired of patronizing me, IrritatingBlondeGuy 'let' me off the hook, just this once and walked away from my bag, its now evacuated contents strewn in a rough heap beside. And fuck you too, tough guy. I sulked all the way back to Berlin.

I've still to upload photos and video but the G8 sites have plenty, I may yet get around to it.

I haven't fully processed the last week. One has to concede that demonstrations, as constituted, are more symbolic than anything. But that's something I suppose. But not enough. Not enough. It will take a lot more to make the big animals meeting inside their fancy taxpayer-supported cage change course.

[ 10 June 2007: Message edited by: Merowe ]

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In the weeks prior to the Summit itself, quite predictably a number of groups and institutions took stock of the extent to which the promises at Gleneagles had been honoured. Every single assessment found a staggering shortfall. ...

It seemed implausible to most of the world (and I deliberately exclude myself because I’ve put in writing my complete skepticism of the G8 process) that after the absolute commitments of Gleneagles, everything could go so lamentably off course. But one learns, painfully, that the betrayal of Africa is almost a matter of principle for the G8.

With that in mind, no one should have imagined significant progress in Germany this year. The good intentions that flowed from President Merkel were no different in tone and content from those which preceded Gleneagles. People were willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, in part because of George Bush’s announcement, just 10 days before the Summit, that he would recommend a doubling of his original PEPFAR pledge, from $15 billion to $30 billion over the five years from 2009-2013. The pledge was greeted with the uncritical applause of a compliant media, completely failing to grasp, as the Global AIDS Alliance immediately pointed out, that PEPFAR had already reached over $5.4 billion for 2007, and would probably exceed that sum in 2008. Since that’s the case, it means that the new $30 billion dollar total, divided by five years, will amount to a real increase of only several hundred million each year (if that). Worse, there was no recognition of the fact that the minimum amount that the President should have announced — measured against the United States share of world GDP — was $50 billion over the five year period, and even then, a shortfall would almost certainly result.

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The problem with the G8, it seems to me, is its congenital divorce from reality. We’re part of an era where human life is devalued. Just look at Iraq, just look at Darfur, just look at HIV/AIDS. The international community has lost its bearings. When that happens, the human dimension slides into obscurity. The grandmother who buries her children, the orphan who weeps through the night, the women scarred forever by sexual violence, they recede into the mists of statistical calculation. We dehumanize them, their faces blurred, their identities lost.

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