They have only power, we have everything else and we aren’t invulnerable. That’s probably the main difference between us and them. We are vulnerable because they shoot us in our heart, destroy our houses, where we loved, fought, walked, armed, comforted each other…. For the second time, they come brutally inside the House. Equiped with laws, tonfas and sarcastic smiles, and above all with this inexcusable brutal « legitimity » : a calculated violence deployed, with a lot of bureaucratic language which blames the victim. « Be careful, you can hurt yourself », said a robocop as he was strangling a friend.
In the House, they separated us violently one by one, with truncheon hits, slaps, armlocks and strangulations. When my turn came, they used all of their violence to bring me out. I resisted all the way, it was very difficult for them to bring me out. Four or six cops used brutality to take me. I didn’t resist by courage. I felt the pain , a pain felt like a real part of me, a pain that must exist at this time. I had the sensation that this pain would be a definite part of us, anyway. I felt deeply in my stomach something which can embrace the pain, the sadness and the anger all together. I felt some kind of tension run through all my body, from the past to the future, a tensed string impossible to break. It was not courage. It was not an « effort of will ». It was the feeling that in front of the inevitable brutality of the police, I found strenght in feeling that I could resist against That, fight it every way possible, and carry on loving, building, and destroying if I had to.
But if we are never-say-die, we are vulnerable. We have been hurt. We lost ourselves. We’re not really together. All the gatherings and support from France and everywhere are comforting. Bure is everywhere the nuclear and military society will colonise. But I need, in the litle village of Bure and around, to feel that my strained string isn’t screaming alone in the desert. I need to feel other strings, friendship, sympathy with our failures, leniency to our trials and errors, strength when I go down, a gentle touch when my mind breaks. And I’m ready to give and reciprocate every single one of them. If I must fight, it will be never alone with my conscience, my ideas or my « convictions ». If they are not a strong connection to the other, if I don’t feel a link between our weaknesses and strengths, sharing my « yes » and « no » , I am only a weathercock. A weathercock easily destroyed by a squall. Like a friend said : « My determination is very strong but hanging on a thread. »
I’m waiting for you.