“It’s our legacy of beautiful nonsense,” said HOY co-founder Kae Burke after the show’s so-called “mess rehearsal” on April 12. “Creating this space for artistic expression has always been so important,” she said, “especially now.”

The House of Yes website describes the show as “an immersive, participatory, psychoactive and dissociative spectacle,” which has been revamped since its 2016 sold-out double-run. It explores the effects of the now-party drug ketamine, including hallucination, difference in time perception, and at times, intrusive thoughts. At “Ketamine: The Musical,” masks were optional, but one rule was clear: no flash photography.

The rule protects all of the aerial performers at HOY: from hair hangers to suspended go-go dancers and even two artists squeezed inside an anatomically correct heart dangling from the ceiling, the club is strict about protecting its performers. This approach extends to the audience, too.

House of Yes maintains a strictly queer-friendly and boundaries oriented environment, even amidst its orchestrated chaos. Out front, partygoers in line were addressed by a staff member in a fuzzy bear costume.

“There is no racism, no transphobia, no homophobia, no unwanted touches or pictures,” they said. “If you need anything, ask a staff member for help,” they continued, in reference to free self-serve water and the harm-reduction drug Naloxone behind the bar,

The performance and the party run late into the night at House of Yes, an inauguration back into the extravagant nightlife that has so long characterized New York City. Before performing, co-founder Anya Sapozhnikova gathered the night’s cast backstage, as is their custom. The eclectic crew held hands, began to jump, and chanted in unison: “Let’s fuck shit up.” 

The performers in “Dirty Circus” at House of Yes celebrate a show-well-done. March 12, 2022. Photo by Annie Iezzi

Allegra Meshuggah dances maniacally around the stage in wielding scissors “Ketamine: The Musical” at House of Yes in Bushwick, Brooklyn. April 12, 2022. Photo by Annie Iezzi

Anya Sapozhnikova, co-founder of House of Yes, and Melissa Aguerre perform an intimate aerial dance in “Ketamine: The Musical.” April 12, 2022. Photo by Annie Iezzi

A performer is carried over the crowd at House of Yes in Bushwick. April 24, 2022. Photo by Annie Iezzi

The showroom at House of Yes before rehearsal for “Ketamine: The Musical.” April 6, 2022. Photo by Annie Iezzi

Co-founder and show-director Anya Sapozhnikova takes a moment of rest backstage at House of Yes. April 13, 2022. Photo by Annie Iezzi

Moss rests on a prop couch at a “Ketamine: The Musical” rehearsal at House of Yes. April 6, 2022. Photo by Annie Iezzi

Bartender Mariah applies her lipstick before the doors open for “Dirty Circus” at House of Yes. March 12, 2022. Photo by Annie Iezzi

Bartenders after midnight in the House of Yes showroom in Bushwick, Brooklyn. April 24, 2022. Photo by Annie Iezzi

A horned partygoer takes a breather at the bar at House of Yes. April 24, 2022. Photo by Annie Iezzi

Samuel Paulish poses after the “Ketamine: The Musical” pre-show circle up at House of Yes. April 12, 2022. Photo by Annie Iezzi

RION MOON, he/they, who also goes by THE PINK PRINCE, poses mid-party at House of Yes, where he performs . April 24, 2022. Photo by Annie Iezzi

Happy New Day celebration at House of Yes in Brooklyn, NYC. April 24, 2022. Photo by Annie Iezzi

Cat the aerialist performs on silks during “Ketamine: The Musical” at House of Yes in NYC. April 12, 2022. Photo by Annie Iezzi

The post Beautiful Nonsense: Nightlife Revival at House of Yes appeared first on Pavement Pieces.

In Tompkins Square Park, unhoused New Yorkers have created the Tompkins Homeless Collective to resist encampment sweeps imposed by Mayor Eric Adams.

“Myself and my neighbors were victims of police violence as our belongings and homes were ripped apart and thrown in the garbage,” said Sintia Vee in a call to action on behalf of the collective.

This isn’t the first time NYPD and city workers have thrown away the belongings of unhoused residents. Following two riots spurred by a new, 1:00am curfew on the park that would for the first time force residents to leave at night, bulldozers were brought in to raze the area in 1991. 

Now, as their tents and belongings are thrown away, the city government is offering more services to people living in homeless encampments. In his April 26 State of the City Address, Mayor Adams promised $170 million for 1400 new beds at safe haven shelters across the city.

“It isn’t just about bringing down crime rates. It’s about helping those who need it most, including those experiencing homelessness, many of whom are at risk from violence themselves,” said Mayor Adams. 

But many unhoused people in Tompkins Square Park prefer the street to the shelter. Some had seen or been victims of violence in shelters. Others had belongings stolen, or were roped back into a drug dependency there. And most resent the 10 p.m. curfew placed on shelter residents.

“I came straight out here after what happened in the Safe Haven,” said Tompkins resident Johnny Grima. “Why I’m not there now is I reported shelter abuse because the security guard. He threatened to slap me in the face with a metal detector wand.”

Experiences like Grima’s, and suspicion of the NYC shelter system as a whole, has left a gap in service for unhoused people that mutual aid organizations are trying to fill.

Washington Square Park Mutual Aid has provided dozens of tents, food and thousands of dollars of direct donations to unhoused people and the encampments themselves.

“We’ve paid a couple of month’s rent for people, you know, a month at a time,” said Derrick DeMaria, a facilitator for the group. “Right now, mutual aid can’t do the kinds of big picture housing [aid], we can’t pay for a whole year.”

On top of that, many mutual aid groups are losing manpower due to the intensity of the sweeps. East Village Mutual Aid, the local group that spearheaded aid at Tompkins, has since taken a hiatus.

“It’s kind of odd to be just a person and constantly on call in this way. I would say there’s definitely a lot of burnout, but there’s a lot of things that are definitely giving me hope,” said DeMaria.

One of those things is the direct action network organizing to aid unhoused neighbors impacted by the sweeps. What the Tompkins Homeless Collective calls a sweep defense network is growing, made of mutual aid organizations and social media accounts like @SweepAlertNYC to keep New Yorkers informed and coordinate aid, with the eventual goal of stopping evictions across the city.

“You can’t end homelessness without stopping it from happening in the first place,” said Vee in her call to action. “We ask our beloved people, living in New York, to protect us the homeless, the most vulnerable, from any further state violence. 

The post Mayor Adams’ homeless sweeps recall history of Tompkins Square Park appeared first on Pavement Pieces.

“I could have never imagined this would happen,” said Tyler Glenn, the club’s bartender when the fire broke out.

 Glenn, who is 25 and uses they/them pronouns, was working their first shift at Rash, which opened last October. Glenn went to the basement for beer to stock the bar, while other staff stepped outside for a cigarette.

“I came back upstairs, and I didn’t even realize what was going on at first,” Glenn said. “It looked like the smoke machine had cranked up a million notches. It was so smokey and hot, and hard to breathe.”

According to the NYPD, no arrests have been made, and the incident is being investigated as an act of arson. 

“I started blacking out and it was really scary, and the next thing I remember is busting through the door and running over to Birdy’s, yelling ‘someone needs to call 911,’” said Glenn.

They suffered second degree burns and were treated and released from the hospital.

Tyler Glenn, a bartender at Rash, suffered second degree burns on their face and was hospitalized for two days. Photo courtesy of Tyler Glenn.

The Myrtle Avenue strip that Rash calls home is a well-known queer nightlife scene. Birdy’s, Happyfun Hideaway and Mood Ring are down the block, with larger LGBTQ friendly venues like Nowadays nearby. One patron at Birdy’s, Keaton Slansky who uses they/them pronouns, ordered drinks for the folks fleeing Rash.

“Two people were huddled outside and shaking, covered in soot,” Slansky said. 

They spoke to the bouncer, who said the Rash job was new for him as well: it was his second day at the club. The bouncer told Slansky that he didn’t recognize the perpetrator, and that he would have noticed someone walk in with a big red canister of flammable liquid. Other staff at the scene also said that they didn’t recognize the perpetrator, or see him enter the bar.

Last August, a popular queer-owned bar in nearby Bed-Stuy found a brick thrown through its front window, just after the touring bus of nonbinary political candidate Paperboy Prince parked down the street suffered the same fate. 

“People seem to be treating this as a string of incidents,” said Slansky. “Bushwick is like the queer hub of Brooklyn.There was the stabbing a few months ago, then there was this incident where someone let out a pepper spray bomb at Nowadays.”

The only customer at Rash when the fire broke out, Ashley Glenn (no relation to Tyler Glenn) had accompanied staff outside to smoke a cigarette. Seconds after she stepped outside, the bar caught fire and people started running out of the building. She described an “atmosphere of fear” in her community in the wake of this incident.

“Everybody’s freaked out,” she said. “Obviously, it’s all speculation, but it feels targeted because of premeditation and everything. It’s really depressing because after having lost Bossa, it was really great to have Rash as a new spot for the queer scene.”

The Bossa Nova Civic Club was a predecessor of Rash in queer nightlife, until it was shuttered by a kitchen fire in January. Tyler Glenn, who worked at Bossa before it closed, said they are relying on funds gathered by the Rash co-founders to stay afloat. “Until these wounds heal, I won’t be able to go into any of my other bar jobs,” they said.

 The evening’s host and DJ, Lunática, was also hospitalized with burns. The co-founders of Rash, Jake Sillen and Claire Bendiner, have launched a GoFundMe to support staff with medical bills and restore the club. In the two days since the fire, the GoFundMe has raised $41,833, from community members, allies and local businesses.

Since the fire, the bar’s instagram has posted periodic updates and boosted donation sites for staff impacted by the blaze. When the flames had gone out, the account posted a black screen, with the words “Everyone is okay,” and a heart to keep followers informed. Tyler Glenn wishes they hadn’t needed to.

“I really hate that there is this pattern in the LGBT nightlife community,” they said. “I wish people could just go out and have fun, especially when so much is going on in the world. I wish our safe spaces weren’t places of tragedy.”

The post Arson Shakes Bushwick Queer Community appeared first on Pavement Pieces.

 Fed up advocates and directly impacted folks gathered in Foley Square  yesterday for an “End Convict Leasing 2.0 Rally” to raise the alarm about what they call a reintroduction of “legal slavery” into New York state prisons within Governor Hochul’s “Jails to Jobs” proposal.

“Jails to jobs sounds good, but bringing back forced labor isn’t even the worst part,” said Grace Ortez of #FixThe13thNY, who organized the rally.

Grace Ortez leads a chant at the Foley Square rally: “What do we want? Fix the 13th! When do we want it? Now!” Annie Iezzi, 3/15/22.

The plan aims to improve re-entry into the workforce and reduce re-entry into the prison system for the formerly incarcerated, but one facet is allowing private companies to contract imprisoned workers, a practice that has been outlawed in New York since the 1890s.

“Corporations already making money through exploitation will be making even more on the backs of the oppressed. On top of that, the state could take up to 50% of those wages away,” Ortez said.

One stipulation of the proposal is up to 50% wage garnishment, a process by which the state can collect a percentage of the pay of incarcerated workers for costs like taxes and child support.

Audrey Johnson, a formerly incarcerated woman, calls prison labor slavery at the #FixThe13th rally. Annie Iezzi, 3/15/22

“Out here, there’s a lot of jobless people. In there, we’re being used,” said Audrey Johnson, a formerly incarcerated woman, in response to the budget proposal.

 She said  that instead of guaranteeing competitive wages inside the prisons, the amendment would reduce the competition of outside jobs with cheap prison labor.

“It is slavery,” Johnson said.  “You’re getting 10 cents an hour, and it takes jobs away out here. If private companies can have prisoners make products, they aren’t going to pay minimum wage out here.”

New York State residents use a wide range of products made by imprisoned workers. From car license plates to surgical masks, incarcerated people in NY generate a $50 million manufacturing economy for the state each year. 

Shear Avory, an advocate with New Pride Agenda, pointed out that incarcerated workers have been essential during the COVID-19 pandemic.

“[They] are workers that provide this state with the essentials,” Avory yelled, looking up at the courthouses surrounding Foley Square. “Where were your masks coming from New York? Where was your hand sanitizer coming from New York? We talk about valuing our essential workers, so we need to value prison labor,” Avory said.

In the final section of the 2023 Fiscal Year State Budget, Governor Hochul proposed a constitutional amendment to, “allow employment [of imprisoned workers] by private entities”. Hochul’s office emphasizes the skill-building potential of the program, calling it a, “public-private partnership that would enable hybrid work-release programs within prisons.”

“These partnerships, which would be voluntary and pay a competitive wage, would provide critical private sector job skills to incarcerated individuals,” Hochul’s office said in an online press release.

But incarcerated people and advocates are skeptical of all parts of that statement. Vidal Guzman,  who served four years between the Greene and Riverview Correctional Facilities in New York, said that he was, “coerced and forced in labor and vocation,” during his time in prison. Guzman worked as both a mason and a porter there, even though he repeatedly expressed his interest in vocational training in computer technology. He said  that when he told a Correctional Officer that he would prefer computer work to masonry training, the officer threatened him with solitary confinement.

“I survived legal slavery,” said Guzman, saying that the work one does in prison isn’t voluntary.

The exact value of imprisoned people’s labor, their wages, will be proposed before the April 1 deadline to set the state’s budget this year. If approved, the state legislature would have to greenlight the same amendment in the budget a second time next year. Then, New York State voters would have the final say on the constitutional amendment to allow private companies to contract labor in prisons.

At the rally, Avory referenced New York’s long history of protest and organizing for fair wages and working conditions, invoking the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire and women’s history month to frame private prison labor as a return to a dark chapter of the state’s history.

“We cannot let companies treat prisons like sweatshops,” said Avory. “It is ridiculous that the most progressive state in our nation, with a woman at the helm, would take such a huge step backwards.”

The post Formerly Incarcerated People Call Hochul’s Private Prison Labor Proposal “Legal Slavery” appeared first on Pavement Pieces.

Ghosting isn’t just a method that bad boyfriends use to break up–it’s also the most common tactic used by landlords to discriminate against people using housing vouchers.

“There are issues where [brokers] will just not show up for meetings if they see that the applicant has vouchers,” said Fannie Lou Diane.

Fannie Lou, named for the civil rights activist of the same moniker, is a housing advocate, a master’s degree holder, and is unhoused herself. She has been ghosted, asked to undergo credit checks, and forced to live in hazardous conditions, all because some landlords won’t accept housing vouchers. Every one of these tactics is a violation of her human rights.

Vouchers, like Section 8 and HASA, are rent subsidies provided by the government to help people pay rent consistently and on time. Eighty-five thousand people  in New York City use Section 8 alone, but getting ahold of a voucher, which can be incredibly difficult, isn’t the biggest problem.

Even though its been illegal in NYC since 2008, and illegal statewide since 2019, discrimination against voucher holders is the most common type of housing discrimination in the city. Attorney Katherine Carroll of the New York City Human Rights Commission said this is a violation of human rights. 

“It continues to be an area of discrimination where people are remarkably comfortable with putting illegal statements in writing,” she said. “I have evidence in text messages where a landlord or broker has just straight up said we don’t take vouchers.”

And it’s not just these obvious tactics. Some landlords require that a tenant make 40 times the rent to live in an apartment, but if a person qualifies for housing vouchers, they likely don’t exceed that threshold, leaving them out of luck.

At a City Hall press conference in early February, one voucher holder, Lavonne Witherspoon, detailed the harassment and unsafe conditions she faced in her most recent apartment. There, she said she faced 26 open safety violations.

“We had mice, everything that could go wrong in the apartment actually went wrong,” she said. “For some reason, when they see that you’re a voucher holder, they take advantage of that and they treat you like a piece of crap.”

The post Ghosting Landlords discriminate against renters who use housing vouchers appeared first on Pavement Pieces.

“A couple of industries were the heroes of the pandemic,” said Ian Gonzalez, an organizer for Los Deliveristas Unidos. “Healthcare workers, teachers, and one group that has been the least celebrated, the delivery workers.”

Three times each week, Gonzalez and Los Deliveristas have been hosting ‘coffee breaks’ around NYC to educate delivery workers on a new slate of delivery workers rights that went into effect on January 24. Those rights include: the right to use restaurant bathrooms, a mandate for food delivery apps to tell workers their total pay and tips daily, and transparency about how much tip a worker makes per delivery.

“Rights don’t mean anything if people don’t know about them,” said Gonzalez.

here we are ready to serve New Yorkers in a snow storm please be generous because in climates like today our bikes are damaged Thank you God bless New York 🥶 #losdeliveristasunidos pic.twitter.com/wxrJjBopPf

— gustavo ajche (@AjcheGustavo) January 29, 2022

They set up a table outside of McDonalds on 71st Street and Broadway, a popular rest area for delivery workers, 64% of whom work six or more days a week. There, they handed out steaming coffee and donuts to passersby, also giving  out informational fliers about the rights. Just one week into the rollout of protections, some restaurants are already violating delivery workers’ right to use the bathroom when picking up an order.

Adan Perez, a worker for Doordash, livestreams in Spanish about the delivery workers’ rights that went into effect on January 24, 2022. Photo by Annie Iezzi

“The restaurants don’t allow us to use the bathroom,” said Doordash driver Adán Peréz in Spanish, pulling out his phone to display photos of two restaurants where this happened last week. 

“When I told them that now they have to give delivery workers bathroom access, they just said to me, ‘We didn’t know!’. If a person can’t use the bathroom in their place of work, what are they supposed to do?,” he asked.

This is why Los Deliveristas are hosting the coffee breaks: to let workers know what their rights are, and how to enforce them. The NYC department of Consumer and Worker Protection has posted a notice of the new rights on their website, accompanied by an email address where workers can send complaints about businesses not in compliance.

“The company [delivery apps] should be educating restaurants like we are the workers–they need to inform their partners of our rights,” said Manny Ramirez, a leader of Los Deliveristas.

He said that last year, his pregnant wife wasn’t allowed to use the bathroom in a restaurant she was delivering for. The pair deliver mostly in the Morningside Heights and Inwood areas, and while Ramirez is invested in educating his coworkers about the new bathroom law, as well as transparency about pay, he says the workers need to keep fighting.

Last year, Ramirez was in two bike accidents and was assaulted twice while delivering, despite his several years of experience working for Doordash and Relay. After one of these accidents, he said  that Doordash called him and asked what had become of the food he was to deliver. When he told them it was ruined, they charged him for it.

Hildalyn Colón Hernández, the Director of Policy and Strategic Partnerships for The Deliveristas, said that representatives from food delivery apps have been attending the coffee breaks, to help spread the word about delivery worker’s rights. And last fall, Campbell Millum, a spokesperson for Doordash, made the following statement to Bloomberg:

“We recognize the unique challenges facing delivery workers in New York City and share the goal of identifying policies that will help Dashers and workers like them. We will continue to work with all stakeholders, including the City Council, to identify ways to support all delivery workers in New York City without unintended consequences.” 

But many delivery workers face unintended consequences of their own.

“Everything comes from our pocket,” Ramirez said, flicking the educational flier he was holding for emphasis. “Companies only care about the food.”

Not to mention the cost of medical bills, damaged bikes, and the replacement of stolen bikes, which can be delivery workers’ only means of income. According to this Worker’s Justice Project survey, 54% of delivery worker respondents had a bike stolen, and 30% of them were also assaulted during the robbery.

“The next step is more security and safety in the streets,” said Ramirez. He suggested a law that would make it a felony to assault delivery workers, similar to one introduced in the New York State Senate to protect taxi cab drivers.

The road to even more delivery worker rights may be a bumpy one. In September of 2021, New York City became the first in the country to pass significant legislation protecting independent contractors who work in delivery. In addition to those that went into effect January 24, rights including weekly pay, route details before accepting a delivery, and eventually a minimum wage for delivery workers will roll out over the next year. This decision came after over a year of pressure from Los Deliveristas Unidos and its parent group, the Workers Justice Project. 

For now, Los Deliveristas Unidos is focusing on educating all delivery workers about their new rights as a matter of safety and solidarity. 

“Many guys don’t know the rules,” said Ramirez. “I need to inform them. We are our own protectors. It’s part of the job.”

The post A Fight for the New Rights of Delivery Workers: Los Deliveristas Unidos appeared first on Pavement Pieces.

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“I ran it twice,” said Melo. “The people push you. All the dancing, the groups, the music, that’s what motivates you. When you’re running and you’re in pain and tired and thinking of giving up, the people just lift you. They help you get through.”

Lifting people up is part of Melo’s daily work with Nick Ferraiolli and Christian Vargas, both named in bold on his sign. The three men work together at FDNY EMS Station 8, a Kips Bay location of Bellevue EMS. Melo seemed to cheer so hard that he lost his balance when they passed by, but marathon encouragement isn’t the only way he supports his coworkers. Melo has served for 31 years and mentored countless young folks in the FDNY.

“They are great guys. I want to come out and support them,” he said, smiling toothily.

Melo lives just around the corner from his 13th Street and 4th Ave cheering outpost, but he hails from Bogotá, Colombia. The marathon is a favorite slice of NYC culture for Melo, and whether or not his friends are running, he and his wife come out every year. 

“A couple of years it has been very cold,” Melo said, before a toddler in pigtails and a pink puffer wrapped her arms around his legs. “We still come,” he finished, “it’s the community.”

In fact, neighbors surrounded Melo, often roping him into their cheers and throwing their arms around his neck. He joined in chanting “Ben!” over and over for a friend of a friend, and his sign swayed in the bright sky as he turned to watch the runner pass. The community aspect of the NYC marathon is what brings Melo back year after year, to stand out in the sun or bluster.

 “Go New York, Go New York, Go New York, Go!” he shouted, cheering on the whole city.

“We don’t do it for the elite people,” Melo said, looking at his wife. “We like the fact that there are people with struggles in their lives, and they triumph in this. They achieve this.”

Whether they are battling hunger or cancer, says Melo, trouble at work or with the family, folks come out to the marathon to do something. To run the marathon, he implies, is to be good at it, and that is the magic of the day.

Melo chuckled, “They’re doing it; it’s great,” he said. “They’re doing it for whatever cause they can.”

The post A Spectating Paramedic in Park Slope appeared first on Pavement Pieces.

Ahead of NYC’s first official Indigenous Peoples’ Day, REDRUM, an Indigenous motorcycle club, hosted the group’s commemorative cruise. Cliff Matias, the founder and international president of the club, made it clear that REDRUM’s purpose was to honor Indigenous heritage, not necessarily celebrate the new holiday.

“The holiday is null and void,” he said, noting that in schools it will be called Italian Heritage/Indigenous Peoples’ Day. “If you’re still honoring Italian Heritage Day, you’re still honoring Columbus. And you can’t discover a place that millions of people already live on.”

Matias, who is a member of the Taino and Kechua tribes, explained that the club’s name is not a reference to the Kubrick film “The Shining.”  REDRUM began as two separate words, Red Drum, which constitute a call to follow the Red Road.

 “The Red Road is living a traditional life and caring for community,” Matias said. “It’s living in ceremony and being compassionate and understanding to your fellow man.”

Cliff Matias, founder and international president of Indigenous motorcycle club REDRUM, cruises in front of the Indigenous Peoples Day Ride. Photo by Annie Iezzi

 Brotherhood is a central component of REDRUM, with chapters in 25 states and eight countries. Motorcyclists from Maryland, Pennsylvania, Jersey, Delaware and beyond turned up for today’s ride, representing myriad tribes and coalitions.

 Some of the club’s members are not Indigenous, but they rode in solidarity today. Other groups, like the Buffalo Soldiers, an African American motorcycle club, turned out in support, as did several deaf and sign-language chapters of REDRUM. The club’s diverse community was one of its main draws for longtime member Joe Campbell.

 “I was asked to join Zero to 60. I was asked to join Buffalo Soldiers, which are two very good clubs,” he said, “but I didn’t want an all-one-thing club. Here, we have Native Americans, Hispanic, Taino, all kinds of people.”

Joe Campbell and Ace Asevedo, both longtime members of REDRUM, parked in front of the Charging Bull on Broadway to direct riders toward the Indigenous Peoples Day Ride. Photo by Annie Iezzi

 Campbell has been riding with REDRUM for over a decade since a few of its members helped him when his bike broke down on the side of the road. 

 “I’m the only one that wears this,” he said, pointing to a burgundy patch that read MAROON. “When the slaves were brought over, some of them escaped, and the Native American tribes took them in.” 

Spanish colonizers referred to escaped enslaved people as “cimarron,” which means runaway, and the shortened word “maroon” became slang for Afro-Indigenous people.

 Consistent with Campbell’s emphasis on community, the Indigenous Peoples’ Day Ride was a benefit for Native American scholarships. The money raised by REDRUM, $20 per bike, will be combined with tribal funds and profits from a national run to benefit an Indigenous student at Columbia University.

 Mutual aid is a core tenet of REDRUM, which hosts rides and fundraisers, as well as benefits for the needs of individuals. Shana Gould of the New Jersey Nanicoke Lenni Lenape Tribe explained that this community engagement is how she first encountered the motorcycle club.

 “REDRUM came to our tribal grounds, and they donated a wheelchair to one of our tribal youths,” she said. “It was just such a great feeling for the warmth, the caring, the giving, it wasn’t something we were used to knowing in a motorcycle club.”

 Matias arrived on a crimson motorcycle bearing the club’s insignia, and skull wearing a traditional feathered headdress glared out next to the headlight. One of the patches on his leather jacket read 131/2, to represent one judge, twelve jurors, and the half-a-chance Indigenous riders have when persecuted in court.

A member of REDRUM, smudges the group’s riders before they mount their motorcycles. Photo by Annie Iezz

 Accompanied by a sign language interpreter, Matias thanked the cyclists for gathering. He announced that all riders should be smudged before embarking–an Indigenous practice of purification through symbolic smoke­–for protection and clarity. Then he laid out the path: the motorcyclists would ride from the museum, up Manhattan’s Upper East Side, and across to Randall’s Island where the seventh annual Indigenous Peoples’ Day Festival is underway.

 “We’re going to ride safe, it’s a short ride,” he said. “We’ll do a circle around the grounds there, and then we’ll hang out. Many blessings to everyone.”

The post Honoring Indigenous Peoples’ Day via Motorcycles appeared first on Pavement Pieces.

Today, disbarred human rights and environmental lawyer Steven Donziger was sentenced to six months in prison for criminal contempt. He has refused to turn over his laptop since 2014, when a federal judge ordered that measure in a racketeering case brought against Donziger by the corporation Chevron. Judge Preska, who presided over today’s sentencing, made it clear that Donziger’s previous efforts to hold Chevron accountable for polluting were irrelevant to his current predicament.

 “This case is wholly unconnected with responsibility Chevron may have regarding the oil spill in the Amazon rainforest…this case is about rule of law. All are equal under the law,” Preska said from the bench.

BREAKING: Flouting the U.N. decision ordering my release, Judge Preska sentenced me to 6 months in prison. Still on house arrest until the appeals court rules on my motion for release pending appeal. Picture is from rally this morning.

More details shortly. Stay strong. pic.twitter.com/ufXVhTTWJA

— Steven Donziger (@SDonziger) October 1, 2021

 Outside, the protesters were united in support of Donziger, who has waged a three-decade-long legal battle against Chevron for polluting Ecuador’s Amazon rainforest and killing potentially thousands of mostly indigenous Ecuadorian people.

“En pueblo, unido, jamás será vencido!” chanted the crowd. The rallying cry translates to “The people, united, will never be defeated,” and is an international symbol of the New Song Movement in South America.

Protesters gather outside the District Court in Southern Manhattan to support Steven Donziger. He was charged with criminal contempt after a lengthy legal battle with Chevron, regarding that company’s pollution of the Ecuadorian Amazon. Photo by Annie Iezzi

 Internationally, labor leaders, public interest attorneys, and civil rights leaders worry about the precedent set by the jailing of a human rights lawyer following his crusade against a multinational corporation.

 “It’s a kangaroo court,” said lifelong union organizer Ray Rogers. He pioneered the Corporate Campaign strategy, and he plans to employ this tactic against Chevron, as he has in his Killer Coke campaign against the Coca Cola company.

 “Right now, Chevron doesn’t want to clean up a mess they’ve created,” Rogers said “In a labor union case, the company doesn’t want to share power. Both things cost companies money, and companies don’t want that.”

 This view was only heightened by the U.N.’s Human Rights Council subgroup, the Working Group on Arbitrary Detentions, decision on September 24, which categorizes Donziger’s “deprivation of liberty” as “arbitrary.” Furthermore, Donziger has long claimed that the federal judge who found him to be in contempt, Judge Lewis Kaplan, enjoys secret investments in Chevron, which would have required that he recuse himself from the case.

 Abuses of power were on the minds of many protesters, including one wearing a sparkly cape covered in pins. 

“I’m mad that all this time grownups in power haven’t used their power to help Steven Donziger,” said 11-year-old climate activist Avery Tsai into a bullhorn.

 Donziger attempted to hold Chevron accountable for the abuses of the company it purchased, Texaco, an American oil brand. Though Chevron is an American multinational company, the case was transferred to the judiciary of Ecuador prior to 2011.

According to Ecuadorian court findings, for three decades Chevron dumped billions of gallons of oil and refuse onto Indigenous ancestral lands in Ecuador to conserve costs. In 2011, the same court ordered that Chevron pay $19 billion to remediate damages, a penalty that was lowered to $9.4 billion on appeal and then dismissed in light of Donziger’s racketeering charge.

Victor Salazar, an Ecuadorian immigrant and member of the New York Taxi Workers Alliance, joins the protest in support of Steven Donziger. Photo by Annie Iezzi

 “I used to live there,” said Ecuadorian immigrant and member of the New York Taxi Workers Alliance, Victor Salazar. “I was a child, so I didn’t realize the intensity of the situation until much later in life, but I saw my cousins’ pets: the dogs would come in with oil on their paws, and the water was so polluted.”

 Waving an NYTWA flag, Salazar stressed the importance of unity. 

“It’s about unity, and that’s why I’m here. If our struggles are united, we fight, and we don’t give up, we will make a difference in this world,” he said.

 As for Donziger, today’s sentencing was a defeat on multiple levels. He will spend the next six months in prison, he will remain disbarred, and he will not see Chevron pay its dues to the people of Ecuador.

 “I respect the law,” he said in response to Judge Preska’s implication that he did not. “I have been fighting through the law for the people of Ecuador for years.”

 Donziger is still on the hook for attorneys’ fees totaling $3.4 million, payable to Chevron.

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