Walking down First Avenue, there was a small demo of black people beginning (some guys were making signs) at about 43rd St on the west side of the street opposite the UN. Noted that it had to do with Cote d'Ivoire. Some women were singing a beautiful sad song. I had no time to linger, but took a two page handout offered to me. Lunch was fine. A pismo marguerita, the prix fixe lunch (i had salad and arroz con mariscos), coffee and tip came to $20. In NYC today that's a deal.
I read the handout as i walked uptown. It seemed to be on something like an official letterhead, an official press release that assumed considerable knowledge of the history of the recent events ("Accra 3" and other shorthand terms that meant nothing to me). Alls i knew was that there was a civil war, and that the French (the ex-colonial, and still dominating, power) had interposed themselves between the government and rebel forces. A French position had been attacked by a government plane, some French (and an American "aid worker" - what was this person doing at a French base in Cote d'Ivoire?) had died. The French thereupon wiped out the Ivoirian airforce, massive anti-French riots ensued and thousands of French fled the ex-colony. No French were killed in the riots, but some French press had been devoted to interesting sexual "atrocities" (see the Big Dick thread).
The handout set out the Ivoirian (President Gbagbo) government position. The heart of the matter according to the handout was that the massive French military response to the recent attack on a French position was an excessive use of force, and that the Ivoirian dispute was one that should be settled by the African nations and not by the UN, let alone the previous colonial power - France.
The demo was still underway at 43rd Street, and i had time to check it out. I was the only 'Murrikan (certainly the only white) stopped there as far as i could tell, other than the six bored uniformed cops. A young good looking and spirited woman was leading some chants, far less pleasing than the songs they had been singing before. I took off my shades and addressed a nice looking young man in a suit - i assumed him to be some sort of consular or diplomatic person, and given his nice careful English it was certain that was what he was. As it turned out the Security Council was at that moment meeting across the street over the Ivoirian question, and the demonstrators were pretty clearly the Ivoirian lesser officials in NYC plus family and friends offering what moral support they could to their leaders and friends invisible in the hostile Council chamber a few hundred yards away.
The convo reconstructed: we shake hands IV -the American people should know that the French have committed crimes in Ivory Coast, a small country in... JM- OK, OK - who is backing the rebels? IV -the French JM - not the CIA? IV -we don't think so JM - isn't the issue really the same as with the Equitorial Guinea events? IV -exactly... (both simultaneously) oil IV - in the gulf of Guinea, and the French want to control that just as they control the economy in my country JM - and the US has not supported them? IV - not yet, our people in Washington are talking with them and so far they have not taken sides JM - but isn't this why the US has invaded Iraq? how can you expect them to help you? IV - but the French opposed the US about Iraq JM - and so you hope to take advantage of a conflict between imperialisms? how can you rely on the US? IV - we are weak and have to try everything... we shake hands, much more warmly this time.
the cops all looked away quickly when i looked at them, i put my shades back on and walked back up to the crosstown bus (the intersection of 86th and First where grandma fell off the trolley in 1902, leading to a lawsuit in which our lawyer sold us out - or so i had heard in my childhood).
john mage