Everyone agreed, sometime late in September of 2001, that the whole world changed. Artists, advertisers, archeologists, Anabaptists and especially activists and anarchists were forever altered. Pundits pointed to the death of the global justice movement. Burned by it's own molotov cocktails and the twisted metal at the foot of Manhattan. And to seal that fate one of the movements targets, the World Economic Forum, was going to shroud itself in the city's misery, a consoling good friend juxtapose against the rioting demonstrators. You can't have demonstrators without demons, they argued. But they were wrong. Wrong about it all.

It was a sunshine day still cold and thick with anxiety over what may or may not transpire. Thirty thousand police, riot gear, gas masks, horses and helicopters. An over-reaction? Organizers and demonstrations were calling for peace and civility on both sides of the blue line. However, big and small media had a different idea, screaming about violence, anarchy and damage from past mass actions. In preparation for the World Economic Forum, the media and police focused like a laser beam on any negative nugget that would make good eye candy. Violent eye candy. Something for the public to choke on.

Then came the main day of action, February 2nd, the day that was ours. Bright, beautiful and positive. Huge puppets and performances. A roaming street party, complete with Samba bands and tango dancers. A counter to the corporate cocktail party taking place within the Waldorf. A message to the world corporate and political leaders. Their collusion at our expense would not be ignored. Their bold attempts to further separate themselves from the worlds poor will not go uncontested.

There were seven thousand of us on the street. Walking a winding path from the GAP's flagship store (hawking products made through exploited labor) to one of Manhattans largest McDonalds (planet rapists and one of the greatest symbols of mono-culture) to the Citicorp tower (financiers of the planets most egregious offenders.) Finally ending up a couple blocks south of the Waldorf Astoria itself.

For the first time in months, I felt alive on the street. We were not just fighting the oppressor, we were celebrating our selves, our resistance and our community. We were singing, dancing, and chanting our defiance and hope for a better world. We were anarchists, progressives, radical rockets, culture jammers and more than anything concerned citizens of the global community.

Those of us on the street and many people viewing the filtered events through their television screens suddenly discovered that the movement was never dead, it wasn't even asleep. We are not a fad, nor a phase. We are a rising sea of change, one that will hold the GAPs, CitiGroups, and Enrons accountable for the global injustices. A broken system is doomed to fail. And we, on the street, are the harbingers of that change.