Last night, friends and I stayed at the Capitol till late. We’d gathered there to discuss the protest, and our conversation lasted till ten pm.
When it ended, I wandered around with Ron and Dave, taking pictures of the scenes around us. We couldn’t stay the night, but we wanted to see what it was like for those who did.
As I wandered through the hallways and rotunda amidst the crowds of students, teachers, families, and workers settling down for the night, I realized that the nighttime scene in the Capitol was the single most beautiful political thing I’d ever seen.
Our House
Madison’s Capitol is possibly the most picturesque in the country, inside and out. It’s a hundred years old and symmetrical, with four wings that splay out towards the lakes and the university on all four sides. Inside, everything is polished marble and granite. You walk through impressive corridors with high ceilings and huge pillars, all leading towards the rotunda at the center, with an awe-inspiring dome that’s maybe ten stories high.
Madisonians feel a strong ownership of this building—more so than in most other capital cities. Our Capitol is open to the public, and it’s right in the middle of town. People frequently walk through it on their way to go places, pausing to gaze at the enormous paintings and beautiful architecture before continuing on their way. In summer, the country’s largest farmer’s market takes place on the city block around the building. On summer Wednesdays, we literally blanket its lawns in the evening, spreading out picnics on blankets and camp chairs—often with wine or beer—for Concerts on the Square.
In winter, I walk through the building whenever I go to the library after work. I feel fortunate to live in a country where we can just walk right through our Capitol. This building is, as Wisconsinites proudly say, Our House.
The Capitol, Occupied
Now, in the dead of winter with a dire political situation at hand, Our House has taken on a whole new meaning.
People have been sleeping and staying in the Capitol day and night since the protest began last week. The building remains open as long as the listening session is still happening, which it is, 24/7, over a week after it began.
As long as protesters remain in the Capitol, it shows Governor Walker, the Senate, and the country that we won’t back down.
Right now, during the daytime, the first thing you notice on entering the building is all the people. It’s a mass of humanity. Badger red is the dominant color, with lots of Wisconsin hoodies and red jackets that people would normally wear to football games. People mill around the rotunda or, more frequently in daytime, stand and chant and dance to whatever protest song is being played. Above, the first and second balconies are also always packed, so that it feels like you’re in some kind of cheerful, Harry Potter-esque high court or Quiddich match.
The second thing you notice is the signs. They’re everywhere—taped to all the pillars and walls, always with blue painter’s tape, which has been distributed by protesters so as not to damage the beloved building. Normally the Capitol is stately and somber, full of polished whites and grays. The signs make it look chaotic and earthy and messy, giving the scene a sense of immediacy. Something is happening, and it’s happening right here and now, and it’s urgent.
Then you notice there are sleeping bags, pads, and backpacks lining all of the walls, along the sides of all the main rooms and the corridors. The entire building looks a bit like a slumber party. (A slumber protest?)
A Community of Resistance
Last night as we walked through at ten, the protesters began their nightly routine of quieting down for the night. I’d never been here this late, but everyone seemed to know the drill. The drumming, singing, dancing, and chanting stopped; the hundreds of remaining people moved off to nooks and crannies to hunker down. Some were already sleeping. I saw a sweep of blond hair falling out of a red sleeping bag and onto a pillow, its owner tucked away next to her male companion.
Night is the young people’s time. During the day, the protesters are all ages, and largely middle-aged. People bring their kids; retired people show up. But at night, although a few families and older folks remain, it’s mainly the students who have the flexibility and resilience to stick around all night and sleep on a marble floor. So now it was largely eighteen- and twenty-year-olds, plus a few twenty-something grad students, who were running things.
Different areas of the building had been designated for different activities. A movie projector was set up in the middle of the rotunda, and fifteen to twenty young people sat thoughtfully on the floor beneath the beautiful dome, watching a movie play quietly on a cloth screen.
We tiptoed through a hall with signs proclaiming, “Quiet Study Area,” with a dozen students diligently cramming.
We arrived at the TAA (Teaching Assistants’ Association) headquarters, where activity seems to continue at all hours. One of the unions involved in organizing the protest, the TAA has set up a room to meet, strategize, etc. for the duration. At the door, a young woman was keeping a list of participants’ names. She stood next to a coat rack and across from a table lined with food and cases of bottled water, which have all been donated from far and wide, including from many other states and countries.
There are cleanup crews organized to pick up any litter and periodically mop the floors. The other day, a friend of mine was helping a custodian pick up signs that had been strewn about, and he apologized to her—“I’m sorry! This is a lot to pick up!”
In broken English, the custodian replied, “But—you make my life easier!” As they talked, my friend realized that even this custodian, with her limited English, approved of the protest and was grateful to the protesters.
I heard that the most recent addition to the occupation of the Capitol is a daycare center in one wing.
Beautiful Democracy
I’d heard of “occupations” before, heard phrases like “peaceful protest” and “organized nonviolent resistance.” But witnessing it firsthand, I couldn’t help feeling awed and reverent. It was relaxed and serious. It was weary and determined. It was surreal, exciting, refreshing, yet rooted in history.
In a way, it was very simple: people sleeping, eating, studying, talking. People doing things people do, but doing them in Our House, now so full of humanity. I thought: This protest is democracy at its very finest.
