Twenty to thirty police officers descended on a peaceful vigil to Tortuguita, where protesters lawfully occupied a public park.

The first day of the sixth week of action to Defend the Atlanta Forest opened with a lowkey park party. Trying to shake the sense that Stop Cop City is a fringe movement, event organizers hired a bouncy castle and arranged for cotton candy and popcorn machines. Several contingents of activists brought along t-shirts to string up in the trees (free with a donation to the Atlanta Solidarity Fund). On park bulletin boards, anarchist zines subtitled “You are entitled to fight for the life, planet, and universe of your dreams” competed for space with signs for “Missing Cat: Skittles.” Every so often, an organizer with a bullhorn would communicate logistics. “Bathrooms are closing in 30 minutes, and Cop City will never be built!” “Cop City will never be built!” answered the crowd, before turning back to teach-ins, free plant distribution, and the community picnic. Everyone joining the festivities was forced to walk past the Atlanta PD cop cars lurking down every side street. 

Whereas previous weeks of action took place in what activists have dubbed the Weelaunee People’s Park, now clearcutting and heavy police presence have forced the festivities – or at least, the family friendly component – elsewhere. The locus of organizing is now Brownwood Park, where activists have strung up banners and laid cardboard signs at the feet of trees. Highlights included “Forest Defenders Are Not Domestic Terrorists!”

At a panel later in the day, activists advised caution, a signifier of the intense repression the movement has contended with. Bond conditions have sidelined dozens of activists, and domestic terrorism charges carrying a mandatory minimum of five years in prison are enough to give any seasoned activist pause. A panelist cautioned the activists against martyrdom. “The state leaves us behind in so many ways,” she said. “We have to take care of ourselves somewhere in there too.” After a police assault on a protest, she’d been injured. Unable to walk, she became suicidal, feeling that she should be out on the frontlines. The panel emphasized the need for community care, for caution. 

The activists brought community care in spades. By the time I arrived, the activists had already set up a community kitchen, laid out an extensive picnic, and set up a check-in tent for those camping. Activists began to erect tents in the narrow stretch of woods between neighborhoods. Activists scrambled over downed logs and dense ivy to find square patches large enough for a tent down by the creek, outside the glare of overhead street lights. 

But at around 8:30 pm, the situation began to take a turn for the worse. Posted on the public schedule was a vigil for Tortuguita, the activist brutally shot 57 times by police. Twenty to thirty police officers converged on the park, many in bulletproof vests, most or all armed. At the south end of Brownwood Park, activists were putting the final touches on an altar to Tortuguita. After police destroyed a previous altar to Tortuguita, this one was meant to be mobile, able to be dragged by people. (Or donkeys, one activist commented. “The vegans might be upset about that though.”) This structure was designed to hold up against police raids, able to be disassembled with only a few screws pulled out.  The altar featured sparkling lights strung over photographs of Tortuguita, alongside a quote attributed to them: “Profound grief can coexist with totally transcendent bliss.” Tort’s mother Belkis Teran was scheduled to speak. As activists at the south end of the park began the vigil, an activist came running down the trail. “Cops at the north side!” 

The activists swarmed to the north side of the park, following the police incursion. The activists held a solemn procession surrounding the cops, slowly clapping in unison. Every so often an officer would yell “Park closes at 11!” Police termed the incursion a “friendly warning.” The time? 8:39pm, over two hours before the park was scheduled to close. 

Eventually, activists began chanting. “Viva, viva, Tortuguita!,” “If you build it, we will burn it!,” and, directed at individual officers, “Quit your job!” The cops fanned out into the park, each cluster of cops tailed by five to ten activists. If the police were expecting fear and deference, activists met them with courage and the strength of the facts. The activists were legally in the park, and would be until 11pm. Eventually, the cops had no choice but to leave the park. Their walking procession was flanked by still more police cars as police walked out of the park. 

A neighbor, roused by the disturbance, came out on the street to talk to activists. “I’ll be signing the petition,” he said, referring to the initiative organized by the more system-minded activists to put the decision of whether to build Cop City up to the voters. 

With the cops out of the park, the activists returned to the vigil. The altar was radiant in the falling sun, the crowd illuminated by twinkle nights on the altar and candlelight. Tortuguita’s mother, Belkis Teran, led the crowd in a meditation. Apologizing for not knowing the words in English, she led the crowd in a protest song in Spanish. Ending her remarks, she said, “Some of you are scared. Some of you may go to jail. But still here we are.”

While Belkis spoke and night fell, an increased number of cop cars began circling the park, lights flashing, directly behind the vigil. A helicopter circled overhead, though what good helicopter surveillance accomplishes in a dark park is beyond me. The moment the vigil ended, an activist stood up. “We’re going to have a conversation about what happens next.” Backlit by cop car lights, the activist laid out the options: decamp elsewhere, or hold their ground. In a manner of minutes, a consensus was reached: shift elsewhere. In pairs and trios, activists disappeared into the woods to pack up tents. The kitchen and handwashing stations were collapsed in a matter of minutes; protest signs were folded and put into cars. By 10:40, the only people in the park were a pair of legal observers, an activist chasing out stragglers, and members of the media. 

With so many people forced out of the movement by bond conditions or fear, an ethos of community caution has been forced to the center stage. Police have displayed a willingness to act with impunity, assassinating an activist sleeping in the public part of the Weelaunee Forest during the day. Dozens of activists have been charged with domestic terrorism. And there’s the consideration that the movement is growing. Some of the activists camped out in the forest have never participated in direct action before; some were staying for the weekend before returning to their day jobs on Monday. Chased first out of Weelaunee Forest and then out of Brownwood Park, the activists vanished, heading deeper into the woods and out of cops’ grasp.