Atlanta's Odd Couple

I was befuddled to learn that Occupy Atlanta has recently enlisted the support of the Atlanta chapter of the Nation of Islam. This would be alright by me if the sentiments of their leader weren't so hateful and insane, and didn't reflect the very spiritual core of this sect. I can still barely wrap my head around the idea of activists seeking help from people who hate them because of their predominant race, or ethnic group, or whatever.

Perhaps their goal is to scare the Atlanta Police out of Woodruff Park on Saturday night. The Nation of Islam, after all, doesn't care for the police, and, from my personal experience, has mastered the art of intimidation.

When I was either 14 or 15, I spent a day wandering around the city, taking pictures of anything I thought sufficiently interesting. I was a grossly naive glutton for urban scenery, and my parents had lent me their camera for the day. After walking a considerable distance, I paused for a bit beside a stout, grey building to review my photos. Not fifteen seconds later, two men, one middle-aged and one in his thirties, rushed out and began bellowing at me, demanding to know who sent me, and why I was spying on them. Frozen and wide-eyed, I assured them that I was most definitely not a spy, and that I hadn't even taken a photo of them or their building. They sent me away with a harsh but vague threat, and I slipped away from the scene as quickly as I could, while still being able to make out the Nation of Islam banner on the building's side.

Despite this, and Occupy Atlanta's romance with my least-favorite homeless shelter in town, I desperately want to believe in the movement's ability to grant legitimacy, through numbers and assertiveness, to our nation's fatigue of megabank practices. I will therefore, most likely, be jumping a bit late into their protest outside the Wells Fargo building at Atlantic Station. But I won't be helping them and the Nation of Islam try to take over the park. Not only do I not see a reason for that, I have a party to go to that night. (Take note, guys: drinking something makes interacting with rich girls way less awkward.)