CHOP AND CHANGE:

Over the weekend, I went to see for myself what CHAZ was all about and sort out whether claims I'd seen online were truths, half-truths, or flat-out lies. (You can also check out a livestream with six angles showing parts of the space; it looks like any other mundane city street cam of people walking by, sometimes with cute dogs.) The first thing I learned: CHAZ is no longer the preferred nomenclature. Organizers are now asking that people call it the CHOP--the Capitol Hill Occupied Protest--and signs at the barricades welcome visitors to CHOP. While CHAZ's original claim to "autonomous zone" may have gotten attention, it's obvious to anyone in Seattle that the zone is not autonomous. People live there, and businesses are still operating. Residents still need to get in and out of the barricades and are allowed access; at a barricade on the eastern side, activists even painted some makeshift parking spaces for liquor store customers. Those businesses and residents--as well as CHOP occupants--still use electricity and water. And unlike any actual autonomous zone, people move freely in or out. While I was in CHOP, I saw at least one resident driving through a CHOP barricade to access an apartment building garage.

At those barricades, there were no armed guards, and no one asked me for ID. Right-wingers' claims of "infiltrating" the space seem needlessly dramatic; you can just walk right in. But if people recognize you and they're not fans of your work, there is a chance you'll be confronted by a crowd asking you to leave. (Tim Eyman, a local politician known for his anti-tax measures--and for stealing a $70 chair from Office Depot--was asked to leave last week.)

While there were no guards when I visited, there were people stationed at each barricade, handing out masks and directing cars through to provide supplies or access their homes. I also saw volunteers at one barricade radioing to the rest to ask whether any others needed supplies and to seek a mental health expert to help manage a man sitting on a corner throwing trash at passersby. Gaebriel, 21, who was greeting folks and directing traffic at the barricade near 10th and Pine streets, told me she'd seen the media reports of armed guards and thought they were unfortunate but inevitable with how quickly misinformation spreads on social media. "I just hope people come see for themselves," she said.

After all, there is no official word on CHOP or CHAZ. Though there are several prominent figures in the Seattle protest scene who are heavily involved with CHOP, there is no central leadership. And it's worth noting that the people don't always agree. For instance, some activists say that the CHAZ is hosting the CHOP, suggesting some are still thinking of this area as a permanent zone. Other activists have voiced hopes that the SPD will eventually turn the now-empty precinct building into a community center. There's also a range of protester demands. The most prominent one, now painted on the wood boarding up the precinct building, is to defund the SPD by 50 percent. But walking around the CHOP, I also saw a list of police reform demands taped to a tree, which included asks like mandating police to wear body cameras and developing new processes to handle misconduct claims. Someone had taken a Sharpie and crossed the whole thing out and wrote over it: "NO COPS! AT ALL."

People also had different reasons and motives for being in the CHOP. While some were clearly residents or heavily involved volunteers, others seemed to be cultural tourists and documentarians. 

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