I was driving to a vegetarian diner in Berkeley the other day when I saw two protesters standing by themselves in the street’s median. The man held up a sign saying “Occupy the Media,” with a crude drawing of an old-fashioned TV. I laughed out loud, thinking that standing with a friend in the middle of a random street holding up a piece of poster board must be one of the most ineffective ways of occupying the media. I thought that what he really should be doing is tracking down local news reporters and running in to grab their microphones, or at least consistently standing in the background of the shots. If he really wants to occupy the media, he should become an extra. My second cousin’s step-cousin does that for a living and he’s occupied most TV shows and movies you would think of.

Despite my declared cynicism, I’ve been spending the past two weeks doggedly trying to convince a skeptical friend of the value of the Occupy Wall Street movement. He says that expression of dissatisfaction without proposed solutions is either useless or dangerous, but I say that in a society where so much power has been stolen, sharing anger is one of the few powerful tools many people have left. And that it shows politicians that corporate lobbyists and fake libertarians aren’t the only people paying attention to how policies affect people. And that I find the pure act of people who feel ignored endeavoring to make their voices heard so encouraging for our democracy and the pursuit of progress.

I tell my friend that in my occupation as a teacher, I am semi-obsessed with teaching my students that their thoughtfully-used voices matter. This is a challenge with middle schoolers, as very few people seem interested in listening to them, but I’m working on it.

In the classroom, I am the power that sometimes needs to be protested or redirected. If my students have a problem with something (they think we’re moving too slowly, or they want to learn about something I’m not covering, or they think the grading policy is unfair) I want to know, and I’ll consider their concerns. I don’t expect them to propose solutions, because I am a trained educator and they are not - figuring out how to better structure the class is my job. But I want to know about dissatisfaction, so that I can continue improving my classes and my teaching. (Sometimes I’ll alter my practice. Sometimes I’ll tell them to suck it up. But it’s always useful for me to consider.) I also believe that if the students feel like they have some stake in how the class is built, they will be better contributors to that class.

It doesn’t concern me that protesters aren’t telling the policy-makers precisely how to change tax code. Most of the protesters aren’t economists, and designing solutions isn’t their job. Their job, as engaged citizens of our democracy, is to call out “THIS IS WRONG” and “HEY, WE’RE NOT WAVING BUT DROWNING OVER HERE” and “HERE IS THE WOUND YOU GAVE US, AND KEEP INFECTING. WHAT CAN YOU DO TO HELP US HEAL?” and “WE OCCUPY SPACE JUST LIKE THOSE OTHER HUMAN BEINGS YOU CARE SO MUCH ABOUT.”

My friend brings up the rise of fascism in early twentieth century Europe, which I haven’t studied, so I decide to take a break from the intellectualizing. I stop by Occupy Oakland with potatoes and biodegradable dish soap. The park is officially called Frank Ogawa Plaza, but the occupiers have renamed it after Oscar Grant. I see a woman announcing a workshop about Spain into a megaphone. I see a couple of drunk guys standing on the corner. I see young and old people cooking and making signs. I see a project to present a people’s history of the city, and I see disturbing posters laying out a bunch of different ways that no means no taped around the tents. I see inspiring messages and mixed messages and messages that seem misguided to me and a screen-print telling us to “hella occupy.” It looks a lot like Oakland, concentrated into tents, choosing to be visible.

In the library tent, a blonde woman in high-waisted jeans and a nose ring tells us which zines and fliers are worth reading. She looks disappointed in one pamphlet, explaining, “It’s too wordy, you know? I hate that wordy shit.” She pauses. “But it’s still good. All of this is good.”