Restless Brad Will, rest in peace

My friend Brad Will was shot and killed yesterday in Oaxaca, where he was working as an independent journalist, covering the popular movement there.

I'd known him for the better part of a decade. I first met him at the Chico Mendez Mural Garden back in 1997, whose bulldozing catalyzed the movement to save New York City's community gardens from development. From that point on, I ran into him continually; we were part of a community of creative protest. I saw Brad at Reclaim the Streets actions and Critical Mass rides in New York; at the WTO demonstrations in Seattle; while dodging tear-gas canisters during the FTAA protests in Quebec City; in jail, after various direct actions to save the gardens.

For me, the classic Brad Will encounter came in 1998, when I was in Oregon doing research on Earth First! for a book I never ended up completing. After working my connections, I was able to visit a backwoods EF! treesit. Even though I was vouched for, I was still greeted warily after hiking miles through the woods to reach the encampment. I was sitting around making awkward activist small-talk, when all of a sudden and to my great surprise, Brad came rappeling down from several hundred feet up. "Leslie!" he cried. "I didn't know you were in Oregon!" and came over and gave me a big hug.

Since my twins were born two-and-a-half years ago, I barely saw him -- I haven't much been in a go-to-meetings-and-actions sort of mode. I'm completely devastated by his death, haunted by the look in his eyes in the news photos that have been published all over the internet.

He was one of the sweetest and most restless people I've ever known. I learned of his death while riding in a car from Brooklyn with my kids last night. I wept, and tried to explain to them that I was sad because something very bad had happened to a good friend of mine. Usually, when they go to sleep, they snuggle with Andrew -- he's always been the Sleep Guy around here. But after we got home last night, Desmond climbed up and fell asleep lying on my chest, while Nini curled up beside me, reaching out to hold me as she drifted off to sleep.

It was so comforting, so sweet -- they so clearly sensed my sadness and wanted to comfort their mommy. It led me to think, too, about the trade-offs that Brad made in his life, and I made in mine. Lying there in the dark, with two warm little critters surrounding me, I kept returning to Brad's rootlessness -- the quality in him that allowed him to go from one political hotspot to the next, immersing himself in struggles for justice everywhere from Prague to La Paz to Oaxaca. I found myself thinking about all the things I've chosen not to do in the time since I became pregnant. I thought about the great courage of the path he chose, but also wondered if he ever longed for a home, for the sense of permanency and stability it brings. But Brad, of course, made friends and community everywhere he went - he may not have had a steady home, but he had quite an extended family.

I'm going to miss you, Brad -- I hope you've found peace, wherever you are now.

• My friend Jason Grote has posted a number of reminscences of Brad on his blog.
• The comments in response to this NYC Indymedia news item -- posted from all over the world -- give a sense of how many lives Brad touched.
  
• One way to honor Brad's memory is to donate to this grassroots Oaxaca solidarity project.