Monica Yant Kinney: Those chiding aren't listening

One week into Occupy Philadelphia, residents of the spirited tent city surrounding City Hall still have no clue who's in charge, what they want, or what it would take to get them to pack up and go home. And they seem to like it that way.

I am not being flip. The daily schedule displayed at the encampment advertised a 5 p.m. Thursday session called "Identifying our message: A group discussion."

Protest virgins could master self-loathing at "Anti-racisim and white privilege for new activitsts." Women wanting to keep up appearances might pop into "Natural Beauty Care with Megan."

Scheduled for Saturday? I kid you not: "Intro to Improv Comedy."

What any of the workshops had to do with do with bemoaning Wall Street greed, chronic unemployment, overpriced health care, and environmental degredation, I can't say. All I know from dropping by the demonstration most days is that I've seen more people and deeper resolve with each visit.

Yes, the encampment has purple-haired anarchists and close-talking conspiracy theorists straight out of central casting. But they're joined by Sarah Craven, a Drexel nursing student, who survived two tours of duty in Iraq as an Army medic.

"When people in middle America hear that it is 'un-American' from Fox News and even their elected officials, and see some kids in a picture holding a defaced American flag, the message is lost," Craven, 28, told me midweek.

"Middle America needs to be here the most, and has the most to lose," she added. "The tea party should be leading the group, bringing the left and right together . . . considering they're named for the most celebrated act of civil disobedience in our history."

Occupy Doylestown? They were kidding, right? What's to gripe about in the affluent, aspirational, 1-percenter haven in Bucks County?

This was worth a drive.

As protests go, Doylestown's was more visitation than occupation, given that the 150 suburbanites unleashed only two hours worth of anger before dashing for dinner. But anyone chiding the crowd as bored bobos wasn't listening.

Madeline Rawley, a 70-something grandma passionate about voting rights, looked elegant in a silk scarf and tailored trench wicking the rain at her perch at State and Main.

"I've heard these protests only attract ragtag retread hippies and young people with nothing better to do," the Doylestown resident explained. "This is my husband. He was corporate. We're middle class."

Bob Rawley nodded, saying he is 78 and spent 35 years at IBM.

"I don't normally do things like this, but I wanted to be counted," he said. "Our democracy is becoming a plutocracy. I don't mind people making money. I just don't like the poor being cast aside."

On the porch outside Starbucks, pin-striped lawyer Steve Kitty insisted he was just an observer, despite bullhorn-ready notions about hiking taxes on the wealthy.

"We're in this country together," Kitty argued. "We should share responsibility for paying for it."

Occupy Doylestown was intended to be a rush-hour event, but the Philly movement remains proudly open-ended, even though organizers knew their chosen spot on Dilworth Plaza was slated for renovation. Construction crews will begin work in a matter of weeks, setting up a potential forced relocation or defiant confrontation.

Mayor Nutter empathizes with the cause that has already cost $400,000 - money the cash-strapped, budget-slashing city didn't have to spare due to months of weaker-than-expected revenue.

If the price of grieving publicly stretches into the millions, how will the occupiers feel knowing real 99-percenters are paying with layoffs, library closures, or more fire station brownouts? "The Moral Implications of Protest" isn't exactly sexy, but it sounds like a ripe topic for another workshop.