"Radicalized" in Phila.

Gwen Shaffer

is a freelance writer living in Irvine, Calif., who covered the 2000 GOP convention for the Philadelphia City Paper

On Aug. 1, 2000, Philadelphia police arrested about 470 activists who hoped to use the Republican National Convention - and the media it attracted - as an opportunity to speak out on such issues as the death penalty, homelessness, and corporate globalization. Instead of marching in the streets, however, they spent up to two weeks behind bars.

Many demonstrators, especially those in their late teens or early 20s, were new to activism, and the blatant civil rights violations that summer had a profound effect on their view of the world and the city's criminal-justice system. It was a "transformative moment."

The bulk of the arrests occurred on the second day of the convention, when several thousand activists blocked off six Center City intersections during rush hour. Police rounded up alleged "ringleaders" carrying cell phones, while Philadelphia District Attorney Lynne Abraham charged them with possessing "an instrument of crime." Earlier that day, police raided a West Philadelphia warehouse and arrested 75 people putting the finishing touches on papier-mache puppets meant for street demonstrations. The Department of Licenses and Inspections destroyed the props after police hauled the "puppetistas" off to the Roundhouse.

By setting bails at unprecedented levels up to $1 million, Abraham guaranteed the activists remained off the streets until after the Republicans had dropped the last of their balloons from the First Union Center rafters. Acts of civil disobedience typically result in the equivalent of a traffic ticket. Ultimately, in 97 percent of the cases, the courts either dismissed the charges or acquitted defendants.

Many RNC demonstrators now say that the overzealous crackdown "radicalized" them. They recall being shocked to learn that state troopers had infiltrated their meetings and that city police relied on false intelligence - including a report that they manufactured sarin gas at the puppet warehouse. The abuse continued when activists filed a class-action suit over the arrests. Attorneys for the city were demanding personal address books, tax records, and computer hard drives. Rather than comply with these unreasonable demands, the demonstrators settled.

Danielle Redden was 22 when she was arrested and spent 10 days behind bars. She went on to provide volunteer legal support for large-scale demonstrations across the country but said she had trouble shaking feelings of paranoia.

"It became almost impossible to organize a mass action without wondering if we were being watched or recorded," recalled Redden, now a graduate student at the University of Pennsylvania's Fels Institute of Government. "I'd have to remind myself there is nothing criminal about political activism."

Kate Sorensen describes the convention as a "pivotal moment" in her life. "That's when I realized you can't exercise freedom of speech without the possibility of being harmed," she told me. "A lot of people involved in mass demonstrations suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder - it is very sad."

Trained volunteers arranged for counseling services for defendants when they were released.

Marc Krupanski said he struggled psychologically after witnessing the racism and brutality in the Curran-Fromhold Correctional Facility.

"It showed me the police, prison guards, and courts could pretty much do whatever they wanted," Krupanski said. He said that being thrown to the ground by police, beaten, and charged with a slew of misdemeanors strengthened his resolve to fight for justice. He became a prisoner-rights advocate in New York and currently works on security-sector reform in Switzerland.

Sorensen, a longtime AIDS activist now living in the San Francisco area, has seen other veterans of the 2000 protests continue on the path of advocacy.

"Because this ragtag group of political activists supported one another, a lot of us continued to follow our passions," she observed.

Julie Davids founded and directs the Community AIDS/HIV Mobilization Project in New York. Kris Hermes is legal campaign director for a medical-marijuana advocacy organization in Oakland, Calif. Morgan Andrews is the cofounder of Philadelphia's Puppet Uprising. Attorney Jennifer Kates is a legislative assistant for Councilwoman Maria Quiñones-Sánchez. Chris White is a regional field organizer for Good Schools Pennsylvania. Countless other RNC defendants are public-interest lawyers, artists, social workers, and educators.

People with strong networks are significantly more likely to remain politically active over the long term, said David S. Meyer, a professor of sociology and political science at the University of California, Irvine.

"You develop trust in one another and create a solidarity front," he told me. "Imagine sitting in jail for two weeks. You have hour upon hour to talk about personal ideology and hear one another's life stories. You become what's referred to as a 'community of struggle.' "

Activists moved to West Philly in droves after the convention. Some were attracted to the highly publicized anarchist scene. Others, who had to show up for their "umpteenth court dates," just stayed, pointed out Jamie Graham, who was acquitted of a charge of disorderly conduct filed during the GOP convention. Graham later worked for a group that helps prison inmates reenter society and currently counsels teens in the foster-care system.

It is clear that the overreaction of law enforcement to the RNC demonstrations had a profound effect on the activists. But public defender Bradley Bridge, who negotiated on behalf of the puppetistas, wonders whether the events of 10 years ago led to change within the Police Department and District Attorney's Office. "As a result of all this, what did they learn?" he asks.

That question may be answered shortly, as Philadelphia bids to host the 2016 Democratic National Convention.