{"id":21236,"date":"2026-05-25T12:01:37","date_gmt":"2026-05-25T12:01:37","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.krokodil.rs\/eng\/?p=21236"},"modified":"2026-05-25T12:01:39","modified_gmt":"2026-05-25T12:01:39","slug":"not-a-fairy-tale-but-fourth-chapter-third-story-my-rectangle-of-freedom","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.krokodil.rs\/eng\/2026\/05\/not-a-fairy-tale-but-fourth-chapter-third-story-my-rectangle-of-freedom\/","title":{"rendered":"Not a Fairy Tale But… Fourth Chapter, Third Story: My Rectangle of Freedom"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

“My Rectangle of Freedom<\/strong>“
Third Story of the May Monthly Chapter
Written by Aleksandra Pani\u0107
Voiceover by Marija Drndi\u0107<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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My favorite rectangle of Seattle \u2014 the city where I lived for ten years, where I became a mother, a writer, and the woman I am today \u2014 stretched between Broadway, East Denny Way, 12th Avenue, and East Pike Street. Within that rectangle, in the Capitol Hill neighborhood, was Cal Anderson Park and the playground where my children learned to walk; Hugo House, a writers\u2019 center where I often spent time; my favorite bookstore in the world, Elliott Bay Book Company; Oddfellows, a restaurant I loved; and Molly Moon\u2019s, where I first tried strawberry basil ice cream. There was also The Riveter, a coworking space where I wrote, and my friend Jasmine lived in the same neighborhood. When I close my eyes and imagine Seattle, I am always there. That is my rectangle of freedom, the place where I became part of that city. That\u2019s why even today it seems almost unbelievable to me that right inside my rectangle, in June 2020, the Capitol Hill Autonomous Zone \u2014 C.H.A.Z. \u2014 emerged as a temporary autonomous zone, a form of civil protest against brutal police violence against the BIPOC community.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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In the late spring of 2020, amidst a pandemic, America under Donald Trump was deeply divided into those who supported him and those who were ashamed of him. On May 25th, in Minneapolis, a white police officer killed George Floyd \u2014 pressing his knee into his neck until Floyd could no longer breathe. The video of the murder spread through the country faster than the virus had, and with it, civil rage. Protests against the already frequent police violence erupted in every major American city, joining the existing #BlackLivesMatter movement. A few days later, citizens of Seattle began gathering on Capitol Hill, where, on June 8th, they formed an autonomous zone \u2014 free from police presence and control, and from any organized government. C.H.A.Z., which would later be renamed C.H.O.P. (Capitol Hill Organized Protest), issued three formal demands to the police: to cut their budget in half, to redirect the money to the development and aid of Black communities, and to grant amnesty to protesters. Mayor Jenny Durkan allowed the protests to continue, calling them just another of Capitol Hill\u2019s traditional summer block parties. The police withdrew.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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In its early days, C.H.A.Z. seemed, at least from afar, a spontaneous gathering of citizens around their own wound. At the entrance to the zone hung a sign that read: This space now belongs to the citizens of Seattle. Tents were pitched for resting, food trucks arrived, and stages for performances were set up. Artists, students, journalists, and residents from across the city arrived. It all looked like an improvised festival of political grief and civil disobedience. In its earliest days, C.H.A.Z. had the potential to become what Hakim Bey1<\/sup> called a temporary autonomous zone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Bey describes the temporary autonomous zone as a short-lived space that eludes the formal structures of control. In his framing, it is a guerrilla operation that liberates an area of land, time, or imagination, and then dissolves itself before the state can destroy it. Its greatest strength lies precisely in its invisibility: as soon as it is named, represented, or mediated, it must disappear, leaving behind only a trace. For an autonomous zone to emerge, what is needed is a group of people connected by common affinities, customs, or a shared belief in love, spontaneity, and the spirit of celebration.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Why did C.H.A.Z. have no chance of becoming a true temporary autonomous zone? Hakim Bey insists that a temporary autonomous zone must not become a spectacle. C.H.A.Z. became a viral media spectacle almost overnight. There must also be no map of the zone: a map is closed, while an autonomous zone is open \u2014 unfolding within fractal dimensions invisible to any cartography of control. C.H.A.Z., however, outlined clear boundaries and set up barricades with guards. An autonomous zone is not a substitute for the existing state and must not function as a hierarchical structure. As soon as Raz Simone declared himself the leader of C.H.A.Z., the idea of autonomy collapsed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Violence is not the answer to violence. As the zone continued, a militant armed body was formed to guard the borders. Among the signs held above protesters\u2019 heads were some calling for violence against the police. How was the idea of violence even born within a protest against violence? Soon, within my most beautiful rectangle of Seattle, five armed attacks occurred, several physical and sexual assaults, numerous thefts, acts of vandalism, and the open use and distribution of narcotics. None of this served the idea for which the zone was created. In the end, when on June 29th a Jeep driven by two boys, fourteen and sixteen years old, crashed into the zone\u2019s barricades, and the zone\u2019s guards fired at the car, wounding one boy and killing the other, whatever remained of a dignified protest was shattered. Police and ambulances did not come to the scene; the boys were driven to the hospital by protesters in private cars. The autonomous zone, formed as a protest against state repression, was ultimately disbanded by the police. The violence it birthed eventually bit its heart out with pincers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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The most important difference between these two protest responses to systemic state violence \u2014 the Capitol Hill Autonomous Zone and the Spiritual Republic of Zicer \u2014 has nothing to do with geography or historical moment, but with two very different understandings of freedom. Michel Foucault draws a distinction between liberation (always a momentary act, a breaking free from something) and the practices of freedom that must follow. Liberation clears the path for new relations of power, which must then be shaped by practices of freedom. What the citizens of Seattle wanted, in a surge of rage at yet another act of violence rooted in systemic racism, was to break free from state control. What the residents of Zicer proved was the collective practice of freedom, both during the protest and the next morning, when they wrote letters, cooked, slept, and went on living, knowing they were surrounded and in the crosshairs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Violence is not the answer to violence. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I returned to Seattle a year later, my rectangle of freedom had become something else entirely. Only the shell of Cal Anderson Park remained: homeless tents ignored by the city, the smell of marijuana, and an empty children\u2019s playground.
My city. My rectangle. Full of malignant cells.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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