Early on a cold, gray morning twenty-five years ago this month, a modest procession of about eighty left a church in downtown Seattle heading for the nearby convention center. They walked quietly, each lost in a moment of personal reflection. Above them bobbed several brightly painted paper-mache monarch butterflies attached to long metal wires, a visual cue for anyone who became separated from the group.

The rain-soaked streets were empty, yet everyone waited for the lights to turn green so they could cross together. When they reached the intersection of Sixth Avenue and Union Street, they came upon a line of police passively standing on the far side of the intersection. The activists filled the intersection. Some sat down on the wet pavement and locked arms. Others began dancing and drumming. The paper-mache butterflies hovered high overhead.

I was one of the people sitting down and locking arms. Other similarly organized groups of protesters seized twelve other intersections around the Washington State Convention and Trade Center. We were intent on shutting down the opening session of a World Trade Organization (WTO) summit, in protest of the WTO’s drive to further concentrate power over the global economy in the hands of the few at the expense of the many and the natural world.