Yesterday, I, and one of my dear friends, participated in ‘The Defiant Walk of Resistance Against Injustice’ in Seattle, Washington.
When we arrived at 3pm, there was already a heavy police presence surrounding the intersection next to the Westlake Center where the march was supposed to start. I assumed they were there to close off streets and stop traffic, like they had during previous marches I’d attended in the city. But this time, even early on, I could tell things were different.
The Seattle PD was in full riot gear, every one of them standing in the line was holding a baton across their chest. They had barricaded the street by forming a wall and not letting anyone past, which meant that anyone approaching from the north could not join with anyone approaching from the south. From the very beginning they were separating us from each other.
Protesters filled the streets in all four directions, we could hear chanting and drumming. Our branch to the north was the quietest of the groups, but was still hundreds strong. Nearly every protester I encountered was wearing a mask, and those that were not were quickly offered ones by helpers who had come prepared.
I want to be very clear on this point: I was at the front of our portion of the protest, not ten feet from the police line, and there was no violence on the part of the protesters. We shouted and clapped and waved our signs and took hundreds and hundreds of videos and photographs. Nobody attacked the police on our side.
But that didn’t stop things from turning ugly fast.
The police began switching out, putting on gas masks and then rejoining the line. Then, they started to push forward. Without warning, the police used their batons to shove back the front lines, spraying mace and foam at anyone who didn’t move fast enough for them. Shove and spray. Shove and spray. Flash-bangs started going off, echoing down the streets. Protesters were scared and confused, with no idea why we weren’t permitted to march or why we were being herded back down the street.
The police line stopped advancing after about a block. Back at the original intersection, we could see the same thing was happening to the other branches of the protest. Helpers ran in with canteens of milk and spray bottles of baking soda and water to wash the eyes of those maced. They were handing out gloves and holding each other up. I have never seen so many strangers banding together.
About five minutes later, the police started advancing again. Now, with so many people, it was not possible to get out of their way with any speed. And many of us had taken to sitting in order to show that we were peaceful and had no intent to fight back. The cops marched forward regardless, forcing the line of protestors in front back over the seated ones and creating a pileup.
This is when I was maced. A woman fell back over my seated form and pinned me to the ground. I could not stand up. My friend had a death grip on my hand, trying to pry me free. But I could not move. The cop behind me sprayed pepper spray over the top of my head and down the back of my neck and into my jacket. Some got in my eyes. I was trapped and scared and I could not move out of the way.
Then a woman came forward and grabbed hold of my hands. I’ll never forget the look in her eyes. She was terrified, but she still came forward to pry me and my friend out of the pile. She risked getting maced too to save us.
This pattern continued on. The cops would advance, shove, spray, then stop. We’d regroup, help each other, share water and energy bars and masks and tend wounds. Flash-bangs were detonated right in front of us. Smoke was visible further down the street. Tear gas, I later learned. That, and on the south end, someone was starting fires.
After what felt like an eon of confusion and police provoking a crowd that was determined to stay peaceful, our branch peeled away and turned Northeast, finally beginning a march. We eventually met up with the fleeing south branch and headed toward the I5. A huge portion of the protesters blocked Southbound, and our group climbed up the median embankment to spread across Northbound.
Cars were stopped, half of their drivers leaning out to chant with us or honking to cheer us on. As we started working our way south, people lining the overpass joined in with encouraging support. Eventually, we took the nearest exit and headed back in the direction of downtown. The rain that had been present all afternoon was starting to come down harder, washing the chemicals in our hair down into our eyes. But the helpers were there. Brave people who came prepared.
This was when the emergency message was sent out. A five pm curfew had been put into place. That didn’t give us enough time to actually leave. Much of downtown had been blocked off. My friend and I, like many others, were kept from our vehicles. We could not leave the city. We were trapped.
I was very fortunate. A friend of a friend generously came to our rescue, taking us back to her home further away from the pandemonium. She washed our clothes and gave us milk soaked towels to ease the sting of our chemical burns and fed us grilled cheese. In the morning, when the blockade was lifted, she took us back to our car. It was not damaged. We got home safe.
I’ve watched the same feeds as everyone else. I’ve seen footage of protesters being maced and struck and fired upon with rubber bullets. I know this sort of thing does happen. But my previous experience in Seattle, one of the most liberal major cities in the United States, had not prepared me for the violence exhibited by the police yesterday. We were peaceful protesters exercising our First Amendment Right to peaceably assemble. We were given no warning and, in many cases, no chance to comply. The Seattle PD were the instigators. And their abuse of power was cowardly and wrong.
This experience has changed me. What I witnessed has shaken me to the core. I cannot, and will not, remain silent. From now on, when I hear a protest began peacefully, I will believe it. I will join with those who speak out against police brutality. I will pay less attention to rioting than the circumstances that drove people to it. And I will continue to fight for the rights of the oppressed.
Black Lives Matter
Black Lives Matter
Black Lives Matter
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