Reflections On #J20 a Week into Trump’s America
Note: I did not arrive in DC with the intention of writing down my experiences. Some quotes are approximations, but I attempted to maintain the spirit of the verbatim statement.
It was 10:15 on January 20th, the first day of the rainy month of the Republican Calendar, and we were already in the process of being kettled. A dozen or so white vans, filled with riot police, arrived and formed a wall between the rendezvous point and the parade route, ostensibly our destination. The decision was made to charge through their wall, and we were on our way.
I was with a group of over five hundred antifa, who’d come from all across North America to form into a black bloc, intent on disrupting the inauguration process of President Elect Donald J. Trump. They walked in protective black mass, virtually indistinguishable from one another, tearing along 13th St alongside onlookers, press and the shadow of the riot squad.
Down came the newspaper stands. A broken window here, a vandalized bus stop there, but there was nothing that superseded the notion of a non-violent protest. Some reporters and photographers were yelled at, but no one was harmed.
The bloc hooked a right on K, and the now infamous smashed limo took a few initial blows before the mood shifted. In the moment that the bloc stopped to admire the limousine the police moved into what was no longer a safe distance. The bloc took off through a park only to be cut off on the other side.
Taking off East on I street, tensions were briefly subsided during the camaraderie of the destruction of the Starbucks and Bank of America windows, but the police were moving in, forcing much of the bloc onto a cafe patio, where the chairs further slowed the pace and heighten the tension. Heading south on 12th, the bloc, and all press, lawyers, medics, and bystanders, found themselves surrounded by riot police, and their liberal use of pepper spray.
Boutons were out and, thinking I was following the bulk of the bloc, was forced down a very tight sidewalk, where we were subjected to indiscriminate pepper spray and concussion grenades.
Through it all, everyone did their best to look out for the person ahead of them. Over the blasts of grenades there was an array of voices reminding the person inches in front of them to not panic, and to move carefully. Never for a moment was there a sense that we were in a state where it was everyone for themselves. We were all in this together.
Emerging on the other end of the street, I watched the bloc disperse across the park, with the police close behind, firing off tear gas and lobbing grenades across the park. I stopped to assist a shaken medic in the process of treating someone blinded by pepper spray when I lost the pack.
It was only later that I’d discovered that much of the bloc had been kettled back on 12th. It’s Going Down compiled much of the action, but the absolute fearlessness I heard in so many of the stories and watched in so many of the videos is an inspiring thing.
Throughout the day, I witnessed more than one instance of children being directly subjected to police violence, and the one caught on this livestream is particularly brutal, but the heroism displayed in removing the child and their guardians from the situation inspires a certain awe.
After reconnecting with my team, we re-engaged with the protests on the north side of Franklin Square, just in time to see a brave warrior deck nazi-in-plain-sight Richard Spencer. The crowd at Franklin Square came from a more diverse set of political and intersectional backgrounds than the bloc. There were also locals and passersby, spontaneous outbursts of rebellion from a city that overwhelmingly voted against Donald Trump. (Trump received 4% of the D.C. vote in the General).
There was a small trash fire, the limo was being further smashed to bits, the police were nowhere to be seen, but nothing in the air reeked of violence. It was an atmosphere of joy by way of a liberating anger. A venting of the frustrations accumulated over the last election cycle, the last eight years running on the audacious promise of change, and the last forty years of unchecked neoliberalism, imperialism and empire.
Meanwhile, at 12th and L, a contingency of the the original bloc found themselves kettled by police. Inside the kettle were anarchists, medics, lawyers, press, all of whom had been subjected to chemical irritants concussion grenades. Many of the kettled had been subjected to brutal physical assaults at the hands of the MPD and the UPP. They remained there for the next six hours.
But here again, I only found love. There were hundreds outside the kettle showing support, singing songs, and making fun of the police. From inside they chanted “We love you! Stay strong! The revolution goes on!”
Vermin Supreme arrived with a megaphone, introduced himself as “President Elect of these United States and amateur hostage negotiator” and demanded the police “Let My People Go!” Another, apparently very cool and hip, march emerged to show support and we spotted Zach de la Rocha and most of Anti-Flag roaming the crowd. The kettled protesters were very slowly getting taken away, and with no discernable pace to the arrests, the crowd ebbed and flowed throughout the day and so did my team.
We saw Michael Moore speak platitudes on being the first to sign up for the proposed Muslim Registry, we saw the limo catch aflame, and the carnage after police unloaded their arsenals on a ticketed march that ended in the raucous festivities still going on at Franklin Square.
More tear gas and pepper spray. Concussion grenades and rubber bullets. Another child was injured by police chemicals after their smug, MAGA hatted father walked them through the protests, and during chaos one protester was hospitalized after they found themselves shot at point blank range in the groin with a rubber bullet. A punk band sound-checked on a small stage in the park.
The last arrests at 12th and L took place around 6pm. and we got word arraignments were staged for 11 o’clock the next morning at the D.C. Superior Court.
Outside the courthouse, activist lawyer Jason Flores-Williams, most notable for suing the city of Denver over sweeping up homeless encampments and purportedly for bringing pizza delivery to Eastern Europe, spoke to a dozen masked up anarchists about resources and strategy in front of a Vice Media camera crew. His message was pretty simple, the US Attorney has bit off more than they can chew. With 217 arrested, all potentially facing felony riot charges, proving each arrestee participated in the riot would be a near impossible task.
Inside the courthouse we found representatives from the National Lawyers Guild, Disrupt J20 and what appeared to be a handful of other attorneys who had volunteered their time to work the arraignments. There were a few dozen activists, friends and concerned parents. People with jail experience did their best to calm those who hadn’t, and NLG and Disrupt J20 representatives acted as a knowledgeable and calming presence.
Arraignments didn’t begin until 1PM, and activists weren’t slated to get their hearing for a few hours. We had a long day ahead of us.
Leaving the courtroom to get some air, we discovered there was now a line of some fifty supporters waiting to get in the courtroom, and the crew outside the courthouse had ballooned to two hundred plus individuals mulling about, waiting for their comrades to emerge. A marching band played while Food Not Bombs and Seeds For Peace shelled out hot food and coffee.
The activists started appearing in court around three, all of them facing felony riot charges, equating to 10 years in jail and fines of $25,000. After removing their shackles, and leaving the courtroom, all arrestees were greeted by a round of applause, medics, lawyers and snacks. Leaving the courthouse they were treated the screams of hundreds of protesters, and a many rounds of the anarchist standard “Ah, Anti, Anticapitalista!” that rang out for blocks.
Fresh shoelaces and clean clothes were handed out, soup was offered and ride sharing was arranged. There was a church in the city that provided housing to activists all week, and they again opened their doors for those whose travel plans had been disrupted by incarceration. Additionally, scores of volunteers were offering up their beds to strangers.
As someone who’s spent a little time incarcerated, I understand the value of a support structure when you’re sent back off into the world, and the support at D.C. Superior Court felt pretty unparalleled. With few exceptions, all the activists who had just had brutal charges levied against them, left the court with a smile. Most sang, jumped gave hugs, and the solidarity in the air was palpable. Those incarcerated could have been any of us who had found their way to D.C. to denounce the inauguration of now President Donald Trump, and the crowd showed the appreciation for their sacrifice par excellence.
Despite the smiles of those exiting the building, the ordeal had not been an easy one for those interned. In addition to the six hours spent in the kettle, nineteen protesters were asked to volunteer to be arrested so as to speed up their processing, they were then thrown in the back of police vans for another four hours. Medication was denied and one protester was hospitalised after suffering an asthma attack. When the other arrestees reported it to their attendants the woman suffering was told to “just calm down.”
Many protesters were shuffled around from site to site, without medication, want of food, and in a sense of general confusion by the orders they were being given. Many reported that they were told that they would be held indefinitely unless they spoke to police (also reportedly, no one did). One gentleman leaving the courthouse who claimed lawyer credentials described it as “the biggest pissing over the 8th amendment I’ve ever seen.” As a result of the outrageous police actions before and during the arrest, a class action lawsuit has been filed against the city.
Amongst the camaraderie, it was mostly waiting. Keeping your hands warm on the street, or seeking out a phone charger in the bleak, brown tiled subbasement of the courthouse. It was reassuring family members that their kids were jailed with comrades and that they’d be safe and keeping the courtroom filled so the activists’ shackles didn’t feel so heavy.
Eventually the riot police arrived at the courthouse, the marching band doing their rendition of the Imperial March to greet them. I watched from indoors as they effectively closed the courthouse and prevented other supporters from entering, but the crowd did not budge.
Arraignments went on until nearly midnight, with groups of ten shackled activists being escorted into the courtroom at a time. With twenty some left to be arraigned, the judge asked the US State’s attorney a most crucial question, will the state be pursuing all 217 arrests as one case? Unsurprisingly, he said yes. The splitting up of activists between different judges and dates should be treated as purely a logistical necessity, rather than a designation of different cases. From the outside, this felt like a particularly horrifying turn of events but just before midnight, a lawyer representing the activists objected to the SA’s claim, pointing out these were defendants from at least seven mass arrests and should be split up into at least seven cases. The matter was ultimately left undecided.
When we look back on the inauguration of Donald Trump, people will think of fires, tear gas, and rubber bullets, but they will miss the solidarity and overwhelming love I experienced. Every step of the way someone was looking out for you. In every action, no one was left alone. When police were indiscriminately pepper spraying activists, there were others to remove them from the situation. When the 440,000 people attending the Women’s March on Saturday had all gone home, there were still hundreds waiting at the courthouse for their comrades to be released. When it felt like all the beds were filled, someone else was there to bring you a new one.
The power of the black bloc is not in their broken windows or smashed trash cans, but in their ability to keep each other safe in the face of vicious state reprisal and their encapsulation of what it means to show solidarity.
In order for our comrades to avoid jail time on these trumped up charges, they will need our generous support to provide for legal aid and transportation back to D.C. You can donate to the #DisruptJ20 Legal Defense Fund here. Thank you for your generosity.
