I wasn’t planning to go out that night.
After a week of being exposed to tear gas, flash grenades, and pepper spray, it was time for a night off. My then partner and I decided to stay in and watch a movie. Try to get our mind off things. It was Sunday, June 7th, 2020. So, we watched our movie and relaxed on the couch, but after the film ended neither one of us could resist the urge to open our phones and see what was happening on the hill. It was then we saw that protest organizers were calling for support. We immediately grabbed our bags and headed to the intersection of 11th and Pine Street.
Upon arrival, I was handed a large wooden sign with the names of those who had been executed at the hands of the police… George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Tamir Rice, Michael Brown… a list that seems to perpetually grow. Why wood? Well, after a long week of protesting, folks had learned all too quickly we needed shields.
But this night felt different. The cops were even more agitated and aggressive. While they had been violent throughout the week, this night felt like they were trying to thin us out and send a message. By the time we had settled into our positions in line with the other protestors, we were far outnumbered by cops.
Minutes in, a cop approached me and kicked the sign I was holding with all of his might. Not only did this send me stumbling back, it ricocheted the bottom of the wooden sign against my shin. An instantaneous contusion. The least of my injuries for the night. Little did I know. I lost the sign, but snagged a loose umbrella. Black and white stripes. I’ll never forget it.
Soon after, the explosions began. I held my position as long as I could. Why did we need to back up? Why did we need to move? We weren’t approaching them. Our goal was to stand our ground and protest peacefully. After getting kicked, I had the good sense to start recording. This is how I ended up with a video showcasing the moment a blast ball exploded against my left leg, shattering the lip balm in my left pocket, leaving behind nothing but tiny yellow plastic pieces and hot goo.
“I want to leave now,” my partner screamed. And, so we did.
I limped. I was limping. Oh my god, I am actually really hurt. A volunteer medic stopped me as we stumble away from the chaos and pulled down my pants in the middle of the street. Here I am, a teacher, a musician, a 32-year old adult, with trou’ down in the middle of Capitol Hill. Then, I see the impact. A large incision and growing bruise on the middle of my left quadricep that would eventually grow to the size of a basketball. It’s scar tissue still very present today, nearly five years later.
And what else is happening five years later? Today, we stare blankly ahead, jaws agape, at what is already proving to be four years of flagrant attacks on civil rights in America. And what does the largest city in the Pacific Northwest want to do? The City of Seattle wants to reinstate the use of these “less lethal weapons” against protestors and crowds. Less lethal… yet, what we now know is that these weapons can and will kill a person. One of my fellow protestors had their heart stop after being targeted with one of these “less lethal” objects.
But perhaps the heart of the problem is not just the weapons themselves, but those we embolden to use them. The night of my most serious injuries, the cops were not trying to get us to disperse because we were harming people or property. I was not kicked at chest level because I was an imminent threat. I was not targeted with an explosive because I was dangerous. They wanted to hurt us, quite literally, and shut us up. They wanted to injure our bodies and scare us away. They were and are bullies. And they were proactively violating our First Amendment rights using nearly every weapon at their disposal other than literal guns.
Former Officer and Vice President of the Seattle Police Officer’s Guild, Daniel Auderer, said it clearly: Our lives are of “limited value.” They don’t see us as human beings. They believe they can violate our rights, injure us, even kill us, then write a check and receive immunity. The people that I stood in the streets alongside are nurses, teachers, lawyers, artists, cooks, journalists, farmers, churchgoers, family members — and we are all the people that these officers took an oath to “protect and serve.”
Emboldened by hateful rhetoric of the far right, I fear we may have not seen the worst of the Seattle Police Department yet. And a vote to allow the use of less lethal weapons again is an endorsement to batter, abuse, and potentially kill us.
So now what to do? If you have felt powerless over the last few weeks I urge you to take action here at your local level. Consider this your open invitation to the City Council meeting on February 11th at 2pm when they will take up this legislation. Or, please take a moment to write your councilmembers to ask them to oppose putting dangerous crowd control weapons (like the blast balls that nearly killed someone in 2020 and injured many) back into SPD’s arsenal. And then, when the call comes, join me in the streets.
SPD wants the freedom to shut people up. And we will not be silenced.
