An update from portland

I started marching 65 days ago — prompted primarily by the deaths of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and Ahmaud Arbery. I started marching because justice in this country is based on skin color. I started marching because I believe that Black lives matter, that these words must be repeated until they are accepted and reflected in the behavior of all agents in our government.

None of that has changed in the last 65 days. For the first 50 days, I attended, almost exclusively, peaceful protests and usually no more than once or twice a week. I witnessed property destruction, which felt off-message to me, but I understood it as a rational expression of the anger at the fact that the police are often more concerned with protecting the property of the wealthy than the lives of the marginalized, a legacy that can be traced back to slave patrols. Nonetheless, I chose protests and marches that wouldn’t force me to confront this unpleasant paradox.

Two weeks ago, under the auspices of protecting federal property, masked and camouflaged border patrol agents started kidnapping peaceful protesters and carting them off in unmarked vehicles. These kidnappings were indiscriminate and specifically meant to intimidate freedom of speech. They happened in coordination with local police. I could no longer relegate my participation to peaceful daytime protests. 

Ten days ago, I was tear gassed at the Multnomah County Justice Center. State and federal agents were defending a fence — an etymological tautology that would almost be funny had I not been temporarily blinded by a chemical weapon banned by the Geneva Convention. To be abundantly and unequivocally clear, it was NOT a riot. It was a peaceful protest.  

Here’s what stuck out: the medics, the Black leaders, the legal defense teams, and the myriad support crews there to protect the rights afforded by our Constitution and its first amendment. When the police started firing into the crowd, those support crews rushed the front lines. They washed out my eyes; they passed out first-aid kits; they sharpeed phone numbers onto our arms in case we were detained; they supported the people. I couldn’t help but think of the oft-quoted lines from my childhood hero Mr. Rogers: “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’” In this national crisis, the police have abdicated that role of helping; it is filled instead by those protecting us from the police.

I feel now more galvanized than ever. I am mortified by the failures of our city and state leaders, who have no problem with authoritarian brutality so long as they are the authors of that brutal force. If the goal of these draconian police tactics is to preserve the facades of federal property at the expense of individual liberty then I have the obligation as a Constitution-thumping citizen to whole-heartedly condone the destruction of federal property so long as it shows that I will not be silenced -- particularly when that federal property is used as a tool to subjugate and marginalize U.S. citizens. Lives are more important than property; rights are more important than property. I can’t help but think that anyone who disagrees should sail back to George III’s Britain. 

So I found myself 10 days ago again terrorized by the Portland police. A peaceful march ended in front of my local police headquarters. With whom should I align? A hegemonic structure hellbent on preserving its socially-destructive power or a rag-tag collective of activists demanding more inclusive justice? With whom would you align? I watched my fellow citizens tackled by police, batoned by police, cordoned off and then charged on all sides by the police. It was true terror. 

I do my best to stand as long as I can with those protesting the numerous injustices and racial biases of local and federal police. I stand now with those who, for years, have been trying to reform a system that sees skin color as a crime.

First they came for the refugee children, and I did not speak out -- because I am not a refugee child. Then they came for the Trans soldiers, and I did not speak out -- because I am not a Trans soldier. But when the incipient creep of totalitarian intolerance reached the shores of Portland, I felt compelled to put my body on the line. For the first time in my life, my stance became a target of law enforcement. And then they came for me -- and there was no one left to speak for me. 

This past Thursday, the federal agents started to withdraw from Portland. That same day, I headed out of town for a brief backpacking trip in the Steens Wilderness. I stopped off for some last-minute supplies at a small general store about a mile away from the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge where, in 2016, a right-wing militia occupied the refuge headquarters to protest what they claimed to be federal overreach — ideological allies, it would seem, with those protesting in Portland. Upon entering the store, I stood out immediately because I was wearing a mask. 

“Where are you from?” one of the patrons asked.

“Portland,” I answered.

“Are you a terrorist?”

I thought about it for a second. I knew he was referring to protesters like me. But do I intend to inflict terror? “No, I’m not,“ I said. “And luckily most of the terrorists are leaving town today.”

“Thank god,” he said. 

“Indeed,” I said. And for a moment, the ambiguity of language gave us common political ground.

Of course, the Portland Police have deployed tear gas nearly 100 times in the past 65 days. Their actions against peaceful protesters have been truly terrifying. In recent days, police have slashed the tires and broken the windshields of the observing press and of aid groups. They have shown up to peaceful protests clad in riot gear; they gas crowds indiscriminately but strategically to corral everyone into a terrified mass. Practicing the rights guaranteed by the first amendment now render us the targets of a militarized, aggressive police. Our bodies are subject to their pepper spray, batons, cuffs, and any other weapons they’ve been permitted to employ. Though the federal incursion has seemingly ended, Black, Indigenous, and other People of Color still face tremendous injustice. I will continue to follow their lead and to march on until victory is won.

Jay is a writer, editor, and tutor living in Portland, Oregon. He is a court-appointed advocate for youth in foster care and is currently pursuing his master’s degree in Social Work. In his free time, Jay enjoys walking his dog and riding his bike