Amnesia

I think people tend to have a short memory.

On Monday, June 1st, 2020 my brother and I attended a peaceful Black Lives Matter march from the Police HQto the Ben Franklin Parkway, then onto I-676. it. We walked down the hill which would prove to be important later on, and we entered the highway, kneeling for roughly a minute before we rose up and the crowd began to spread onto both lanes. For roughly about five minutes we marched down the highway back towards the city. Traffic came to a pause and the drivers honked their horns in solidarity and many saluted us with raised fists.

My brother and I were in the front lines as we entered the overpass. There, roughly a few hundred feet ahead of us, two black SUVs labeled “State Police” arrived. Here the crowd stopped. Suddenly there was a mad rush. Officers, clad in black and wielding rifles began to shoot rubber bullets as I heard several cracks of fire before everyone began to run back. No warning was given, no resistance offered. Everyone was either running back now or standing their ground with their hands up shouting “don’t shoot!” I would later discovery that I took a shot directly in the chest, but because of the fear and adrenaline, I would did not notice right away

By then, officers had begun to fire tear gas as the crowd ran away. Behind me, officers who mounted the divider were spraying mace into the crowd. I was separated from my brother and called out his name as screams and the cracks of fire erupted. I found my brother and together we made a rush, along with the rest of the crowd, to climb the hill we came down on. As we began to climb, more tear gas was fired on us, I could not breathe. I tore off my face mask, risking infection as everyone coughed from the gas. But I did not care, I was choking and I felt my throat closing. I had torn off my hat,, my jacket and overshirt in an attempt to breathe better. I stumbled and fell and was nearly trampled. I lost my brother again. However, a man helped me up. I passed a struggling woman and helped her up. The three of us attempted to make it up the hill and over the high fence. We failed. The stampede of people had churned the gravel beneath their feet and it was in the air as was the tear gas, which again, despite us fleeing for our lives, was still coming. I ran back down the hill, believing I was going to die, overcome with fear, I ran for my life away from the fence and back down the street.

More SUVs arrived, and I could see more officers with rifles. I took a moment to recover but it was no use. I was alone, choking, and terrified. By sheer luck, my brother had found me and together we ran up a smaller hill and escaped the attack without being arrested.

My brother’s arm was later discovered to have been broken, busted by a steer gas canister that had hit him. Everyday I am thankful that it did not hit his head. I could not bear losing my best friend in life in such a way, in any way. My brother and I were far from the worst injured but there are other wounds that do not show on flesh and linger on in the mind.

This was a highly unusual event, which shocked our team of civil rights lawyers that represented us against the city. Philadelphia is a protest city. Never since the dark days of Frank Rizzo had such pressure been used on peaceful demonstrators. Let us not forget that Trump was bearing down on governors to “dominate the battlespace” and threatened to withhold federal funds to cities that were tolerating protests.

Those who were unlucky or allowed themselves to be captured by the police and the government agents present, were met at the precinct house by FBI agents who immediately began to question them about antifa. This was not random, but done because then President of the United States, Donald Trump, had publicly declared “antifa” to be a terrorist organization. Later we had found out that homeland security

Believe it or not, the person who is the highest authority in the Union is kind of a big deal, and their authority is nothing to sneeze at. Trump wanted bloodshed, and he got it. But his worst impulses, sending active duty soldiers onto the streets of America and shooting people down, were held in check by his senior military officials, namely then Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Mark Milley.

So do people remember? I think there are many who do not. I think many have forgotten the Nazi loving commander in chief who wanted to crack skulls and shoot people down, I think many have forgotten the special agents who grabbed people in the night, I think people have forgotten Kyle Rittenhouse and the gangs of fascist thugs who took the law into their own hands to murder, assault, and terrorize freedom loving Americans exercising their rights, and I think many have forgotten the ultimate sacrifice anti-fascists heroes like Heather Heyer have in the fight against reaction.

And to forget these things, is, in my view, paramount to treason in the anti-fascist and anti-racist freedom struggle. It dishonors our sacrifices and more importantly, makes us weak.

I remember and will remember until the day I die.