The Night That Was Too Much

I was involved with the Black Liberation Movement/Black Live Matter movement in Des Moines, Iowa. Shit hit the fan on June 22nd, 2020.

This is that story.

The day started like any other. I woke up, had breakfast, picked out an outfit for the day. I ran to Walgreens to pick up some new things for my pack. Banking soda for bicarbonate solution to treat CS gas, or tear gas, exposure, burn cream, saline solution for mace exposure to the eyes. I became very glad that I picked those up later that night.

It stormed and I collected some storm water for my alter. Storms typically symbolize a washing of the Earth, a purging of bad things. I participated in a healing ritual focused on the protests.

I packed my medic pack, unpacked it, repacked it, unpacked and repacked it in the dark and made sure that I could find everything that was in my pack at a moments notice. I timed myself to see how long it would take for me to put on my PPE (helmet and goggles). I put a mask soaking in a bicarb solution in case CS or CN gas were released.

There was a protest march planned that night from Skateland Park on Meredith Dr right off Merle Hay as part of a statewide action in which the protesters would take a portion of I-80, a major highway which runs the length of Iowa, and cause a major disruption. We knew what we were up against. A more than probable release of CN or CS gas from the police and the Iowa State Troopers. We went in expecting a major interaction with police.

We were not expecting the chaos that unfolded.

I have been a protest medic and a street medic since the Occupy movement. I was at Charlottesville in 2016, caring for the counter-protesters. I was blocks away from where the car ran through the crowd, caring for a comrade who was beat badly (he had 4 broken ribs, a broken arms, and very bad contusions up and down his legs).

The Street Medic Corps met up before the protest to establish who would be where in the crowd (three up front, two in the middle, three at the back was our normal formation) and distribute our new walkie talkies. This was the first night that we had walkie talkies, so we had to establish our call signs and go over the basic calls. Several of us left our cars in the hotel parking lot and we piled into cars to drive to the origination point at Skateland Park where we met up with the security team and established protocols for getting injured comrades into vehicles. We felt like we were prepared for the worst the DMPD could throw at us.

We truly had no idea how wrong we were.

The were probably 150 protesters who gathered in the parking lot. Food for Our Fighters distributed hot sandwiches and other snacks and water to the crowd as they did at every action. I remember how hot and sticky it was that afternoon. I can remember the taste of the metallictaste of the anxiety that stuck to the roof of my mouth like peanut butter. I can remember the goosebumps that ran up and down my arms under my turtleneck. Despite how hot it was outside, I always wear jeans and a turtleneck to actions where police escalation is expected to protect my skin from chem attacks.

Matt got on the bullhorn shortly after 1700 to go over the protocol for the protesters, such as the call for medics (arms crossed above their heads), the sign for retreat, and led us all in the rules for protesters.

Do not escalate. Stick with your buddies. Friends don't let friends get arrested.

I put on my helmet and slid my goggled down over my eyes.

A member of the security team got over the bullhorn next and went over the protocol for de-arresting a comrade.

A member of the medic corp went over how to identify the medics and reiterate the sign for calling a medic. This was the first night that we were wearing the identifiable red crosses. Before this, we had been wearing blue bandanas but came to the conclusion that we were not easily identifiable and some were having trouble IDing members of the medic corps.

Then we disembarked from Skateland Park and headed to Merle Hay Rd, where DMPD and several other jurisdictions were in formation already. Five jurisdictions. Johnston PD, DMPD, Polk County Sheriffs, State Troopers, and a few members of the National Guard.

We became involved in a standoff of an hour and a half. One of the members of the core organizers went down several times to the line of police to negotiate them standing down and allowing us to get back to Skateland to our cars.

A call from the one of the medics at the flank came through that a line of police were forming at the intersection behind the crowd. We were kettled for the first time that night.

I was one of three medics in the front lines. While involved in the standoff, I remember treating several cases of near dehydration (I used to work in the rennaissance faire and am very attuned to spotting someone who is about ready to fall out). The walkie talkies were a huge help to the medic corps, as they allowed us to keep in easier communication and quicker communication than sending information through Signal.

We were finally allowed to move and marched up two blocks and back to Skateland with a police escort to make sure we stuck to their plan.

We got back to Skateland and, after several minutes of delibration, the core organizers announced that those who wished to were encouraged to participate in a car parade to an undisclosed location. Those who had brought children were advised to leave. Those who were listening to the police scanner advised not to try to get on the highway because everyone DMPD with the help of the Iowa State Troopers had set up a checkpoint and were planning to arrest those who had been involved in the march.

I got in a car with two other medics (it had been decided that this would be one of the follow cars, the medic emergency treatment car for those who we could not treat in the field) and we decided to make a stop at QuikTrip to get something to eat as well as energu drinks. While we were stopped, we were informed that the car parade was headed for East High School and were we planning to march to the Capitol about a mile away. I implored Brigid that this information would not be disseminated and sent through Twitter but the all too familiar ding of my phone and buzzing of my wrist only took seconds to inform me that it had been posted to Twitter. I remember the look of realization that we were in to be completely and totally FUBAR'd happening in the faces of the two medics I was with.

We decided to drive around downtown to see if we could identify where DMPD had set up the paddywagons and where they were congregated and planned to clash with the protesters.

We then met up with the protesters and were allowed into the rear line of cars protecting the flank from having a car drive through them like we had seen in Charlottesville. I exited the car and found a place at the flank of the protesters.

I had a feeling in the pit of my stomach that we were about to face a worse night that we had experienced before then.

I had no idea how bad it would get.

I wanted to be at the rear because I knew that the rear was where the most help from the medics would be needed and, as a white person, I wanted to put myself between my Black comrades and the police. I wanted to protect them from being arrested because I knew that if anything happened, I was astronomically less likely to be arrested than one of my Black comrades.

We came over the hill on Pennsylvania and, at the intersection of Locust St and Penn, there was a line three deep of DMPD officers in full riot gear. I saw officers in the entrances to the alleyways. Another line of two deep DMPD officers in full riot gear formed about a hundred years away from the flank.

We were kettled for the second time that night.

On three sides, no less.

An officer got on a loudspeaker and demanded that we get out of the street. We quickly moved onto the sidewalk. The officer then read the dispersal order for the first time. Matt and several other organizers responded by yelling that we were surrounded on three sides.

"Where are we supposed to go? You have us surrounded on three sides?"

All comms on the medic radios were silent until one of the medics commented on the situation with a simple "guys, we are FUBAR'd."

We were FUBAR'd.

The dispersal order was read for a second time and was met by louder yells of "where are we supposed to go?"

There were several seconds of silence (there was a lot of yelling) before anyone moved.

The officers then charged at the protesters. Full on ran at us.

We ran.

The calls for medics quickly filled the air as the front line of police launched an assault of CN (mace) at the flank. As I was washing the eyes of one of my conrades, I identified it as CN gel, which does not wash off as quickly as regular CN.

I identified the CN on another comrade as bear mace.

A CS canister was launched but we were moving so quickly that by the time it went off, we had moved past it.

I tripped while we were chased across the Capitol grounds and was put of my feet by an officer, who yelled for me to "fucking run". but not before I felt the cold steel of a riot shield against the back of my knees. We were being chased through a neighborhood in the East Village which was poorly lit.

I tripped a second time and was picked up by my comrades. At this point, DMPD officers were yelling at us that "we had better run or we'd get it worse."

Calls were flying across the medic radio about people getting drenched with CN spray from head to toe and officers snatching protester and throwing them into squad cars. A sixteen year old girl was one of those drenched head to toe with CN spray.

We were chased for 45 minutes according to my Fitbit.

45 minutes.

We got back to East High School, where the dispersal order was read for a third time and there were many yells making sure that everyone had a ride as we were only being allowed a few minutes to disperse. I called on the radio to make sure that everyone was accounted for and had a ride before hopping in the first car I saw that had an open seat.

We left my car at the hotel where it was parked, deciding that I could pick it up later.

At this point, I was finally able to see my hands. They were torn up and bloody. I pulled bacitracine from my pack as well as a gauze pad and medical tape and quickly bandaged my hands up. My knees were the same story. I checked that everyone who had gotten into the car was alright and washed out eyes. The comrade who was driving asked where we lived and quickly found a route that kept us off the highway to everyone's houses.

I got back to my hotel and into my room and went directly into the bathroom. I put on gloves and began to disrobe, being careful not to put my CN drenched clothes anywhere other than the plastic bag I had put in the bathroom earlier that day. I sealed the bag and started a cold shower. I knew that I wouldn't be able to stand long enough to get the CN gel off my body so I sat on the floor of the shower, scrubbing every inch of my body, first with bicarb then with soap. I sat in the shower for fifteen minutes, making sure that all of the CN was off my body.

Once I was satisfied, I put on another pair of gloves and I took to unpacking my pack and soaking the bags that contained my medical supplies in bicarb in the sink. It didn't take long for me to realize that the CN had somehow gotten through the plastic and soaked ALL of my bandages and gauze wraps.

I must have thrown out $200 of medical supplies from my pack that night.

I laid my pack on the floor of the shower to let it soak in water.

I walked back out into my room and, for the first time since this all started, I sat down. I sat down with a cup of tea and thought about what had just happened.

I saw the popped capillaries in my arms and legs, I saw how my ankle was beginning to swell. I saw how scraped my hands were in the light.

I can still remember the smell of the CN spray and how it felt when it hit my arms through my sleeves. I can still remember the shouts from both comrades and DMPD officers. I can still taste the metallic taste of anxiety in my mouth.

I have not been out to a protest since that night.

That night gave my C-PTSD something else to taunt me with.

I will get a flash of light from the flashbangs or catch a smell that is faintly of CN gas.

I was later informed by a comrade who had been doing offsite coordination and scanner watch that DMPD had possession of a military grade LRAD and they had brought it out but not used it.

That night was too much.

That night reminded me why I signed on to be a street medic and protest medic in the first place.