To be shot at
The violence of the justice system spills into the streets - a young protester writes on facing the police brutality
Azria, is 19-years-old and works full time in the Denver area. Growing up in the “Sunnyside” neighborhood of Denver, Arroyo now lives in Wheat Ridge Colorado. Read Azria’s account below.
Thursday May 28, was the first day of the protests in Denver. It was a peaceful, calm and organized gathering. Once law enforcement showed up, chaos began to erupt almost immediately. Police arrived in full riot gear forming a line in front of the protesters. The standoff began.
Azria stands protesting on May 30 in Denver, Colorado.
Unprovoked, officers began to shove us. We kept our hands up as a display of non-violence while officers became increasingly aggressive. They charged people from behind, throwing them onto the ground, and attempted to run their police truck into the crowd. Tensions grew when four officers attacked an elderly black man in a wheelchair as he tried to cross the street.
Saturday, May 30, was my second day at the protest, I went knowing there was a very real possibility of getting hurt. It felt necessary to go not only to stand in solidarity with the BLM movement, but to stand against our Police departments history of misconduct, discrimination, abuse of power, and their militarized response to what began as a peaceful gathering against police brutality. The first time we were tear gassed was at 4 p.m., four hours before the newly ordered 8 p.m. curfew. The energy was positive as we marched through the streets. We approached the police station. There was a line of officers in full riot gear, and armed officers on rooftops surrounding the area. Officers covered their badge numbers as we tried to note them. Another protester yelled, “That’s illegal!”
Some officers were smirking at us, as if they were enjoying themselves. Suddenly, everyone was frantically running as officers shot into the crowd and deployed tear gas canisters. While running, I tripped over several people. I panicked as three canisters of tear gas landed at my feet, releasing thick smoke burning my eyes and skin. When I tried to breathe the pressure in my chest and lungs felt as though I was drowning.
Many vomited in the streets. A volunteer medic rinsed my eyes out. The effects subsided over the next hour, but lingered days after. We re-gathered and marched towards the Capitol building. We arrived at a swarm of police, Denver SWAT, and Colorado National Guard armed with “less than lethal” weapons. Standing head to head with officers, we chanted “We don’t see no riot here, why are you in riot gear?”.
Officers who lay near bushes with weapons aimed at us looked like a scene out of a war zone. The standoff continued, until officers started indiscriminately firing “less than lethal” ammunition into the crowd. We ran into the park. Tear gas canisters and rubber bullets flew into the street. Some protesters picked them up and threw them back. Cops started charging into the park. I saw 40 millimeter baton rounds cut through the crowd. Protesters near me were hit in the eyes and head and fell down.
Volunteer medics came to their aid, making an improvised stretcher from fencing. I saw something flying toward me. I quickly ran backwards, but my leg was hit with a 40mm baton round, that knocked me off of my feet. It was surreal.
There was a girl crying next to me and someone yelled, “She was hit with a rubber bullet.”
The remainder of the day was chaos. I was exhausted and overwhelmed. I found out later, about someone who had been at the protest that day having eye removal surgery, as a result of less than lethal ammunition fired by police. I wasn’t surprised by his story. I felt lucky to only have a bruise and a swollen leg, while others left with permanent reminders of what they’d endured that day.
Azria said that she had trouble breathing days after being tear-gassed and had nose bleeds. She is biracial, with parents from Senegal and Mexico, and has faced discrimination growing up.
Context: Protesters were arrested and booked possibly exposing them to COVID-19. Why tear gas is so much more dangerous than we’re told by police.
Denver protests on May 30, 2020.
News
Filmed: Javier Ambler was killed on film by Texas police while a crew videoed an episode of “Live PD”, which was canceled shortly after. [Statesman]
Violence with violence: Police began answering protests against police violence with violence. Dig into the history. [The Marshall Project]
Throwback: Last fall, I wrote about a response to 911 calls without police, and the potential life saving role it can play in reducing police contact. [Kaiser Health News]
Go silent: Federal prisons lock down and go silent with protests sparked by George Floyd. [The Appeal]
Still a pandemic: There have been over 40,000 cases of COVID-19 in prisons. [The Marshall Project]
See it: A visual of the 886 people killed by the police in Los Angeles. [LA Times]
Defund: A New Jersey town got rid of the cops, can we learn from it? Or not. [Philadelphia Inquire]
No-knocked BANNED: Kentucky bans no-knock warrants after Breonna Taylor was killed by a police officer serving one. The police officers involved have not been arrested. [The Appeal]
Joined forces: Guards and inmates sue prison as COVID-19 spreads. [KQED]
Released: The man who filmed the arrest of Eric Garner has been released early due to COVID-19. [Rolling Stones]
Immigration - Another Protest: Follow as men and women in Georgia in ICE tried to raise the alarm about COVID-19. [Type Investigation]
Educate yourself: Black people in Chicago are more likely than anyone else to be stopped by police. [Prison Policy]
Long listen: This podcast dives deep into the sounds of unrest in one California city. [Sounds of Our Lives]
REST IN POWER: A 19-year-old Black Lives Matter activist who struggled to find safe housing, was found dead after tweeting about a man who sexually assaulted her after offering her a place to stay. [Miami Herald]
COVID-19 resources: State Policy Changes. News. Bureau of Prisons updates. State court changes.
We want to hear from you about how COVID-19 is impacting you and the people connected to you. What is not being talked about? What story do you have that needs to be heard? Who do you want answers or explanations from? Please reach out to lj@dawsons.us.
The Des drops into your inbox weekly with a collection of small and digestible snippets concerning the criminal justice system. It promises to be humanizing, spunky, and educational. Our name: The Des is short for Desmoterion or “place of chains”, used to describe prisons in ancient Athens. We like the idea of the chains because incarceration expands far beyond bars, connecting all of parts of this country. We are here to cover it all.