Protest, Pandemic, and Perspective (Part 4): The Night of Chaos

The lobby of the Hampton Inn on W. Illinois where I was staying was smashed in with a baseball bat early on Saturday evening. (click to enlarge)

The clerk looked at me, “Why weren’t you down here? They smashed the window out with a baseball bat.” Now, I’d talked to her a few times and she’s a really nice lady but I have no idea why she would have wanted me to be there when they smashed the window. I looked at the two gentlemen who were cleaning up the glass, “Everyone ok?”

“Yeah we’re good. Just be careful. There’s glass everywhere.”

I stepped carefully through the lobby, opened the door, and stepped out.

I’ve been struggling trying to figure out the best way to explain this feeling. It felt like an episode of Dr. Who or one of those Star Trek episodes or the Matrix where they find a portal or something and they walk through the door of a room to find themselves on a different planet or in a place on the other side of the world. I don’t know if it was really like this or just how I remember it and looking at the pictures from that night I’m greeted with the same exact feeling. It felt like a vacuum or like this city, this block was the only thing in existence. I don’t know what your feelings are on these things and I have no interest in trying to convince you one way or the other about the existence of a God or spiritual matters in these blog posts. Call it the Holy Spirit, the Force, the energy in all creation that flows through all things… All I know is it felt like this whole existence that I was in was holding it’s breath and at some point it was going to be too much and it was going to exhale in an explosion. It felt like someone was winding the tension like a rubber band and it was going to snap.

The car with the Muslim ladies in it. I still haven’t figured out where the smoke was coming from…

You remember those muslim girls from the last post? The one standing on a car and the other hanging out the window in their hijabs? The first thing I remember after stepping out the door was them driving past me. For some reason that grounded me and allowed me to remember I wasn’t just transported to some alternate universe or dystopian future. I followed where their car was going. Just a block away I saw the flashing lights and some smoke. When I got there I instinctually stood close to the police with a side view to them and the protestors as they faced off. I knew this was a safer position. For one, when I noticed the police exploding into a situation, I never saw a single officer swing a sharp left. They usually sprinted straight forward. Two, they could see exactly what I was doing. Three, people causing trouble like to be a little further from the police. You’ll notice the early pictures in this post will start from this vantage point and eventually begin to move as I foolishly got a little more comfortable.

I won’t bother to describe the scene, I’ll just show it to you.

Grand and Dearborn Saturday night in Chicago. (Click to Enlarge)

I want you to notice a few things because reflecting back I think there are clues here that help us understand the situation and what happened. First, notice the water on the ground and the plastic water bottles. Those were thrown at the police. Water bottles were the only thing I saw thrown at the police. I’d hear stories from both protestors and police officers that in other places people were throwing rocks and sometimes bricks too. The protestors who were initially telling me about it were pissed that it happened. I didn’t talk to anyone that wasn’t angry that people were throwing things at police. But people were throwing things at the police and I don’t want to diminish the pain or injury that being hit by a projectile water bottle can cause. Second, I want you to notice the officer up front who already has a bandage on his elbow. They’ve already had a long and difficult day of being yelled at and having things thrown at them or worse. Third, look at how calm the police seem to be except for one who is turning and looks irate. I have a 90-10 theory - 90% of all the protestors and police officers were there for legitimate reasons and wanting the best outcome for everyone and 10% of protestors and police were there to either cause chaos or to shut people up by any means necessary. Most of the police look really calm, but there’s one guy who looks furious. Now, this photo is a snap in time, 1/250th of a second to be exact. I could be catching him right as he’s about to sneeze or maybe he’s trying to yell because the crowd was loud. I have no way of knowing anything about this man or who he is or why he had that expression on his face. So, please understand that I’m just saying that this photo is indicative and speaks to a “truth” I noticed. I’m not saying anything about that specific man.

Now, I want you to look at the crowd. They’re pretty calm. They’re pretty young. It’s a pretty diverse racial crowd. Notice where the other photographer is? He’s in the safe spot. You see that one guy in the middle with his hands up? Unlike with the police officer, I can tell you exactly what he’s doing and saying. He’s antagonizing the police. He’s calling them names and telling them how “tough they look” in the riot gear with all their buddies and how they’re cowards. You see the people in the far back that are coming to join? 1/250th of a second is a short amount of time but it can tell you a lot. It can’t tell you everything and it can be deceiving, but it can still tell you a lot. It can’t tell you the feeling that was starting to build. It can’t show you how it was like someone had flicked a switch while I was back at the hotel and it seemed like a different protest and a different police force. These two forces didn’t understand that each other had a job to do like that afternoon. They felt like they were going to keep upping the ante on each other until one side exploded. I had the sense these protestors wanted the police to explode. And I very quickly began to get the sense that the police were just waiting for someone to step out of line so they could be unleashed.

Let me give you another example. Here’s what we need to pay attention to in this photo and what you’re missing: I want you to notice the headband, the mask, the pants with the zippers,, the sweatshirt, and the face of this protestor. I want you to notice something else. What is he holding? What’s on the ground behind him? Now, what is he looking at? He’s looking at a police officer who’s just out of frame. Why is he looking at that police officer? Because that police officer is telling him what a “piece of shit” he is and how he’s going to beat his ass.

A young man walks in front of the police with his hand raised Saturday night (click to enlarge)

The first clashed I witnessed Saturday evening in Chicago (click to enlarge)

Right after I took this photo, the young man walked passed me and muttered, “This is unbelievable.” That’s when I heard the “Come here, mother fucker!” And the police came sprinting out at the protesters. People started to scatter. The police sprinted after anyone they could their hands on and took off down the street. I slowly started to follow them. I don’t know why they took off and I don’t know if they took off after a particular person..

Chicago Police giving chase to a crowd on Saturday evening (click to enlarge)

Here’s what I can tell you with absolute certainty; what I know to be the truth and factual to the best of my ability. That guy in the hoodie from the first picture was still antagonizing the police when they launched out. That kid was detained in handcuffs later. My initial thought was that he must have thrown something or crossed a line. However, I have no proof they were going after him. As I turned and looked where the police were running to, there were dumpsters on fire down the road and people appeared to be smashing and trying to overturn mail trucks parked on the side of the road. An uber food delivery guy was clubbed by a police officer and knocked off his bike and then hit again. When I got to the postal vehicles they were spray painted, shattered, and one was catching on fire. Some police officers ran back to make sure the fire was going out and not spreading. The fire department is right next to my hotel and they were on the dumpster fires super fast. There was a crowd around the dumpsters but by the time I got there they were mostly taking pictures and generally looking concerned. There was no yelling at the police or throwing things. Everyone moved out of the way and allowed the police and firefighters to do their job.

Firefighters and police working to put out multiple dumpsters on fire in Chicago Saturday evening. Everyone stood aside and let them do their job (click to enlarge)

It seemed like things were starting to quiet down after that and I found myself curious as to why the police were blocking this particular block off where everything first started. I walked around to the other side of the block where no one really was. It looked like the aftermath of a war zone. Nothing of what I saw said protest. It said riot. A smashed out and abandoned police car. Police near a police school bus resting looking exhausted. They were roping off the block and there were dumpsters here too that had been on fire and overturned. The walls of buildings had been spray painted. Whatever had happened on that street before I had left my hotel that evening and arrived on that corner wasn’t a protest. It was a riot.

Police line on Grand and Dearborn Saturday evening in Chicago (click to enlarge)

Before I get in to what happened next, I want to take a second to try and process with you… I feel like I both understand and can’t understand what happened next. I talked to a few Chicago Police officers in the following days trying to understand what happens in these situations. I have no idea how a police officer can distinguish between someone protesting vs. someone rioting. In that way, those standing on the other side of the line have it much easier. We can pretty much tell who and where the police are and what they’re doing. It’s fairly obvious. But if I’m standing in a group of people dressed in normal clothes with a mask covering my face, I don’t look like a minister who’s there trying to be a voice of calm and trying to be a cooler head. I look like a white guy covered in tattoos with a shaved head, beard sticking out crazily from under the mask (there’s no beard maintenance with one on) and cauliflower ears. How do you know who I am or what my intentions are? Being yelled at and having things thrown at you for hours would wear down the self-control of even the most patient saints I know. I asked an officer how the decision is made for the police to break rank and charge the crowd or disperse the crowd. I was told the guys in the white shirts are supervisors who stand directly behind the front line spotting and observing people. When they observe someone who is a “threat” or someone who has crossed the line from protester to rioter and into criminality, the supervisor will authorize detaining that person or dispersing the crowd. And while I understand all of that, I still don’t understand what happened next.

Demonstrators on Grand and Dearborn Saturday night in Chicago (click to enlarge

I can understand the anger and frustration of those in the streets. You know, where I live is pretty much an upper-middle class community and it’s a relatively small community. When there were rumors that the looting and rioting may extend to our area, people were angry and afraid. They were angry that the roads would be closed, that there was inconvenience and life was interrupted. They were angry people may come into their community and destroy things. They were afraid for their safety and what may happen. And while I am vehemently against riots, looting, violence, and terrorizing people and in no way think it’s “right,” I can’t help but think we are probably experiencing a small taste of the fear and anger many people live with every day - that fear of the police, of being pulled over and killed, that anger for being limited, looked down upon, viewed with suspicion just because of your skin color; the fear and anger that comes with feeling targeted; the fear and anger that you may never fully get a chance to realize your full potential because there are still many people who view you as less than human. To live in that fear and anger day after day, month after month, year after year, and there doesn’t seem to be any hope of changing it does something to a person. You bottle it up. You bury it. You take it over and over again because you feel powerless and there’s nothing you can do about it. And then one day enough becomes enough. If you try to non-violently protest by taking a knee or raising complaints through proper channels, you’re told to shut up and sit down. They want to throw heroes like Martin Luther King in your face to say how you’re doing it wrong, but they unleashed dogs and fire hoses on him. They arrested and beat him. Then one day while he had the reputation of the most hated person in America, someone shot him… for protesting non-violently and insisting on being seen as an actual human being. No, that doesn’t seem to work. You want those who are disempowering you to feel the same fear, the same rage, the same powerlessness that you’ve been forced to feel your whole life. So, one day enough becomes enough and all that fear, all that rage, all that powerlessness just comes exploding out like a pipe who’s pressure has built up and backed up to the point of exploding. And while I understand all of that, I still don’t understand what happened next…

Justin Crosby being arrested Saturday night in Chicago for allegedly throwing a water bottle at police. (click to enlarge)

An onlooker pleads with police to relent and ease up on Justin Crosby as he was arrested Saturday night in Chicago (click to enlarge)

Justin Crosby was thrown to the ground, pinned there, beaten, and arrested just as I was arriving back to the corner I started on. There were so many police around him and on top of him that I couldn’t see what was really going on, but I heard him crying out and telling the officers he’s not trying to resist. People on the outside were begging the police to let up on him, that they were really hurting him. The police were yelling at him to get up off the ground. He was pleading with them that he couldn’t. They were standing on him and pinning him to the ground. He told them that if they would even just stop crushing his legs, he’d stand up. The police accused him of throwing a water bottle. Did he? I don’t know. I didn’t see one way or the other. But I’ve been thinking about something. You remember that picture above that I asked you to pay attention to the young man with his fist raised and water bottle in his hand? He looks a lot like Justin, doesn’t he? They have similar hair and are both dressed in black clothing. That’s not Justin. Now, let me ask you something: You’re chasing a crowd of people who are running away from you. You’re told to grab the black kid dressed in black. How do you know you grab the right one? If he stops running like Justin apparently did, and puts his hands up like Justin apparently did, what do you do? They threw him to the ground, beat his ass, and arrested him.

Justin was missing for days after this. This was the last photograph taken of him. His family and friends called the police who said they didn’t detain him contrary to what I clearly saw, contrary to the photographs I’d taken, and contrary to what his friends who were present saw and said. His family called hospitals and posted on social media. No one had any proof of what happened to him until they found my photograph on instagram. Finally, the police released him and he’s safely at home now. Justin is a really active and really well liked guy in the Chicago comedy scene and from what all his friends say, he’s one of the most gentle, calm, sweet, and funny guys you’ll ever meet. My gut tells me he didn’t throw the bottle; that they grabbed the wrong guy. But that’s just my gut and I’ll never really have any way of knowing.

A car pulls up to taunt police and then drives away Saturday night in Chicago (click to enlarge)

After Justin Crosby was arrested and taken away, all Hell broke loose. The crowd was pissed. The cops were pissed. The stoic nature of the police standing there was gone. The crowd was yelling at the police and while I never saw exactly who was throwing water bottles (and I looked in hopes of trying to stop them) the water bottles were flying through the air. And the police were yelling things back at the crowd, jeering at them, taunting them, telling them they were going to kick their asses. Things were at a boiling point. A car pulled up right in front of the police. A kid hung out the window and gave the police the finger before peeling out and driving away. Another man stood right in front of the police line yelling something I couldn’t really hear at this point because everyone was yelling. And that’s where I noticed where I was standing. I was facing the police in the middle of it and not off to the side in the “safe zone.” I was on the corner with my back to the entrance of Mastro’s Steakhouse. I was both on the corner and in the corner and I realized that I was in a very bad spot should this thing actually explode. “Do what you have to do, but please be careful,” I heard her say as I kissed her goodbye that morning. I began pleading with people to calm down, to hold on, to just wait a second…

I have no idea what happened but all of a sudden more angry police officers than I even realized were there came flying forward toward us. The crowd screamed and began to run. The police were grabbing anyone they could get ahold of and beating them to the ground. Just beating them. Here I was trapped. Officers were now running directly at the few of us trapped against the door of Mastro’s Steakhouse. We had our hands up hoping that this feeble act of compliance would be enough to be overlooked, unseen, or passed by. I remember thinking this is going to hurt and then, *CRACK!* He swung his baton so hard into my shin that he tripped and fell.

I was afraid of pain my whole life until I was 20 and I shattered my forearm trying to impress my girlfriend (that’s a different blog for a different day). That’s when I realized that adrenaline and your approach to the pain can dictate how much something hurts. This lesson has been reinforced to me over and over again in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu where I once heard my toe break,, moved it relatively back into to place, and said to my training partner, “That’s going to hurt in a few minutes.” And boy did it once the adrenaline wore off. When that baton crashed against my shin, there was no pain. I’m really not that tough. There just was no pain. Instead, the only thing I felt was pure rage. I would have rathered the pain. I’d be less embarrassed by telling you I felt pain than by the pure, burning rage I truly felt. I wanted to grab that police officer, rip the club out of his hands, and beat him as hard as I could. When I was younger I had rage like that but it’s been another lifetime ago since I’ve felt this much rage towards another human being. But that’s just the thing. In that moment he wasn’t a human being to me and I wanted to absolutely destroy whatever it was I thought he was. I heard my voice speaking. It was like I had no control over myself, that I was merely an observer of my own actions. It was maybe the closest thing to an out-of-body experience that I ever felt. “What the hell did you do that for??” I screamed at this officer as I realized I was towering over him while he was trying to get up. “Not smart, Quincy,” I thought to myself.

He looked up at me wide-eyed. There was genuine human fear in his eyes. That’s when I realized his perspective. He’d just clubbed a man in the leg as hard as he could and yet that man is standing over him enraged as he’s on the ground trying to get up. Now, I’m not a scary person. If you know me, you know that I really am a gentle person. I don’t even think I look scary if I try. I don’t have some killer instinct. It’s one of the reasons I’m not that great at Jiu Jitsu. I hate hurting people and I do it for the exercise and the mental chess aspects of the game. But in that environment? He was scared. He was scared of me. “Sorry,” he said and he ran off. I was shaking. The fear and adrenaline were pumping through me. I looked around me. I couldn’t even bring myself lift my camera to show you what I saw. The police were beating everyone they could get ahold of. Indiscriminately. I saw nothing but pure rage on the face of the police and I was genuinely afraid for the first time that this might not end so well for me… I stood there with an overwhelming sadness growing in me. Is this what we’ve become? Is this who we’ve always been? Is there really any healing or moving forward from any of this? Are we so entrenched in our side, in being right, in our absolutism, in our dehumanization of others who we see as so different from ourselves that we’re just going to provoke each other until we destroy it all?

A person being arrested after the explosion of chaos on Grand and Dearborn in Chicago Saturday night (click to enlarge)

It was a massacre on that street. And every single one of us - cop, pastor, and protester alike - was to blame for it. I wish now, looking back, that I could have seen that we - everyone there - were passing a point of no return; that there was a point where it was going to be impossible to ease tensions and allow cooler heads to prevail. But in that moment watching the terror I was now engulfed in, all I could do is stand there on the side of the street watching the beatings, the shoutings, the curses, the carnage and feel like I was just waiting until it was my turn. And then, just like that, just as quickly and unexpectedly as it all began, it was over. People were crying. Tears of anger, of fear, of horror, of a thousand different things I can imagine were beginning their slow, initial descent down the cheeks of protester and police officer alike in some cases. Those who managed to not be handcuffed were picking themselves off the ground and leaving. Some of the police were still yelling and taunting the protesters or rioters - depending on who you ask. But if there are really sides in all of this, it’s pretty clear which side lost and which side was broken. The police began to form rank again. A few officers were helping people off the ground and helping them leave and walk away. My leg began to throb. I could feel my pulse in the area I was hit. Still no pain but I had that thought: “This is really going to hurt in a few minutes.”

A supervisor walked up to me. “You ok?” He asked looking genuinely concerned.

“Yeah… I think so. You?” He just kind of shrugged.

“Listen, I don’t know if you heard… You should have gotten a notification on your phone, but there is a city curfew that’s ben instituted and it’s past that time,” He told me. “How far is your home?”

I said, “I’m staying at that hotel,” point just across the block. He looked surprised. “A friend got me a room there a week or two ago so I could get away and relax.” He chuckled.

“Not so relaxing…”

“No…” I said.

“Listen, please go back to the hotel and stay there the rest of the evening. For your safety.” I’ll never forget this - the look on his face, the concern in his voice, the weariness in his eyes, the pause he gave before finishing, and the honesty in his last. two words “…and mine.”

“Ok. Thank you,” I said. “And be safe.”

“Yeah,” he said. “You too.”

I went back into the hotel and sat on the side of the bed trying to wrap my mind around what I had just seen and been through. As I could feel my heart rate begin to slow down and my muscles start to relax a little, I realized how tense, how tight I’d been. My leg began to throb, then ache, and then truly hurt. “Ow!” I said to no one there. I pushed up my pant leg and put my hand on the spot. It was wet. The skin had broken. I called my wife. Told her I was ok. I was safe and back in my hotel room. Then I tried to just casually mention that I may have been struck in chaos.

“You just don’t listen,” is all she said.

She’s right. I don’t…

(To be continued…)