When you picked up the paper Sunday, April 13, you might have read about Toby Keith performing at the pro-war rally in Washington, D.C., or the protest at the Masters Tournament in Augusta, Ga., but you probably didn’t hear about the anti-war rally. The media has almost completely ignored it, though it was a scene of anti-war energy, liberal enthusiasm and police malevolence.

In the days leading up to the April 12 rally, I kept hearing that “the war is over.” Even if that proved to be true, I strongly felt the need to express my opposition to a foreign policy of occupation and hegemony. I’ve never been to Washington for a protest before, but I drove 19 hours to our nation’s capitol with my daughter, Chanda, and her friend, Tyler.

I was gratified that so many other protesters also attended – the crowd has been estimated at 25,000 to 30,000 – despite “the war is over” rhetoric. Though the majority of the enormous crowd appeared to be young adults, there also was a large percentage of middle-aged and elderly people, as well as a few families sporting baby strollers. My company of three was situated near the front when the march began, close to some Gray Panthers, several middle-aged persons, an elderly woman and many young people.

The police presence was intimidating from the first step. There were hundreds, if not thousands, of the urban enforcers on horseback, motorcycles, bicycles and on foot. The police surrounded Freedom Plaza (where speeches were given) before the march even began. The entire crowd was surrounded like prisoners of war by police standing elbow to elbow with billy clubs drawn, waiting for their chance to use them.

The motorcycle and bicycle police were a nuisance to us, not only polluting the air with noxious fumes, but also knocking into demonstrators near the curb with their motorcycles and bikes, antagonizing the peaceful crowd. Before long, this destructive behavior provoked the first skirmish. The crowd that had been leading us had stopped dead in their tracks for a few minutes, then turned 180 degrees and started running at us.

Most of us began moving to the sidewalks, but a large group ran ahead, into the mayhem, where they were forcibly shoved back by the police. Tyler also ran ahead to photograph the treatment of a protester being arrested. While trying to photograph the brutality, another officer shoved two girls into Tyler, though he still managed to witness an elderly man being handcuffed. Organizers yelled out to keep walking, while the police successfully managed to fuel our rage toward the Bush administration for their policies of occupation, domination and humiliation.

As we continued marching, the motorcycle brigade also continued with its harassment. With the chaos of the last police battle just dying down, one of the motorcycle cops to my left suddenly jumped off of his bike and began chasing a demonstrator. In a bizarre snowball effect, the crowd began pursuing the chase, which led to even more police personnel taking off after the crowd.

I don’t know what happened to the Gray Panthers who had been ahead of us, but nearby, an elderly woman accompanied by a middle-aged woman looked like a pair of deer in the headlights. I wasn’t sure where Chanda and Tyler were, but I didn’t feel as if I could leave those two women amidst the chaos. After I urged them to seek refuge on the sidewalk, I located Chanda and Tyler in the next block down.

The crowd once again stopped as the police were skirmishing with a group behind us. The crowd as a whole began screaming, “The whole world is watching” and “Whose streets? Our streets!”

A dazed young man, his face swollen and bleeding, approached us along with his girlfriend. “We were just standing there and they smashed him in the face with a billy club,” the girl said. The organizers called out for medical assistance for another young casualty who had been carried to their platform.

After she was cared for, the organizers demanded that the march must be completed as planned. They told us of the battles with the police that were happening behind us – the police had started to pepper spray the crowds. By the time we completed the march, I wasn’t sure if I had been in an anti-war protest. To me, it felt more like we were in a war.

Keating-Hadlock is a library assistant in
collection development at McIntyre Library and a columnist for The Spectator.