Continued from part I.

Leaving the Xcel Center, I walk outside and search for whatever gate will spit me out of the security zone the closest to the State Capitol. Riot police are shadowing a march organized by the Poor People’s Economic Human Rights Campaign and that march is scheduled to pass by the Capitol building and pick up some of the crowd from the Ripple Effect concert, where it is rumored Rage Against the Machine will be playing. It’ll be a convergence of sorts and things will either go well or they won’t.

A band called Anti-Flag is playing in front of the Capitol building when I show up. They’re playing a song called “Fuck Police Brutality” — but the mood is not heavy. There are riot police strolling around almost casually. One emerges from a portable bathroom and offers his hand to a partner with a grin. Another uses his long baton as a walking stick.

I’m getting reports of a robust police presence alongside the Poor People’s Economic Human Rights march, which is getting closer. I go out to find it and don’t. What I do find is riot police gathering at every intersection I can see along a street out of sight of the concert-goers. And they’re moving in.

I walk a wide perimeter around the Capitol area and find police gathering everywhere.

Behind the Capitol building, well out of view, bike-mounted police have gathered.

And now Rage Against the Machine is ready to go on. The sheriff is saying no. Riot police have taken positions behind the stage. The crowd is becoming angry. “Let them play! Let them play!”

The band finds its way into the crowd and a made-for-YouTube moment ensues: The band is leading the crowd in chanted renditions of its songs. Culminating in a roaring rendition of a song that climaxes with the chant: “Fuck you I won’t do what you tell me!” And somehow, this has seemed to calm people. They are getting their show. Suddenly the band members run towards the closest street, their entire crowd following them just as the marchers are arriving on the scene with their massive police escort.

Early lore already has the band leading the march. Not so. They ran directly to three idling blue Ford Expeditions. Drivers with coiled cables entering their ears like the Secret Service jumped into drivers seats and the bands motorcade honked its way through the marchers before speeding off.

The march looks and feels different from the others so far. There are familiar elements, to be sure. But it’s also a much more ethnically diverse group than the other marches and gatherings. Also, there are children in strollers and people in wheelchairs. And though they do not know it, they are marching into what, to my eyes, is the biggest single army of riot police since the convention began. I count exactly 100 riot police waiting for them several blocks away where the march is supposed to turn right.

When that right-hand turn goes off smoothly there are more riot police at the next intersection — and the one after that.

Just ahead of the Poor People’s Campaign organizers leading the march are four young men, dressed mostly in black, with black bandannas tied behind their heads in the fashion of cowboy bandits. This is the uniform of some of the protesters who did damage and became violent on Monday. A woman carrying a pink flag with a peace symbol on it comes up from behind them. There is no indication they were planning anything other than to finish out the march, but she is not convinced.

WOMAN: (referring to the black-clad riot police) Don’t become them!

YOUNG MAN IN BLACK: (to friend) What is this lady complaining about?

WOMAN: You’re taking their bait! What would have been a better headline today? What does your violence say?

YOUNG MAN IN BLACK: It says we can take back the power — and if more people would be fucking with us…

WOMAN: (pointing to the young men and yelling to the marchers) They’re trying to define us!

The march reaches its end at the walls of the Xcel’s security zone. Riot police stand behind the cage-like walls with pepper-spray canisters drawn.

Cheri Honkala, one of the organizers of the march, takes a bullhorn and gets a boost on a friend’s shoulders.

“Listen up! … we want to thank all of you for a peaceful march today (cheers) … We wanna show what kind of disciplined army we’ve got to put an end to poverty, hunger and homelessness!”

Next she orders the crowd to repeat her words–which they do:

“I promise …

“To be peaceful …

“Because we are nonviolent …

“We have people who are in wheelchairs …

“We have little, tiny, newborn babies …

“And children in strollers …

“So I promise not to do any dumb shit!”

Honkala also announced her intention to walk into the RNC security zone to deliver a giant American flag and notice of a citizen’s arrest for “crimes against humanity.” She did not name names.

And with that, she walked to the gate, escorted by supporters who sang: “I went back to the rich man’s home and took back what the rich man stole…”

She slipped the flag under the security wall and stuck the notice of arrest through a slot. “I want to practice my First Amendment rights,” she said through a bullhorn. “But not through a cage.”

And she walked back to her marchers, who began to turn around. Many — maybe 100 — remained. It is difficult to say how many of those people joined the march at the Capitol building. One protester, betraying dashed hopes for a clash, struck a street sign with his open hand and stormed off. An uncertain but still protest-inclined crowd remained.

Riot police were spilling into position from behind a building — the Dorothy Day Center (a homeless shelter). Playing on a giant screen fixed to the side of the Xcel there were photos, one after another, of John McCain’s war days.

The police began their march on the marchers — attempting to flush them out from the dead-end street where they had concluded their march.

People moved — some quicker than others.

Two women just ahead of the police line tried to unlock their bikes. The police line descended on them and one officer gave the women a hard shove with his baton. A protester yelled out: “This shit is sick, dude!” Another cried out: “Leave the bikes!” The police relented somewhat and the bikes were freed.

An officer announced the imminent use of chemical agents.

As the remaining protesters chanted “Whose streets!? Our streets!”, another line of riot police could be seen running into position behind them. Best anybody could tell in the early darkness, they were being surrounded, although I could see no indication of the kind of violence that might prompt such a tactical maneuver.

And that’s what it was from that point on: tactical. Like a military exercise. The display of law enforcement resources was staggering. Riot police could be seen in all directions, some with rifles for firing non-lethal “impact rounds” pointed at the protesters.

By now some of the protesters had left the dead-end street and were headed toward the Capitol. Then came the explosions and the smoke bombs. They sounded like sound grenades — or concussion bombs. They made an incredible sound. Screams could be heard and smoke seen rising. I ran with others to the scene of the explosions, but we were blocked by police.

Somebody shouted: “Which way do you want us to go?” There was no clear answer. Then suddenly the police parted a small bit and one of them yelled “Go now or be arrested. Go! Go! Go! Go!”

Once we turned the corner the police were quick to create another wall behind us. In front of us, a spectacle: a street lined with riot police — shoulder to shoulder — that stretched for blocks.

It was an exceptionally uneven response to what I and others had witnessed of the march. There were rogues, sure. But rogues of the insult-spitting variety. And occasionally there was a protester inspired to merely stand still or lay down before the police. Those incidents were limited and brief. Mostly, as police advanced, protesters retreated.

It went on like this — it seemed at times to go on forever. Watching the protesters and the police make their moves, both ever so slowly, was like watching a newborn’s eyes as its brain works out the world in front of it.

The police formed their final line alongside Babani’s Kurdish Restaurant, where blinds were mostly drawn and worried faces could be seen peeking through them.

Finally, after the charging, the shooting, one squirt of pepper spray and the unspoken threat of a small army heavy with gear and weaponry, an officer walked ahead of the crowd and gestured for members of the ever-present Minnesota Peace Team — self-selected nonviolent observers at the protests.

I stepped in on the conversation. Out of the gas mask and through the visor came a small, high voice: “We’d really like to collapse this line. If we can get people to go westbound we’d really appreciate it. Thank you.”

The Minnesota Peace Team members communicated the message to a dozen or so protesters and onlookers:

It was a process repeated one more time and then it was over. People stood for a few moments — shocked, confused, wondering which direction was west — and then cleared out. Police removed their gas masks and marched back the way they came.

All photos by Jeff Severns Guntzel. Contact him at jsguntzel at gmail dot com.