RIOTING

Milk!” a tiny Asian girl yelled as she handed me a half gallon jug of milk.

I had just been shot in the leg with a tear gas canister and was choking on smoke. My eyes were on fire.

I was in a riot. It was 11 pm in downtown Atlanta. The milk was to kill the burning sensation from the tear gas. I was wearing flip flops.

It was my first riot.

There were cars on fire. Buildings destroyed. Cops wearing enough protective gear to outfit the next Star Wars movie. Hipsters, delinquents, and idiots like me running around like chickens. The energy was electric and the crowd…well… was having fun.

There were around 500 protestors, 150 police, and 25,000 journalists. Everyone was videoing it on their phones. Some yelled at the police, some drank booze, some ran around looking for things to break or light on fire. Most were laughing. A few were dancing. I was bewildered.

The police had the roads blocked. The protestors kept inching towards the police line and the police would shoot tear gas into the crowd to push them back. I joined. We all choked, retreated back until the burn stopped, and then moved forward again. I had no idea what was drawing me in. I just kept going in.

After five rounds of tear gas, I decided to head home. As I was leaving, I noticed two young guys jumping up and down on the roof of a police car. Another guy threw a Molotov cocktail in the busted out back window. It never lit so he went back to the car to try and get it and light again. It failed a second time. He looked confused and down on himself. The perils of rioting.

I went back the next night around 7pm and it was happening again.

Same deal. A crowd of protestors and a crowd of police facing off for hours. I was in the front positioned perfectly next to a lady screaming at the cops about everything under the sun. She reeked of booze and was wearing a horrific sports bra and half shorts. A scrawny white guy behind her held a sign that said, “Fire All Cops”.  Everybody on their phones hopping for something to go off.

Young protestors would showboat in front of the police. Troublemakers from deep in the crowd would throw water bottles at the police. The front-line protestors would then scream at the people behind them to stop throwing the bottles. The police would get hit by the bottles and remain motionless, hot and aggravated. I never said a word. I am not very good at protesting.

What I found the most interesting about the experience was the kindness.

I never thought about protests before, but I think they are working. The destructive ones with burning cars, Darth Vader looking cops, and multiple rounds of tear gas draw the most attention. That is the goal. Draw attention. Peaceful ones don’t get the same media attention as the destructive ones. Burning cars and fools dancing on destroyed police cars tell a compelling story.  A man quietly sitting in the street with a flower, not so much.

As I entered the crowd of protestors what I discovered was amazing. Everyone was being kind to each other. Whites, blacks, Asians, weirdos, and non-weirdos. Every time the police shot tear gas, people started sharing water and helping their neighbor. Milk stations were set up to help people. I saw people walking around with trash bags to pick up empty water bottles and trash in the streets. The overall climate in the crowd was one of laughter and fun. High energy fun.

It didn’t seem like anybody was trying to hurt anybody. The police were not trying to hurt the protestors. The protestors were not trying to hurt the police. Yes, objects were destroyed, spray painted, lit on fire but humans were not destroyed, spray painted, or lit on fire. There was kindness. A kind of respect for each other even though there is no respect for the injustice that seems to continue in our country.

My heart goes out to the police. Men and women, black, white, blue, and green required to do their job protecting the very people attacking them. My heart goes out to the oppressed men and women crying on the front lines. Tired of being tired. My heart goes out to Americans locked in their homes full of fear and anxiety because the only thing they see on their Instagram feed is the most sensational images of the chaos. My heart does not go out to the dude that invented tear gas because that shit burns like hell.

I went to the riots to try and understand a little more. To listen, see, and feel. What I learned is most people are good. The protestors, the cops, the people at home, and the people in charge. We are all trying to do our best and none of us are perfect, or even good sometimes. When a pandemic, virus, economic shut down, unemployment, racial violence, murder, and shear boredom hits society none of us have the perfect plan. But, I didn’t see anyone attack each other. I saw kindness, passion, dedication, and a shit ton of things on fire.

I thanked the girl for the milk and passed it to the guy beside me rubbing his burning eyes.

An Asian girl, black guy, and me sharing a container of milk.

Trey