Thought, before things descended into chaos — the vast majority caused by looters absent of the civil demonstrations — there was perceived, palpable calm.
“We had marched all day Sunday with no incident, and the police kept their distance from us,” recounts Kimi, a local trans-activist. “Several of us managed to block traffic on our own when the police would not.”
But that level of lukewarm ambivalence shown by SPFD officers began changing as the sun died down… and San Francisco’s first curfew since 1966 was set to start. “By the time we had marched up Bryant and back to Market the police had swarmed on us,” they added over email. “And they were mixing into the crowd and agitating people.”
At one point, Kimi even used her own body as a warm-blooded buffer against an encroaching police car — a vehicle that was allegedly driving toward a crowd she was in at an alarming speed: “I was frankly worried for the safety of the other protesters, which is why I put myself in front of [that police vehicle] hoping they would stop driving into us.”
Then, shortly after said incident, she was arrested for breaking curfew.
Kimi was released about five hours later after she was taken into custody; they did not read their Miranda Rights upon arrest, she also noted. Kim shared with Bob Cut rubber bullets — a means of crowd control three SF supervisors are hoping to ban in the near future — were fired at demonstrators that evening.“We sat on the sidewalk in front of the Hall of Justice in protest of a curfew law clearly intended to silence protest against the ongoing murderous persecution of people of color by law enforcement.”
Ironically enough for one protestor (who was held with over two dozen other protesters), their arrest was along the pavement outside the Hall of Justice in San Francisco.
“I was arrested with twenty-six others, mostly members of the SF chapter of Democratic Socialists of America,” reflected Nick Novitski, a male-identifying social justice warrior that attended multiple curfewed protests earlier this month, to us in an interview — before detailing how curfews are historically a means of both racial profiling and silencing.
“We sat on the sidewalk in front of the Hall of Justice in protest of a curfew law clearly intended to silence protest against the ongoing murderous persecution of people of color by law enforcement,” Novitski added, sharing that he “wanted to stand in solidarity and sorrow with the victims of that persecution.”
The very night Novitiski was protesting, some 87 people were arrested en masse, a figure confirmed in a press conference with SFPD Police Chief Bill Scott the following day on June 3.
A “mass arrest” of this size hasn’t been seen within the city of San Francisco in well over fifty years. Where and when was the last one, you ask? 1969 at San Francisco State College when 438 students, faculty, and other members of the public were detained for protesting the Vietnam War. In a similar occurrence, 123 individuals were arrested near City Hall by SFPD in 1964 — standing in solidarity with the Civil Rights Movements.
And if it weren’t for the journalist, both on those scenes and in newsrooms, the plights and narratives gilding those displays of civil unity would’ve been forgotten. Or, worse: ignored. But that’s not to say even credentialled journals were detained during those nonviolent protestings… just like at the ones of recent.
“I am a credentialed journalist, however, I did not have visible identification,” says Sakura Sato, a Bay Area freelance journalist. “I recently joined the Pacific Media Workers Guild and had not yet received my press pass. I have the press pass now.”
Like Novitski, Sato was arrested with other protesters and was later “transported to Pier 50” where she was “cited and released.”
“I felt sick during transport due to the constriction of the plastic zip tie cuffs placed on my hands and wrists,” Sato laments. “I screamed in pain when they were removed. It was quite painful how they removed them, and they left broken skin on my right hand.”
We’re in a pivotal moment in our society, and the White Male Power model is, arguably, on its last gasp. We need to — all of us; those in the media, the protesters marching on our streets, individuals who’ve taken to Twitter to denounce systemic racism — still hold those in power accountable for their actions. Expose episodes of malice, record instances of misconduct. Use your platforms (however small or large they may be) to amplify whatever corner of the world you occupy to echo the need for a pragmatic shift in this country’s relationship with race and law enforcement.
And let your voices and experiences fuel the great dialogue we’re all a part of, no matter if you realize it or not.
// Feature photo courtesy of @uhshanti. Have a story for us? We want to amplify it, send us an email here.
