Today I stopped by to see the new sign. It's never easy to be there.pic.twitter.com/9K81rCrGUb
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I spent that morning at UVa PD filing the report on Cantwell. By the time we finished and headed to the parks, it felt like we were walking into a war zone.
The helicopter overhead. The quiet of the streets. I set out at first carrying my AR across my chest. I walked a block and a half and decided against it. Turned around and walked home. As I headed back to, a cop pulled up the the intersection. She smiled and waved at me.
Just a normal day, walking around Charlottesville with a fucking tactical rifle strapped across your chest. Have a nice day!
We got downtown and headed to the auxiliary park, Justice Park. I had promised my wife I wouldn't go to the front lines. I didn't. Watching people filter out was like a scene from Platoon. People bloody. Someone told us someone had been shot.
The Nazis came in waves. Before we got there we got pinned between Market and High Streets, just me and my partner, as columns of Nazis headed to E Park on either side of us.pic.twitter.com/iAsbLRZct9
(Correction: this photo is from just before, heading up from the Downtown Mall)
At one point we went down to Market Street to observe. We saw smoke trails coming out of the park. They had started throwing smoke bombs. One hit the Wells Fargo sign and a shower of sparks erupted. The dent it left is still visible on the sign today.
The police started moving in. Waves of people flooded towards us. We retreated to Justice Park. That was the only place we had firepower. It was the only safe place to be. Anywhere else and we were afraid of getting jumped.
The weirdest part of the day was the ice cream truck. Like Someone rolled up a fucking ice cream truck to sell ice cream to counterprotestors. Someone was patrolling the corner with a Kriss Vector and the next person had a fucking Klondike bar, like what??
We made our way to the other park at one point after the Nazis had been cleared out. They were all driving like dicks. A truck peeled out and sped at a group of demonstrators at one point. Right then we should have known.
When the request for local support for Friendship Court came, it made sense for me to leave the downtown area in that group. When we saw the other march on Water Street it was the first moment that felt good all weekend. It lasted less than ten minutes.
Engage only if attacked first with lethal force. Do not fire if your range isn't clear. Do not fire if you can't see your target. Get the camera rolling but don't show victims. Those were the rules I had for myself.
You can't prepare for the pools of blood. The anguished faces contorted with pain. The feeling of relief of linking back with your partner after getting separated from them. The screams are silent. You can hear them but you can't remember them.
Establish a perimeter. Form a medic wall. Open up lanes for first responders. Deconflict. Watch for secondary attacks against responders. Headcount your crew.
By the time the attack happened, we had formed a group of about eight people, all locals, committed to getting each other home safe. The walk back was like nothing else. We had to go the long way. Back up to downtown. Around the pavilion. Over the Belmont Bridge.
We walked in a formation, last person walking backwards to watch for another car attack.
Tell me it wasn't war. Tell me it wasn't terrorism. I dare you.
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