A week involving breakfasts with ministers, writing reports on traffic issues, flirting with people I shouldn't and drinking a vast amount has passed. Journal entry over.
... but, I've been inspired to write about something else....
The mood was almost too good. A party atmosphere was present but somehow felt inappropriate; we all knew that war with Iraq was costing lives and underneath the carnival spirit, we were angry.
I marched with two friends through the streets of the city I had got to know and love so well over the months I had lived there.
The main street in Madrid is called Gran Via and we strolled along it until we faced something we hadn't seen before. Despite having marched twice before against the war, we had never seen any more than a token presence of police. This was different!
The wall of riot police blocked our way and stood holding rubber-bullet guns as well as their usual batons and pistols. The shields were poised and the masks were down.
We realised that trouble was possible and turned down the street with a name which shall be forever etched in my mind. As we walked down calle Montera the wall of police followed us. It swung round like a single entity and moved towards the few hundred people who had chosen this route.
Although there was a sense of apprehension, we knew two things: firstly that there had been little or no violence shown against the police so there was nothing to fear from them. Secondly, we could walk or run faster than fully uniformed riot police and so were in no danger.... and then my heart sank and I felt sickness and true fear.
Almost like a mirror image, we faced a wall of black. There was a line of riot police behind us and facing us. We were trapped.
The noise was deafening. I watched people double up and crumple as rock hard 'rubber' bullets smashed into them. Breaking ribs and winding the victims, the volley of bullets was followed by a charge from the police.
People ran screaming and crying. Some lay twisted and damaged from the bullets and all of us blinked and wept with tear gas in our eyes and throats.
I hid behind a phone booth clutching the two girls close to me.
The ruck sack on my back was filled with books and was a blessing as it took much of the impact from the baton as it was slammed into my back and head.... I fell to the ground.
As the girls helped me stand I remember watching people lying on the floor being kicked and beaten by the police. The battle of Calle Montera was underway. The bloodiest confrontation with police since the end of Spanish fascism left scores of people injured and one person dead. It is a day which will stay in my mind forever.
The guy held hopelessly on to the shattered camera in his arms. He gripped the battered shell as the batons cracked into his skull.
The girlfriend shook as she held her arms out in a symbol of both despair and peace. Her boyfriend lay bleeding and broken beneath her. The police man towered over this diminuitive figure but showed no mercy. One blow diagonally across her face smashed her nose into a bloody pulp. A desperate yelp was followed by the sound of another human crashing to the floor. I stood (barely) gripping my friends and just wept. We marched for peace and we were faced with contempt and hatred and raw violence!
I marched in 2003 and I support all movements for peace. I hope I continue to do so.
Peace and love? PEACE AND LOVE!
... but, I've been inspired to write about something else....
The mood was almost too good. A party atmosphere was present but somehow felt inappropriate; we all knew that war with Iraq was costing lives and underneath the carnival spirit, we were angry.
I marched with two friends through the streets of the city I had got to know and love so well over the months I had lived there.
The main street in Madrid is called Gran Via and we strolled along it until we faced something we hadn't seen before. Despite having marched twice before against the war, we had never seen any more than a token presence of police. This was different!
The wall of riot police blocked our way and stood holding rubber-bullet guns as well as their usual batons and pistols. The shields were poised and the masks were down.
We realised that trouble was possible and turned down the street with a name which shall be forever etched in my mind. As we walked down calle Montera the wall of police followed us. It swung round like a single entity and moved towards the few hundred people who had chosen this route.
Although there was a sense of apprehension, we knew two things: firstly that there had been little or no violence shown against the police so there was nothing to fear from them. Secondly, we could walk or run faster than fully uniformed riot police and so were in no danger.... and then my heart sank and I felt sickness and true fear.
Almost like a mirror image, we faced a wall of black. There was a line of riot police behind us and facing us. We were trapped.
The noise was deafening. I watched people double up and crumple as rock hard 'rubber' bullets smashed into them. Breaking ribs and winding the victims, the volley of bullets was followed by a charge from the police.
People ran screaming and crying. Some lay twisted and damaged from the bullets and all of us blinked and wept with tear gas in our eyes and throats.
I hid behind a phone booth clutching the two girls close to me.
The ruck sack on my back was filled with books and was a blessing as it took much of the impact from the baton as it was slammed into my back and head.... I fell to the ground.
As the girls helped me stand I remember watching people lying on the floor being kicked and beaten by the police. The battle of Calle Montera was underway. The bloodiest confrontation with police since the end of Spanish fascism left scores of people injured and one person dead. It is a day which will stay in my mind forever.
The guy held hopelessly on to the shattered camera in his arms. He gripped the battered shell as the batons cracked into his skull.
The girlfriend shook as she held her arms out in a symbol of both despair and peace. Her boyfriend lay bleeding and broken beneath her. The police man towered over this diminuitive figure but showed no mercy. One blow diagonally across her face smashed her nose into a bloody pulp. A desperate yelp was followed by the sound of another human crashing to the floor. I stood (barely) gripping my friends and just wept. We marched for peace and we were faced with contempt and hatred and raw violence!
I marched in 2003 and I support all movements for peace. I hope I continue to do so.
Peace and love? PEACE AND LOVE!
VIEW 10 of 10 COMMENTS
how's your weekend goin'?
Your words are what inspired me to think i was more than just some random american chik bitching alot lol
thank you for that, my dapper young english gent.