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This wasn't crowd control  it was a deliberate calculated menacing attack  on peaceful Hispanic protestors.
Protesting is  not  a crime
and these people were doing nothing violent or destructive.
( No I am not saying everyone involved remained non violent or non destructive during the  entire fiasco.)
I AM saying those I witnessed in these circumstances were not.
  
  What I saw was exhibitionist intimidation.
It was a clear message from Trump.
Violent ego theater designed to terrify any person thinking of standing up.
It was precise,
humiliating,
,and meant to demoralize .  
We watched it.
We recorded it.
Felt the sick weight of knowing the people doing it could claim letter of the law while committing the spirit of state terror.

A pretty youngish  Hispanic lady is holding a sign  near a barricade. She has  it in both hands  . It's raised up  above her  head The sign talks about her child one of the  at least 1,583  still missing  CHILDREN  
from  Donald J. Trump's
first term in office.
She’s turned away from them, sign raised .
Cameras catch her from the side and back
  watching, the whole thing clear and slow like a  youtube livestream nightmare
shot on bad film.
Behind her, the line of riot gear armored  officers, is losing their fraying patience. .  They don't issue anymore  orders
They don’t shout,
they don’t negotiate.
They aim.

The first canister screams and misses.

She hasn't seen it or was distracted.
The second and 3rd follow  in rapid succession and  it becomes  clear they are  aiming them  directly at her .
She flinches at the  sound but hasn't looked  back to see  the  wall coming at her. ,
keeps her sign up,
trying to get the cameras’ eyes,
trying to show the world what’s happening.
Then they fire again, and again,
each cylinder a blunt instrument launched with the intention to harm.
Finally  as they close the  distance  one projectile  slams directly  into the square middle of  her lower back
with a thunderous, metallic oofing  impact.
She goes down hard
Her fingers slacken on the white  cardboard. The air fills with  her black hair
the crowd starts screaming
burning, with the chemical  cloud of so much  tear gas.
It's broad daylight ,. It was quiet and almost peaceful.

Before she can gather her hands to push herself  up
they assault her
wrap her hair in gloved  fist and yank.
They are  on her  now  in  force screaming
tearing at her simple  clothing
like they are hauling away and enraged animal.
They strike and pummel and shake her .
She gets roughly zip tied finally .
They drag her face down
across the pavement
then the asphalt.
Eyes  blackening and swollen, tears and snot streaming
lips busted and bleeding

skin scraping,
She’s  choking and bleeding with the stench of the gas in her lungs..
No mercy. No pause.
Just deliberate, humiliating force.

Nearby, a young man who was filming with his phone also had  his back to them.
They suddenly surged  forward into him
He lazily keeps  moving away,  half  trying to comply with their order,
He sadistically  becomes their next object lesson.
He steps slowly begrudgingly  where they want,
they shout.  "DISPERSE"
   His  slow shuffle It is not enough.
Their cadence shifts.
A group of  head to toe  armored officers in black   surges forward like a practiced wave.
They grab him by the backpack,
not a gentle steer but an iron twist, spin him like a ragdoll, and slam him
face and neck into the concrete.

He is not resisting.
He is not fighting.
He is trying to obey what they demanded.
Still, they press his face into the ground and
rain down baton blows,
methodical and vicious,
each strike an angry , frustrated  punctuation mark
in a sentence of  punishment.
Other officers join in
more  hold his limbs,
pinning him as if he is a dangerous beast.
The crowd screams. His phone disappears.
The cameras record.

It changes nothing.

They had been standing there, singing  or holding signs, an entirely peaceable assembly. Someone said disperse. Many did not move fast enough,  by the  brutality squads
arbitrary unknowable  clock.
The line stopped, then,  without further warning  just surged with no new...   or  additional
anything

The beaten and brutalized
only offense was
not being able to  disappear  instantly
on command.
That was enough to justify all  this brutality.
of course  there  was so much   more,
but haven't I more  than made  the point  ?

This was  before Donald Trump defied Governor Newsom and sent the Marines in as well.
   The Marines  !

Never before in history has that ever been done !

  The mostly Mexican Hispanics and other immigrants  had  been told  that  I.C.E.  had  come   into   schools  and  beat up  innocent teachers at  their  jobs
  for being brown,
beat them in front of the kids
the screaming confused  students
and then  dragged them out in zip ties.
They were also told  that agents were  going  to Home  Depot s  and tackling employees in the  parking lot and dragging them away too.
No one knew  what to believe other  than ICE was  there     and  their  neighbors  and  employees  were  being  disappeared again .
Like back in  2017 , 2018,  and 2019
when their children were separated from them,  never  to be seen or heard from   ever  again. Not even till this day  in 2025
At least 1583  kids  in cages  with nothing but  foil  blankets for comfort
JUST      ...    GONE  !
HHS OIG’s certified reunification list (2,737, Dec 2018) is an official count of  those known and semi documented separations.  The HHS Office of Inspector General (OIG) documented that, after the court-ordered accountings failed to produce records and solid numbers. Separated under Trump’s zero tolerance hate filled racist  approach. Still unaccounted for.  ORR became the dumping ground for kids separated from their parents. Border Patrol and ICE would  rip families apart, and the children got labeled “unaccompanied” and shipped into ORR custody, even though they had parents .they deliberately ignored the existence of contactable parents, labeled kids as “unaccompanied,” and jammed them into cages like objects it’s beyond intentional premeditated  cruelty. It’s not just a failure of policy, it’s pure, intentional moral violence.  That’s why ORR’s rosters and audit reports became the grim paper trail for trying to track how many kids had  actually been taken.  Lazy underqualified careless guards and officers  who more  often than  not  did not file anything at all.   How would you feel if  that was your kids ?  Your family?
My gibbet is a fine and private place
where a lady may tarry of a summer afternoon
elevated and untouchable--
an ideal love just out of reach
like fruit for Tantalus, all pointless sweetness.

Allen Ginsberg appears from out of the crowd,
pink as a schoolmarm, fat as a Christmas goose
carrying his harmonium
singing about plutonium,
barefoot as any angel, toking on the Golden Blunt.

He looks up, mistaking me for a caught kite
dangling above the street in my gibbet
making other women's children
point and cry
demanding candy or weather reports.

Someone climbs up and ties tin cans
to the bottom of my gibbet
in an atmosphere of giddy holiday.
I die and begin to stink
pieces falling away like confetti.

Here I sway to this very day, high above
the Emily Dickinson Parkway
a paragon of virtue and demure reserve,
dead as hell
black as a bowling ball
ring still on my finger, an ingenue of the afterlife,

until gentrification when they'll take me down
because gibbets are out, they're upsetting,
like poetry,
like dead dodos
like buskers in the subway, beautiful, buried, irrelevant.
_
Maria Etre Jun 14
I
c//r//a\ck\ed
my
ribcage open
((because the love))
(((((my heart carries)))))
(((((((((((((((((grew it)))))))))))))))))))))
and now it
doesn't fit
any
more
The love my heart carries keeps growing and growing me and at some point if I don't share it, I'll become love itself.
Oskar Erikson Dec 2023
next to the flat
the neighbourhood
tabby swatting at
the drain.

sinewed fur-lined,
feline; finding
some poor animal
in a cage
outside its making.

i can’t see
below the earth.
the poor thing,
fighting.
Strying Dec 2021
constantly
corrupting
correcting
correctness
combining
comparing
­contrasting
canning
catastrophe
creating cages
claustrophobia
can't control
can't counter
can't contest
can't clean
can't cry,
can cry
cancel culture.
I hate cancel culture :(
goodnight ya'll
While daydreams reverberate
Off of blockade brains
We sit in wooden cages
Our painted faces
Plastered in melting windows

We watch pale skies
While waiting for rain
Or maybe the atom's apple
To break the monotony
Of thinking about the end

©KNL
Prevost Jan 2021
Last night a young poet’s voice
tore so deep within
that it ripped my soul apart.....

Her words of birds and cages and gravity
and what human does to human
brought me back to wind swept hills
where the was sky blue enough to drown in
and vast enough to blanket all corners of the earth
where I, as a boy, worked and wandered
wandered through words
words spoken in telling
and words raged in rage

As I pulled the implements of grain through the soil
I learned to think
the dust I raised drifted across the land
bringing with it my thoughts
passed horizons, passed the hills
to distant lands
torn by the pains of love, of war, of loss
and
of what human does to human

His rage was the desperation of a soul shredded
by war
by what human does to human
he was caged
between what he had seen
and that he should still posses some hope
between witnessing the destruction of a world
and believing in a world

But deep within him I had always heard a voice
a voice buried deep beneath his rage
a voice..... he could no longer hear
but I
could always hear
“no matter how long I am caged
no matter how long the gravity of ignorance and hate,
the gravity of hubris and destruction binds and
holds down my soul,
I was alway meant to fly,
we were all....meant to fly....”
I published this eight years ago. I thought I would revisit it again.
Aer Jul 2020
created by Mortals, or simply
an act of the mind.
generated by intentions dark,
entered by the unaware and made to
shackle Monsters.
do we create the cages for others, or are we shaped by the cages around us?
Thomas W Case May 2020
In a dream,
I see the raven
fly into the night;
his dark song beckoning
from his beak.
Shiny black wings promise
flight,
but to where?

I watch as the
pair of doves bellow
their songs of love
and with a rush of
angels wings
fly heavenward.

I hear the
bluebirds and
sparrows little hum of
hope fade softly into
the afternoon sun,
and I wonder,
what does it all mean?

Then I see them, and
many other kinds of
birds, with beautiful bright
colors,
Parakeets and parrots,
eagles and herons...even
a dodo and they are
all rotting in cages.
Some of the cages are
open,
others are closed,
but all the birds are
lying on their sides,
sad dead eyes,
staring blankly,
finished and flightless.
and I get it.
Check out my you tube channel where I read my poetry from my recent book, Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems, available on Amazon.com
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W0-hHZ6O8u0
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