I was sitting on the sidewalk along the Mississippi River when someone shouted that phone number from behind the wall of riot police. "Write it on your arm!" he shouted. People started asking each other what it was, and a guy with red cross markings on his jacket in red duct tape told us it was the ACLU number, and showed us where he already had it written on his leg. I took out my Uniball pen - near useless for writing on skin - and scratched it out on my forearm. For good measure, I wrote my name and phone number inside my camera bag, in case it got confiscated. I'd already locked my bike to the guardrail, assuming I would be arrested.
But I'm starting in the middle here...
I had initially planned to go to the official RNC convention protests in the morning, bringing my 14 year old daughter and her best friend along so they could have the experience (they're little leftie activists). But reality intervened, and we didn't get to go. When my time freed itself up later in the afternoon, I biked from south Minneapolis over to downtown St Paul, camera in tow, hoping to get some interesting photos (I'm a serious amateur photographer, specializing mostly in action shots of people).
I came up Seventh St, planning to cut across downtown to the Capitol, and hopefully getting a sense of how things were blocked off. A couple of blocks before Kellogg (and the XCel Center), the police unsurprisingly had the street blocked, and were shunting people down Eagle Parkway to Shepard Road. Shepard runs along the Mississippi River, a limited-access scenic route and a good way around downtown. On one side, there are sidewalks along the scenic Mississippi. On the other, there are railroad tracks, then bluffs rising several stories to downtown St Paul proper. Overhead, the Wabasha and Robert St bridges cross the river, providing access to Harriet Island and the "west side".
Shepard Road was busy with pedestrians and cars. The cars were clearly civilians, taxis and minivans trying to get around the traffic blockades and following police directions. A passenger train was stopped on the railroad tracks. The sidewalks were a mix of lost-looking protesters, ordinary people, journalists, even the occasional Republicans taking in the sights. I started riding east toward Lowertown, hoping to get around the mess downtown and get to the Capitol.
Then I heard the explosion - a concussion grenade. A wave of people started running toward me, shouting warnings that they were using tear gas. Sure enough, the grey cloud wafted toward me, burning my nose and stinging my eyes, with a wall of riot police visible through the cloud. Not having any interest in getting gassed or pepper-sprayed or clubbed or arrested, I started back the other way, taking time to warn the poor trapped drivers what lay ahead. But as I headed back toward Eagle, a fresh line of police blocked the way - Minneapolis bike cops, with lightweight summer uniforms and their cute little Trek mountain bikes offset by gas masks. They told us to head back the other way, which led to angry confrontations with those of us who had been fleeing the riot police. There was nowhere to go, no streets to take. We were trapped.
The riot police pressed in from the east, while the bike cops held the line to the west, ultimately capturing several hundred people in close quarters in a small park by the river. With the weak line to our west, I wondered if they were letting us go once they "contained" us. Instead, the bike cops were replaced by a line in full riot gear, with truncheons out. Several of them were bouncing the clubs in their hands, obviously keyed up and looking forward to cracking some heads (MY opinion here). Fearing for my camera, I put it away.
We were ordered to sit down, and we all did. No one that I saw stood to argue with the police or act violently in any way. After a while, the police were ordered to remove their gas masks and relax their posture, and they did, making everything feel (slightly) safer. I called my wife and warned her that I might be arrested. Shortly after, a bullhorn announced that we were all under arrest (I think, it was hard to hear).
While waiting for something to happen, those of us sitting started sharing stories. The majority seemed to not be there to protest at all - they were trying to find a way across the river to the Take Back Labor Day concert at Harriet Island. I met Lowertown residents trying to get home, workers trying to get to their jobs downtown, and yes, a handful of "anarchist" protesters (maybe 5% of the crowd). I was wearing an Obama t-shirt, and occasionally argued with some who claimed there was no difference between the parties and candidates. But I digress.
At some point, the police started slowly arresting people, maybe ten at a time. After an hour or so, the police outnumbered their prisoners. At that point, the arrests stopped, leading to much murmuring among those of us waiting. Were they out of bus space? Would we be freed, or held overnight, or kept on ice until the convention is over? When they started again, they weren't handcuffing everyone. They were searching and questioning, but it seemed that most people were being let go.
I was in the last 30 or so people to get voted off the island. They looked at me suspiciously - middle aged but long haired, wearing an Obama shirt, carrying a nice camera - but they lumped me in with a couple of local residents and other obvious non-protesters. After a few minutes, the policeman who searched me told us we were free to go and gave us directions to a way through the police cordon. An officer who guided us out informed us we were "participating in an unlawful assembly", but were being allowed to go anyway. I asked him if there was a "lawful assembly", and where it was. He fumbled, then told me "It was this morning". Then I asked him if this made any sense at all. He didn't answer.
I waited a half hour or so for the police cordon to disperse, so I could retrieve my bike. Then I pedaled down Shepard Road, several miles to the Ford Parkway bridge and across to my south Minneapolis home. I was shaken and angry, and relieved that I hadn't brought my asthmatic daughter and her friend into this mess. My eyes still burned from the gas. I wiped away the tears as I rolled past the beautiful Mississippi River.