July 8, 2008 – Santiago, Chile
I was on the outer edges of Plaza Heroes when they busted through the railings and hit the streets; hundreds of them, running in all directions, stampeding down roads and taking over sidewalks. I kept the camera rolling and followed the rush, trying to keep my hand steady and my head on a swivel. Then I turned a corner and saw a line of Carabiñeros (uniformed police officers) on horseback advancing towards me on the sidewalk with water canon and tear gas vehicles taking over the street. I was trapped in no-man’s-land, with an angry mob on one side and an angry police brigade on the other. I had to make a choice. Whose side was I on, cops or crowd?
It’s the fundamental question that anyone participating in a protest must ask him/herself at some point along the way. In the media’s or spectator’s case, it’s more of a positioning issue than anything, and one that should be at the basis of all actions when covering a protest. Where is the best vantage point with the least amount of risk?
This was one of the first topics of conversation when strategizing with the other two Santiago Times photographers covering the protest that day. We met at 10am in front of Santiago’s Plaza Italia, to get situated before they started marching at 11am.
I was handed a video camera and told to keep the shots short for editing’s sake, stay out of corners, never get to close to a large contingency of Carabiñeros and to “watch out, cause it can get pretty crazy man.”
Turns out these protests aren’t the safest places for members of the media.
A group of local photographers were wearing white t-shirts with the words, “Don’t Attack Me, I’m a Photographer,” printed (in Spanish) in big black letters, while one of the other Santiago Times photographers (who was hit in the head by a rock at a previous protest) was wearing a helmet, ski goggles and a gas mask. In fact, nine of Chile’s Carabiñeros were recently arrested for aggression towards a local photographer at a protest in May.
The crowd gathering at Plaza Italia was one of four separate marches that day, organized to start at various locations throughout Santiago and meet at the downtown Plaza Heroes later in the afternoon. This march, like many these days in Santiago and throughout Chile, was in efforts to protest the General Education Law (LGE).
Students, teachers, police officers and the media were milling about, waiting for things to get cooking. There were interviews, camera crews, chanting outbursts and a slow moving, lucid feeling that something frantic is about to happen.
Early on, the crowd at Plaza Italia was probably 85 percent students, 10 percent teachers and 5 percent media, cops and hoodlums. The students were excited, dancing, chanting and drumming. The teachers looked nervous carrying signs, hoisting banners and waving flags. The media was all over the scene and the hoodlums were off to the side, a presence felt more than seen at this point. The cops had shields, body armor, helmets, horses, cars vans and buses. They looked anxious and pissed off.
Why the agitation? None of the days marches were approved by the Metropolitan Region authorities. Despite the multiple warnings from the guys in green, at around 11am, the crowd started moving.
They didn’t get that far.
The protesters had the teachers and faculty positioned on the front lines, maybe with the hopes that they would act as lead blockers, drawing leniency from the initial line of Carabiñeros, and opening holes for the youth in the backfield. The effect however, was a weak initial push, which created little momentum and left the once hopeful and enthusiastic contingent, scattered from scuffles with the Carabiñeros, gasping for air, crying from the tear gas and disoriented by blasts of the water canon. They almost made it to the next traffic light.
Amazingly, a small group of teachers holding a banner, didn’t run, and met the canon straight on. The water (laced with teargas) pounded them, causing knees to buckle, some to fall and the banner to tear.
The street looked like a war zone. The air was thick, sirens were going off, store fronts were sealed up, and pedestrians were either crying, scampering away, or strolling by in gas masks. It was noon.
At first, I thought I’d eluded the tear gas, and only felt my throat and lungs itch. I had, done no such thing, and the other photographers certainly hadn’t either. In less than a minute we were gasping for air, swearing, crying and keeling over. The other two brought lemons to combat this terrible gas’s effects. You take a big bite and it’s supposed to flush the agitation out by causing more tears. I guess it works, but not instantly. We were hurting for a good 10 minutes before the pain started to secede.
What had begun as a loud, boisterous and driven manifestation had been completely dissolved, leaving only the hooligans still in the act. This segment of the protest population is by far the most dangerous, disgusting and loathed. They have no interest in the meaning behind the protest or the issues in question.
They showed up late, in groups, with bandanas covering their faces, God knows what in their bags, and rocks in their hands. They were there only to cause trouble and that’s exactly what they did.
Rocks were flying, trashcans were burning, glass was breaking and the delinquents left a wake of destruction as they hamstringed every person trying like hell to be heard. The Carabiñeros see the damage and the chaos as a result of the group’s actions, and therefore must stop the group. Everyone suffers.
Even though the marches were never approved, (and derailed in the one from Plaza Italia’s case), the people still managed to gather as they had planned to, in the Santiago center Plaza Heroes.
This is when things really went nuts.
The crowd (some 2,500) filled the main plaza, with the Carabiñeros lining the outsides along with their buses, cars, trucks and horses. There was a waist high metal barrier set up around the perimeter of the plaza that kept people funneling in through the crosswalks and out of the main streets. The plaza was soon clamoring with people and erupting in cheers. Spectators watched from the sidewalks, storefront doors and windows.
The plaza had been buzzing for about an hour when the masses erupted, storming over the barriers and into the streets.
I followed the mob, trying to keep calm and not mess up the shot. This is when I found myself trapped in no-man’s-land (as referenced earlier) with a decision to make.
I chose to stick with the crowd and ended up among a small group of protesters fleeing a fast approaching water canon. I saw the canon turn and look me in the eye before I took off down a side street, in a hunched sprint, attempting to get as far away from the tank, while still protecting the video camera.
They got me. I was soaked from the knees down. I got off pretty easy though, compared to the teachers earlier at Plaza Italia. My shoes were squishy, the camera was fine and I went back for more.
I saw the Carabineros break into homes and arrest the students hiding inside. I saw an old lady crossing the street, crying, covering her mouth from the fumes with one hand and carrying bags of groceries with the other. I saw a teacher lying in the middle of the street, immobile but conscious, being attended to by a paramedic and two Carabiñeros.
I saw a lot, and about 45 minutes later, it was pretty much over. Plaza Heroes was clear, shops opened back up, crowds dispersed and people went back to work. Among the looming fumes, wet streets and broken glass was the relief of survival and the excitement of knowing that, in this country, another protest is right around the corner.
Click here to see video footage.
Click here to see photos.
View of Plaza Italia, the Andes and smog from my bedroom window.
Laundry day
Cool side of a building
Street performers tearing it up
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