Police State

When we get to the ‘protest pen’, I am again shocked at the number of police there: they are lined up on the other side of the fence, between the pen where we are and the center where the convention is being held – they stand at least 6 deep row after row after row – legs spread, any flesh that might show is swallowed up by the dark blue uniforms, their chests and backs covered with what appears to be the underside of turtle shells, heavy black boots on their feet, helmets on their heads. They are standing so totally still they might be an extension of the fence except that the fence is now vibrating slightly as demonstrators try to beat against it. The sound is totally unsatisfactory, more muffled than an aluminum pot lid hitting carpet. It must be teflon coated links! I’m surprised the soldiers or police or guards or statues, whoever the hell they are, have not crumpled like dorothy’s wicked witch in this heat and humidity! I’m sopping wet and I have on shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt! Between the barbed wire, the silent chain link fence, the crumbled asphalt, the thundering of the helicopters, the ‘security’, it feels like we’re in some all too unreal war zone.