6th Report of Political Discourse

Antifa Portland Direct Action February 27th 2021

A friend emailed me the event flyer a few days ago, which reads: "Autonomous Demonstration, the Fields Park Pearl District, Direct Action March, Saturday February 27th 8pm. No streamers, no megaphones, no masters. Wear black, be water. No justice, no peace. No borders! No nations! Abolish deportations!" It's another Antifa rally to protest Portland Police brutality and injustice.

An Uber drops me off at NW Overton and 11th. I don't see any comrades, but I'm a few minutes early. Maybe the event was called off? I sit on a concrete berm and check Twitter for any updates on the event. Soon the mob begins to arrive, wearing the very sneaky Antifa uniform of black shoes, black jeans, a black hoodie, and a black bandana worn bandito style. The overall effect is like a child dressing as a ninja for Halloween. I am dressed similarly, and I join the group. They mingle and chit chat, trading protest stories of police officers charging them and brutalizing them at previous events.

"...it's like, get the fuck out of here."

"ICE is ICE."

I pass a concessions table where everything offered is free. An industrious woman asks me, "What do you need?"

I say, "Just a face mask."

I forgot to bring one, which is stupid, since they are the lynchpin for anonymity. She holds up a box of blue surgical masks, and I take one. Also available is bottled water, disposable latex gloves, and energy bars. By 8:20 the crowd has grown to about 80 people.

Now might be a good time to mention how I am writing this. When I arrived I started an audio recorder and a GPS tracker, which I will later use as aids to jog my memory, in order to produce a written narrative. What you are reading now is the final product. I have no intention of doxing people by naming names, otherwise known as 'holding people accountable'. Antifa's public protests are meant to be private events, that's part of the ninja code, ‘no streamers’. The Oregonian refers to them as just one minor component of the 'mostly peaceful protest marches for social justice' and leaves it at that.

But back to reality, it's now 8:23 and the crowd continues to grow. The first chant is hollered, "Fuck twelve."

Across the crowd comes a second, "Fuck twelve."

A 3rd and a 4th voice continue the chant, but out of beat and overlapping. The community has not yet found its voice, and people are mostly chatting in groups of 2, 3 and 4.

"Yeah, it was January 2nd..."

"Oh it's so good to see you, to see your face. Only a few press people have shown up. Me and you are the only two."

Her friend says, "I see some black people showing up, but I wish their were more..." I assume she is talking about black skinned people, not black dressing people. Antifa is a gang of children and young adults whose faces glow like the Moon on a cloudless night. I can see she's right, almost no Africans have shown up. Everyone is chatting and seems to know each other.

"You too, stay safe," says a peppy young woman.

"I just ate, freaking pasta, now I'm not sure I can walk even three blocks," complains a chubby woman.

"Oh, I've known him for like 6 years. I gave him a tattoo that says 'I love you'," says another.

Suddenly we hear a series of booms coming from the interstate 405 bridge, which can be clearly seen about a mile away, a brutalist monstrosity over 300 feet tall. Everyone goes quiet and looks. Are they gunshots? Flashbangs? The orchestra? They begin cheering in support of all these possibilities, but nothing comes of it. Maybe it was just a semi hitting a series of metal joints?

"Oh, I thought it was just the bridge making noise," says one of the few people not wearing a ninja outfit, reasoning that if the anarchists are cheering, that would mean the booms must signal the approach of chaos. The mob mentality is growing, spreading to the fellow travelers.

"Does anyone need water? Water! Water!" shouts the concessions lady, making the rounds with free bottled water.

It's now 9 and about 200 protesters have arrived, 90% wearing the Orthodox black block clothing, as per the flyer, ‘Wear black.’

"Yes I was there, I remember it," says an animated young man to his friends.

"Water! Anyone need water?"

"Wow, that feels like a... like a good choice."

Suddenly a husky and powerful baritone voice bellows, "WHAT'S OUTRAGEOUS?"

Like a congregation at mass, the crowd responds, "Kids in cages!"

A drum begins a steady beat. It seems the organizers feel that a so called critical mass has been reached, and the event is finally starting.

"NO BORDERS, NO NATIONS, ABOLISH DEPORTATIONS," shouts the baritone in beat with the drum. We are standing on the corner, a dense black crowd, like a SWAT team composed of skateboard punks.

"NO GOOD COPS, NO GOOD PRESIDENTS, GIVE THE LAND BACK TO ITS ORIGINAL RESIDENTS," hollers the baritone once, then the crowd does 15 repeats in sync with the drum. This exercise draws blood to the head, quickens the heart, and makes us eager to move out, but the organizers are maintaining discipline, keeping us on the corner, waiting for the whole crowd to get in sync. We restlessly shout in place and chant the slogans for 10 minutes.

Then the baritone yells, "ACAB," pronouncing it letter by letter.

This is the signature phrase of the international anarchist movement definitely not known as Antifa, and the crowd responds enthusiastically with the refrain, "All cops are bastards."

Beginning of First March - 9:11 PM

We begin walking west, at an easy pace. In Portland the streets are generously sized with midwest proportions, at 20 blocks to the mile. In the Pearl District you get 2 lanes for cars, 2 lanes for parked cars, and fat sidewalks. It was all laid out in 1850 by Pettygrove and Lovejoy, men with a vision for growth. As such, it takes about 200 people to fill one of these city blocks to the density of a party, and we are walking down the yellow line taking both lanes, even spilling over onto the sidewalks. The march has started with what Antifa calls 'super legal' behavior, stopping at red lights and waiting for a green. Then the support brigade, consisting of about 20 cars and 20 bicyclists, blocks the cross traffic for the parade. I first saw it done in Chicago at the 'Critical Mass' bicycle rides in 2003.

"ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN," bellows the baritone.

"Fuck twelve," shouts the crowd.

We are walking west on a sleepy, residential street.

The baritone cues up another slogan, "HOW DO YOU SPELL NAZI?"

"DHS," yelled letter by letter, since it's an unpronounceable acronym. Perhaps that's the reason the Department of Homeland Security adopted that name? This is repeated 15 times. They are all repeated 15 times.

Suddenly we arrive at the offices of ICE, just 3 blocks from the park.

"Hold," shouts an organizer at the front. The parade has stretched out to about 3 blocks, but now we compress into a single block.

"Hold" shouts an organizer at the end, and the drumming and chanting stop.

The first floor windows of the ICE building, which Antifa smashed on previous evenings, are now boarded up with plywood. Some of the ninjas pull out cans of spray paint from their black backpacks.

"Let's keep moving," shouts one guy who sounds worried, but no one listens to him. The chanting has stopped, and a boombox begins playing hip hop at top volume.

These are not graffiti artists, but graffiti literati. They write with clear and legible Latin letters, 2 feet tall, ‘Fuck ICE' 'ACAB' 'Tete Gulley' 'No kids in cages' 'Breaonna Taylor' 'Silao ma'll adcaate' 'Land back', the symbol for anarchy, the symbol for Marxism, 'Fuck Biden' 'Kill Andy Ngo' 'Oink oink' 'BLM' 'Stop genocide' 'Fuck Ted' 'End forced sterilization' and 'Patrick Kimmons'.

This last refers to an active shooter recently killed by the Portland Police. He had shot and seriously injured two other people 7 seconds prior, putting 5 bullets into them, but luckily they survived. The police arrived at the last possible moment and fired 9 bullets into Kimmons, killing him.

"Hey, stop recording!" shouts a shrill teenage girl. "Stop recording!"

"You piece of shit," adds another person.

A young woman dressed in civilian clothing is videotaping the graffiti. Maybe she's a right wing gotcha journalist? Or a graffiti enthusiast? Either way, when a comrade dressed in the Orthodox ninja suit issues a direct order, it's not smart to refuse. To my eyes she appears to be making an effort to act casual, while still filming, which would seem to indicate she is an undercover right wing journalist. Now the baritone caller walks right up to her, and in a deafening voice of incredible strength he bellows, "STOP FILMING! YOU'RE BEING A FUCKER! STOP IT!" She stops.

A punk song comes on the sound system with the chorus, 'Antifa, Antifa.' The ninjas are standing on each others shoulders, spray painting the ICE security camera domes black. Metal bars are thrown up to the second story windows, rattling down onto the corrugated metal awnings, which ring out like gigantic cymbals, reverberating between the 4 story ICE building and the 6 story Overton Condos across the street. The residents are coming to their windows and watching us with trepidation. I mosey west, casually watching the controlled chaos, heading to the front of the march. I see 5 photojournalists standing around looking bored, their 35mm cameras with telephoto lenses hanging unused against their bellies. They shoot for the Oregonian, the Mercury, the Willamette Week, and the AP. The 5th is a fake Antifa journalist, in reality a press liaison officer from Pravda. His chemical respirator is splattered and battle worn with stickers expressing solidarity for rioting and queerness. He hardly ever uses his camera, quite the contrary, he demands the other photojournalists respect the privacy of the protesters, who are very vulnerable and downtrodden people with no voice.

"What did they say? What did someone say?" says an organizer at the head.

"Go, go!" shouts someone from the rear.

The spray paint gets tucked away, the boom box is turned off, and we begin marching again, having loitered at the ICE building for 8 minutes. The baritone cues up a new chant, "STAY TOGETHER, STAY TIGHT, WE DO THIS EVERY NIGHT," and the crowd repeats this 15 times in tune to the drumbeat. We head south on 15th, a gritty street for the ass end of buildings and parked streetcars. A hundred feet above us are the massive on ramps for the interstate 405 bridge. Someone pulls a dumpster out into the roadway and this gets cheers of approval. The graffitos are doing a little work here and there, quick tags, anarchy symbols, hammers and sickles.

"WHAT'S OUTRAGEOUS?" shouts the baritone.

"Kids in cages," chant the alto tenor choir.

"Fuck the police, no justice no peace. Take it to the streets and fuck the police. Fuck twelve."

"STOLEN PEOPLE," bellows the baritone.

"Stolen land," shouts the choir. This one, sung in a sing song way, is repeated 20 times.

"Land back," is shouted 20 times, in tune to the drumbeat, which is as steady as the heartbeat of justice herself.

"No borders, no nations, abolish deportations."

"ACAB," bellows the baritone.

"All cops are bastards," answers the choir in a chipper sing song rhythm.

A hesitant Mexican voice adds a new slogan, "No borders, no walls, no USA at all."

The baritone repeats it, then the whole choir repeats it 15 more times.

And now comes another new slogan for the evening, seemingly on a wave from the other end of the parade, "Fuck Ted Wheeler."

After this the mob seems to lose focus, but the baritone gets us all back on track with a crowd favorite, bellowing "WHAT'S OUTRAGEOUS?"

"Kids in cages," the choir responds.

I have no idea where we are heading, and many others appear just as clueless, since every turn the mob makes results in some ninjas at the front going other directions, but they always regroup. Maybe they were just harassing the cars at red lights? After marching for 1 mile we arrive back at The Fields Park. The drumbeat stops.

"We can't stay here long," shouts a shrill woman.

A cavalcade of support vehicles is driving past us, looping around the park, honking with support. The mob is regrouping, which only takes 2 minutes.

Second March - 9:36 PM

"Let's go, let's roll out," shouts a man with authority in his voice. We head out again on the same route, but at a faster pace.

"Every city every town, burn those precincts to the ground."

"Chinga la migra."

"ACAB, all cops are bastards."

"One two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven, fuck twelve."

The drummer has now been joined by a whole orchestra of Antifa musicians, who bash two metal rods together in time to the drum, generating an enormous amount of sound, summoning chaos. The noises made by this orchestra aren't amplified, but they're as loud as a rock concert, and the baritone has a Wagnerian level voice.

We appear to be doing the same 1 mile route again, and after a brief stop at the ICE building we continue onward. I see some young Orthodox Antifa comrades collecting rocks from the abundant landscaping. They look to be rocks that weigh 5 to 10 pounds, but the ninjas are holding them as discreetly as stolen candy.

A final chant of, "Burn those precincts to the ground," and we come to a stop on 14th and Marshall, alongside a Safeway supermarket. The empty store is all lit up, and the light spills onto the sidewalk through an entire block of floor to ceiling windows. The orchestra throws their metal bars against the corrugated metal awnings, a common feature of contemporary Portland architecture. But now I also hear the sound of shattering glass, as the ninjas hurl their rocks into the windows. Many of them appear to be as young as 16, and they have trouble breaking the window on the first throw. As soon as they can make a spiderweb with the rock, 4 or 5 protesters rush forward and kick the glass in, including some homeless men who we have picked up on the way, eager to join the justice and anarchy parade. All the windows are shattered, 1/20th of a mile of glass spilling across the polished floors of the Safeway. All around me the whole mob is either smashing windows, or creating a perimeter, everyone cheering and shrieking with the glee of chaos in action.

We continue along the route, smashing windows as we go. Two young Antifa women working for the disinformation unit are gaslighting a private security guard, who is watching the parade of 200 ninjas pass by with slack jawed passivity.

"Hey, it makes sense," says one of the women, perhaps explaining why the most vulnerable people in Portland are driven to destroy things only because they have no other method of self expression. Or maybe they are telling him we are protesters who have nothing to do with the window smashing? The disinformation unit has a few different scripts that all amount to the same thing: we are innocent. The private security guard is assuring them he didn't call the Portland Police. He might be lying, but they would be white lies.

The baritone cues up a new chant, "WHAT DID YOU SEE?"

The whole crowd answers with one voice, as do the two women, who direct their response to the private security guard, "We didn't see shit!"

They rejoin the parade, sneering, "Rent a cop."

We are in a tight pack, no longer than a block, and the windows continue to smash as we go, like a slug trail of destruction. Some people are trying to hurl electric scooters into the windows, but they are too heavy, so they just drag them out into the middle of the roadway.

"WHAT DID YOU SEE? YOU DIDN'T SEE SHIT!" bellows the baritone, followed by cheering.

A young ninja is in ecstasy, gasping with a tremulous fervor, "This is crazy."

A homeless man high on meth, or life, says, "I luvvvvv it. Let's get more shit."

We come to a Starbucks at 11th and Lovejoy. You should know that in Portland they loath this disgusting and imperial corporation, which knows nothing about coffee. All its many windows are promptly smashed.

The windows were shattering for 7 minutes, over the course of 4 blocks, and now suddenly everyone goes quiet.

"Stay together stay tight", screeches a woman who sounds worried.

"Bike cops."

The message is passing up to the head from the rear. So this is how mobs mobilize? That's interesting, it's the same way orders disseminate down the ranks from officers to privates in a military maneuver. It must be because Antifa is so well organized? I mean, my expectation of mob mentalities is disorder, but I suppose there are different kinds of mobs?

"Move it, keep moving!" says a fast talking man with a Bronx accent.

The orchestra has gone quiet, and we are all jogging south, some people are even prancing and dancing as they go.

"Be water," shouts one of the organizers.

The mob of 200 protesters now atomizes and runs away in all directions. No one other than fellow comrades could offer witness statements to the police, since the noisemakers and perimeter guards have overwhelmed the target zone like a Russian DDOS attack. They are almost completely anonymous, the only thing that can be said for certain is that every ninja is as pale as the Moon.

It's now 9:50, and I'm in a group of 25 jogging south. None of the homeless men on meth, nor any other civilians, seem to have the desire to jog around with a posse of ninjas. I've done this before over the summer, and I know how the strategy works. I now realize that's what 'be water' means, the only phrase I didn't recognize on the event flyer. It's just a different and new way to describe the standard harass and deny strategy Antifa used all last year, most likely the same strategy they used 80 years ago, all of it modeled on proven Bolshevik methods. If an anonymous group of hooligans commits a crime, then splits up into smaller units to evade the police, they can regroup and claim to have no connection to the previous group, legally speaking. Only by catching a ninja in the act can an arrest be made.

"Stay together."

"Stay tight."

After a few blocks we slow down, and join up with another group of the same size. Now we are 50 ninjas, including the drummer, who starts up a steady beat. We slow down to a mosey, and start chanting.

"All cops are bastards."

Arrival of Portland Police - 9:50 PM

A neighborhood resident is watching us with wry amusement, and says, "Watch out, the cops are coming, and they're gonna get you."

A girl ninja says, "For real, how can they even arrest anyone when they are riding a bike?"

A hippie in our group, jacked up on justice, says, "Are we all having a good time?"

"Head for the bridge," shout a few people, but no one seems to listen.

The group has come back together for the most part, and from the other end of the mob I hear shouting, "Hey, hey, heeeeeeeey."

A soprano yells, "Fuck you!"

"Bikes!"

"Hey, stay on the sidewalk," prompt several organizers in a calm but loud voice.

"STAY ON THE SIDEWALK!" screams a drunken filthy man in plain clothes to the Antifa ninjas, and they quickly clear out of the roadway. Seconds later a squad of 15 bicycle police arrive. These are not riot police, who are unarmed, but normal police officers, each of them carrying a Glock pistol on their waist. This is not what I was expecting.

"Nice to see you all again," someone says.

Then the mob strikes up with, "ACAB, all cops are bastards."

10 ninjas pull out their cell phones to document any police brutality, and the rest heckle the cops.

"You fucking bastards, how can you live with yourselves, fucking fascists."

"You are fucking killing us you Nazi motherfuckers."

"You have small dicks, fucking pussies."

The bicycle cops circle around us, and then ride right through the middle of our mob, looking furtively right and left, maintaining an impassive and neutral expression, tinged with a little fear. They pass so close I could grab one of their Glocks, which are carried in very simple molded leather holsters, the guns secured by a strap with a snap button. They ride away, but turn around and come right back, picking up speed and then ramming right into a few people, possibly punching them as well. The protestations of innocence are immediate, and the cops seem to be targeting the ninjas who shouted the most hateful insults.

The mob runs away in every direction, but not before pepper spraying a few of the cops, who respond with pepper spray themselves. Our district attorney Mike Schmidt refuses to prosecute anyone, so an arrest would be useless. All they can do is beat rioters with billy clubs, or their fists. Every time they use pepper spray the mayor expresses concerns over use of force. Oddly, only the punching and beating is tolerated by the city, which never mentions it. The Portland Police have been doing this for 1 year, and they now know better then anyone else that all the mass rioting is done by the brigades of ninjas. No one else does much rioting in Portland, not BLM nor the rainbow coalition.

The police regroup, remount their bikes, and ride off. I stick with a splinter group, heading south, keeping with the largest cluster of ninjas.

A disembodied voice speaks to us through a humungous and unseen megaphone, speaking calmly at 120 decibels, "This is the Portland Police Bureau. Those who are taking lawful..."

Just then a protester screams at the top of his lungs, "FUCK YOU!"

The voice on the megaphone continues, "...community members have reported. Members of this group have damaged buildings and vehicles in the Pearl district. Immediately stop participating in criminal behavior, including property damage. Failure to adhere to this order may subject perpetrators to detention, citation, arrest, or use of crowd control agents, including but not limited to tear gas and or impact weapons. Immediately stop participating in criminal activity."

This results in laughter. I mean, the voice sounded weak and tremulous.

"WHAT DID YOU SEE? YOU DIDN'T SEE SHIT," bellows the baritone.

"Stay on the sidewalk, they're in the fucking streets," says a voice filled with fear, "...they're in the streets!"

"Who the fuck cares," says a ninja.

"Yo, everyone in this group, turn around," yells an organizer. Our group of about 30 people turns around and heads north, heading to the Fields Park.

"Stay together," shouts someone.

The drumbeat starts up again, and the police are nowhere to be seen. We again march in the roadway, ‘taking it to the streets'. A streetcar comes up behind us and crawls along at 3 miles per hour. A young female ninja is defiantly striding just a few feet in front of the streetcar. The conductor is frustrated and gets on the PA, a dinky and distorted piece of junk compared to the police megaphone.

"You know, it's a Federal offense to hold up public transportation? So what are ya doing?"

The ninjas laugh. One of them yells, "What are you, the cops?"

The girl in front of the streetcar plays it cool, "Jeez, why does she have to be a bitch?"

We continue walking north, and the streetcar turns east. I pass two disinformation women, yelling at a pedestrian.

"You're judging people, yelling at people. You racist piece of shit. And you're not wearing a mask! You're a fucking white person. Fucking black panther druggie piece of shit? Don't take your mask off!"

"You colonizing piece of shit," says a ninja in passing.

"Fuck white people," says a white protester.

Up ahead more disinformation women are making sure a pedestrian knows that our group of ninjas has nothing to do with the broken windows. We continue jogging north, trying to find the main pack.

"It's all in a day," says a woman in front of me with an air of cocky exuberance.

"Hey fellows, bike cops are coming from that way, so we should move a different direction, or they're gonna come and fucking swarm us," says a young man who acts like he's high on marijuana.

Someone answers, "Ok dude, which direction? You're in charge."

"I'm not in charge, now let's go..."

"There they are," says a man pointing to the bike cops in the distance.

"Wooooooooo," shouts a man, doing a good imitation of a wolf.

"Pull out, rally, let's stay together," yells someone close.

"Do not disperse," shouts another.

"Let's go this way," suggests a third.

All the while from far away comes chanting, "Stay together stay tight."

It looks like a group of 25 ninjas is heading back to the ICE building for a third time, tagging the NV condos as they head west. The bicycle cops are heading to us, forming a line and blocking us from following. We are on the sidewalk being 'super legal'. The bike cops look weak and overwhelmed, looking warily at us. Some of the homeless men have joined back up with us.

"I like your bike, it's a nice bike. Hey, once I got a fucking ticket for not having my lights on my bike, in downtown Portland."

"Eat shit."

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Escorting," chuckles another guy, likening the bicycle detail to mall cops and high school teachers.

"It's a beautiful night for a bike ride," says a guy in a sarcastically friendly tone of voice.

Presumably the police are using an innovative Danish deescalation strategy, chasing us around on bicycles, exhausting us. They don't appear to be arresting anyone. I've never seen anything like it before.

"Abolish ICE, abolish goddamn ICE".

Now a local resident is heckling the ninjas, "Aww, that's so funny. You're harassing the Portland Police and they can't do anything about your national, your national rights."

A few black block approach the woman, and one of them holds up an anarchist leaflet, saying, "Yeah, well, you should read this book. You should work for peace, some people..."

Multiple people are yelling at her, and she is trying to get them to sympathize with her, "I'm not insured, I'm not insured," she says.

"Man, are you stupid? That's stupid!"

Now they are yelling at a man who has come forward to stand next to the woman, "Where do you work? What do you do for a living?"

"I run a business," he says in a mild mannered voice.

"You own a business? Whats your business?"

A tweaker along for the fun yells at him, "I said mind your fucking business."

The man is speaking at an intimate volume, but the hecklers are making their complaints know all up and down the street, "You make money? Off poor people!? Off indigenous people!?"

A shrieky women shouts, "You made money off poor people? You voted for Biden?"

The couple are no longer given any voice to respond, the hecklers are all yelling at them at once. I continue heading north, back to the park.

Another onlooker says to us, "I don't think this is helping. You guys are just spray painting."

A woman with a southern drawl says, "They're doing a hell of a lot for the kids in cages, and the people being killed,"

A resident is warily filming us with his phone, and a ninja reprimands him, "Hey, no streamers!"

Now the ninjas are yelling at one of their own, who they have suspected of posting tweets with our location, but he is pleading innocence, "No, I don't post our location on Twitter. No, I wouldn't do that." He is showing them his cell phone open to Twitter. They seem satisfied he is an innocent fellow comrade.

Independent Journalists - 10:30 PM

We have been sitting around on the street in front of the NV condos for about 20 minutes, waiting for the group to clump back together, but they’re only about 75 of us. Based on the amount of talking a few of the ninjas are doing into their CB radios, coordinating the mob strategy, it seems all 200 of them are still here. Why wouldn't they be? The cops haven't left.

"Bike cops!"

"Fuck blue."

"Fuck you."

Two young women are chatting with each other next to me. The first one says, "I literally asked the cops, I was like, how do you arrest someone on a bike?"

"Uhh, it's kinda hard," chuckles the second, imitating a retarded person.

"Cops, cops!"

We all stand up. 10 cops ride in, heading right towards a few people. A second fake Antifa journalist leaps into the roadway in a pose of righteous indignation. He wears a brand new vest with 'PRESS' written in huge letters on the front and back, and he is carrying a 35mm camera mounted to an absurd shoulder brace with blunt rods jutting out front like boar tusks, the camera a foot in front of his chest like one of those medieval shields with a spike in the middle. A cop runs up and punches him in the face several times. The cop looks truly angry, and the journalist is screaming like a little boy. 15 ninjas have their cell phones out, filming the whole thing.

"Hey, get out of here," another cop yells to all 50 of us.

"No, fuck you you fucking..." responds a man.

4 cops are now strong arming the journalist, dragging him to the opposite corner of the intersection, where they give him a stern talking to. The organizers are telling us to stay on the sidewalk. The cops are telling us to stay on the sidewalk. It's an odd moment of unity.

"Kamikazes in a fucking crowd, come on," yells a homeless guy on meth, "Hey, nice escalation guys. Whatever, fuck off."

One of the ninjas is pretending to be concerned about Covid, "Where's your masks?"

"We didn't do shit!" says a man walking away, and he sounds so incredibly sincere and aggrieved.

The cops are pacing around the intersection, trying to look tough, and giving a few more people stern lectures. They approach a chubby young woman with pink frills on her ninja suit. Her friends are shocked, after all, she's a member of the gaslighting brigade, who never smash windows.

"Noooooooo. Fuck you."

"You motherfuckers always use under the influence."

"Fucking cowards! You're such a pussy out here. Hey! I'll fuck you up! You're a pussy. Fuck you, get the fuck out!"

The police are acting as if they can't hear us, strutting around attempting to look commanding. The Portland Police are incredibly well behaved and I instinctively trust their judgements on who to punch and beat, since in the 15 times I've dressed like a ninja they have never once targeted me. Me and the police officers often make eye contact, and their faces remain a blank mask. But with a few of the ninjas they point at them and say, their face flashing with anger, 'You better leave now,' or something to that effect. You can imagine, I'm sure, how easy it would be to use the punches and beatings of innocent people definitely not affiliated with Antifa as evidence in a lawsuit brought by the Antifa legal team to defund and neuter the PPB?

"You guys should leave, just leave."

"You fucking feds, get the fuck out."

"Don't follow us."

"Leave, get out of here."

They are indeed getting ready to leave, and line up on the west side of Pettygrove and 12th. They mount their bikes in unison and head west. A couple in civilian clothing sing Christmas songs accompanied by a blue plastic ukulele. It's 10:45 and the event is winding down. People mingle and chit chat.

The fake Antifa journalist is basking in his success, and his friends are congratulating him."Troy, dude!"

"That's what we fucking do!" he says.

"Sounds like there was another arrest made somewhere," says a woman, browsing Twitter on her cell phone.

"Fucking bitch ass motherfucker, as if I gave a fuck. I said fuck you," shouts the homeless man on meth to no one.

The fake journalist is discussing strategy, "They have to fall back, I mean they just ram into people. Does anyone have a joint?"

The meth head is now having a flashback of being brutalized by the police, talking to himself, "You have no right, do it again, I'll have you for assault." He chuckles, relishing a lawsuit against the police, "Do it again!"

"Hey, can we help you? Can we help you?" says one of the disinformation women to a resident filming us from the entrance to their apartment building.

"Just hanging around," he says.

"Yeah, just taking pictures of us? Uh huh." Her screechy voice is dripping with contempt, as if the man is a pervert.

Winding Down - 10:50

I decide to head home, and walk south, along the route we marched. The Antifa ninjas are in groups of 5 and 10, swaggering around, revisiting the scenes of the crimes, and occasionally smashing some more windows.

An upper middle class woman leans out of a second story window, yelling, "Get out of here, we love you."

Another resident shouts, "And where do you live? Huh? I wanna smash your window you asshole."

A ninja shouts back, "Hey, if your window is fine, shut the fuck up."

A Latino man is watching us from the balcony of his 3rd story condo, in boxer shorts. I can't make out what he's saying, but he's ridiculing and insulting the protesters. He seems drunk, and his wife is trying to drag him back inside.

A ninja yells up to him, "Hey, maybe you donate some of your fucking money to people."

A man skips past me with a friend, saying, "It's almost like I don't need to go to my therapy appointment this month."

I see 6 police cars a few blocks away, but just briefly. At the corner of Irving I hear a woman reminiscing with her friend, saying, "One of those bike cops got real mad at me, cause I was like, 'put your mask on,' and he was like..." and she imitates a stupid confused robot.

I keep walking south, all the way back home. My head is buzzing like I just attended one of those punk shows where someone is being evicted from their house, and the band shows up with all their friends, getting totally drunk to do some kind of Germanic dance by body slamming each other, eventually destroying the house, to make sure the landlord knows how little respect the punk community has for fat and lazy upper middle class capitalists.