Anger is a gift
[August 28. Oaxaca, Mexico]
Drums can be heard in the crowd chanting and chanting. The street has become a river of people and I am still holding the bag my cousin gave me this morning: a gas mask, safety gloves and safety glasses with double glazing of some acrylic-like material.
So that you can see, so that you can breathe… to protect yourself. The echo of his words is still fresh in my mind. He also told me that in South America police violence during protests was on the rise. That the police were using rubber bullets with iron inside. That they were aiming for the eyes.
I join the crowd holding two signs: one with a serious slogan and one with a joke, to lift the spirits. “No more pacts of silence” in one hand and “I’m looking for my Hamster, have you seen him?” with a drawing of a decapitated Mickey Mouse in the other.
I move faster, taking advantage of the small spaces that open and close between people as they walk. I slip through like marbles slipping through watermelons. I reach the front of the march just as a pitched battle begins between police and citizens. A tear gas bomb describes an arc of smoke in the sky and falls among the scattering people. Everyone runs except one who rushes at the device.
He wears eye protection and a gas mask. He uses his gloved hand to pick up the bomb and put it in a jerrycan with water, which he hastily covers. Instantly the screams divert my attention: an armored vehicle charges into the crowd from the right flank a few meters behind me. A couple of dozen armed policemen get out of the vehicle and begin to beat people and take them to their mobile checkpoint. The people react, throwing debris at the uniformed, lashing out with kitchen utensils, construction tools. Every sign is now an improvised spear.
And anger is contagious.
I feel a blow to my head that knocks me down. Before I can even think of getting up, a firm hand grabs me by the hair and drags me inside the checkpoint. More policemen inside pull me by the arm to put me in the back. I catch a glimpse of one of the uniformed men whipping a girl’s head while insulting her. Get ready to run I hear someone talking from outside, then the sound of gears collapsing and the back door opens wide. Who opened the back! Vocifies the driver as we rush toward freedom. I see the guy who opened the door walking away from the vehicle and run after him.
He is agile, carrying an artifact in his hand, I guess that’s what he used to defeat the lock. He runs, dodges, jumps and from time to time delivers kicks that knock down the oppressors. I run as fast as I can and barely manage to stay close.
That I have such a hard time keeping up with him while he’s working his way through the crowd is impressive. He finally makes it into the crowd, me after him and with me all those who were able to get out. I see his orange mohican swim upstream. I lose sight of him but keep looking.
I finally emerge from the crowd still trying to find my savior. The noise doesn’t stop. I guess it’s time to go home. I start my way back and then I see him round the corner. I hurry again to catch up with him without really understanding why I’m doing it.
I enter the passage and find him facing me, sitting on top of the suitcase of a blue Camaro. Did you miss something? He asks me smiling. The words fall out of my mouth without thinking: I also want to help. He lets out a cheerful laugh and stands up, get in He points me to the passenger side as he opens his door and sits down in front of the steering wheel. I sit down and take off my gas mask while he dials a number on his cell phone.
It worked, tell San Amaro that his toy worked… I’m going back to Dogana with- he turns and I read on his voiceless lips that he is asking for my name. Viggo Daniels I reply and he continues his chatter… with Viggo Daniels… yes… a local Equal.
He hangs up the phone and throws it out the window, inserts the key and looks at me My name is Chaski.
