Others had whistles and cow bells. And strapped on their sides were gas masks. The sound was beautiful, like a Mardi Gras, inspiring the troops. And like military bands from days of old, they were marching the protestors into battle. There was no bones about it, these people were planning to cause as much chaos as they possibly could. They knew there was going to be violence, and they had come equipped for combat with riot police.
The distance to the IMF meeting at the convention centre wasn’t known, few people knew around which corner there was likely to be a fight, and Carrie constantly scrutinised every other individual, every street corner to try to glean clues as to what might be about to happen. Adrenaline and fear grew.
The street sloped downwards and on either side were tightly packed in buildings. Carrie’s procession marched down into an urban canyon. They were hemmed in by the buildings and lie of the land. Turning the corner, they caught the first glimpses of riot police. Even now, three years later, Carrie gets a shot of adrenaline through her system when she sees police in combat gear. The march carried on towards the police lines, pipers and drummers played; a dream-like mix of carnival and warfare. The riot police had formed a human barricade along the far end of the street where the convention centre was. There were a hundred or so police in black full body armour, with Perspex shields, full helmets and battens. They looked intimidating, but that was certainly the idea. Behind the lines was an armoured vehicle with a water cannon.
When the band was about fifty metres from the police lines they stopped playing. The band separated to the sides and a small army of hardcore anarchists ran towards the police.
Carrie was about half way back through the procession, back from the centre of the conflict. With the other guy from her town, she stood up on some raised grass to see what was happening at the front, and she was shocked when the reality hit her. They weren’t kidding about the riot; she knew it was coming, but when it did, it still shook her. There was no build up – the most “dedicated” activists went straight in with the petrol bombs. One of the first bombs went directly into the line of police. Carrie stood next to her mate in disbelief “Can you see that?” she asked to check if what she was witnessing was true. One of the police was on fire, a human burning. It was hard to see exactly from where Carrie was. Part of Carrie was drawn in to watching the spectacle, the other part was sickened; this was against everything which she knew to be right. The water cannon put him out, and the police man survived. This burning riot policeman had his photograph published all over the planet the next day, and the message of violence was clear. But the wrong message.
The man Carrie was with was becoming agitated. Something was rising in him, and he eventually moved in closer to the centre of the action. He went down to help other rioters rip up cobbles from the street to throw at the police.
There were a few thousand of there. A smaller group in the thick of it, but most people back up on a grassy area watching the chaos. Carrie mingled around wondering what to do.