It was unavoidable. I had to make a run into downtown Portland today. The Pearl District no less. I have been watching the riots and looting for more than 100 days. Walking around, the Rose City looks like it was turned on its ear. Perhaps body slammed is a better word.
One or two nights of protests would have been enough, but that’s just me. You could understand people would take to the streets to protest the death of George Floyd. No one wants to see someone die regardless of the situation.
Authorities declared a riot. The rioting turned into looting. Square blocks of downtown Portland were barricaded, and a protester-only village popped up. Whatever this was was here to stay.
The protest took on a life of its own. Weapons, Molotov cocktails, hammers, bats, rattle cans, umbrellas, and assorted items meant to be weapons made the scene.
Federal property was attacked. First responder’s equipment, cars, and support systems were destroyed. Participants in the rioting were shot, and several were killed. One supposedly impromptu protest became an immovable object.
I understand people are pissed.
How do you keep a riot caused by a single event going for three months? It takes organization, motivation, equipment, people, and money. Local politicians coordinated policy to allow arrested rioters to be booked and released the next day from jail. Few, if any, had charges pressed.
An inflow of money meant to assist in the effort to bail out rioters materialized. Individuals coached protesters at the moment they were being arrested. The coaching appeared to come from riot organizers.
They yelled from a distance word of support while the person was being arrested. They asked for their name, they reassured the rioter that someone would be there to bail them out. This takes organization. Pre-planning is the only way to accomplish this. Money is needed to make it all happen.
I got to the store before it opened, so I had time to kill. A Portlander would find a cup of coffee and chill. Having had too much coffee already, I found a chair and watched the movement of people. I could hear sirens one after the other echoing between the buildings.
I was sitting there minding my own business when a greasy, wandering around man walked up to me. He was holding strips of paper in his hand. I asked him what he wanted. No answer. He did not move. I got up from my chair and looked him in the eye. He was grunting something, but I could not understand a word. I told him to get moving. He would not move. I told him I kicked two asses already this morning and was looking for a third. He did not understand a word I said. I stamped my foot. That startled him, and he took off.
Wait, did I just say I was looking for a third ass to kick? I almost knocked a fool out! Much street cred! I should celebrate with a coffee! I have game! Where is the ESPN play of the day cameras when you need them?
Men with bullhorns invited passersby to accept Jesus as their savior. A fistfight almost broke as a man waiting for the next trolley confronted the tout. He was yelling for the man to shut up. The man with the bullhorn spoke louder. I am guessing the angry man did not invite Jesus into his heart at that moment.
A dance troupe assembled in the square where I was sitting. I thought I was in for a dance concert, but it turned out to be a photo session. I didn’t stay long enough to see if a dance performance would start later in the hour.
Instead, I decided to walk around. Downtown Portland is beautiful. The Pearl District is a source of pride. Funky shops, tree-lined streets, coffee stands every 85 feet or so, and plenty of shiny stuff to take in. The buildings are all square with ornate early 1900s architectural details.
Stores were boarded up. In some cases, boards stretched an entire block. You have seen this on TV, I am sure. I did see one that impressed me. About 100 feet of plywood painted over and over with protest slogans in the form of spray paint. Paint covered almost every inch.
A graffiti portrait of George Floyd was near the center of boards. This section attracted quite a bit of attention. Some people were yelling at passersby. It was difficult to tell if you were in danger or not. I decided to keep my camera in my jacket and keep walking.
The number of homeless people was stunning. I have lived in downtown Los Angeles and other large cities, so it wasn’t new to me. Some appeared to suffer from mental illness, others looked like drug addicts that were near the end of the rope. I was approached and asked for money six times.
I did see one woman dressed in an ankle-length black cape complete with a black hood and eye holes. She was wearing wayfarers.
I saw two women in their seventies dressed head to toe in red, white, and blue sequins carrying Joe Biden campaign posters. They were wearing sparkly masks and seemed oblivious to their surroundings. I am sure they had a ball.
I came upon a peaceful gathering in the park across from the federal courthouse. I would say the crowd totaled 500 people. People were giving speeches, and some were singing. The crowd was diverse, with a sprinkling of races of age groups. It was more along the line of what you would expect from a non-violent gathering. I thought to myself, the rioters are exhausted after being out all night throwing rocks and firebombs. They are probably all asleep now or on conference calls planning for upcoming violence. I was not really that interested. I kept moving.
I circled back to where I started. I saw street after street with property damage. There was a power washing operation in front of one of the stores happening. Louis Vuitton, Cartier, and other luxury stores were boarded up and spray painted with protest slogans.
Corner after corner, I saw trash, filth, graffiti, and homeless people wandering aimlessly. I wondered how long it would take to recover from this disruption. Portland is a funky place. The hipster vibe is unmistakable. Shops, coffee stands, eateries all offer a welcome, warm place to hang out and kill time. Just not this year.
About a month ago, rioters and protesters took to the forests south of Portland to start wildfires. Troopers were stopping people in pickup trucks on the highway. They were loaded down with cans full of gas along with other needed items to light fires. Their story was they were delivering water bottles to emergency crews and firefighters.
This was my sky for a week or so while protesters lit Oregon on fire. I took this picture from my patio.
This is the Portland sky on any given day. Cloudy, ready to rain, and a cool 58 degrees. Just right for a cup of joe.
Can I get my city back? Do we have a timetable? Can we please find another way to protest? One that does not involve killing people, hitting Police officers in the head with bats, tossing Molotov cocktails into crowds of people, or lighting homeless people on fire?
These funky Portland street corners deserve buskers. Chock full of Poorly rehearsed mandolinists, jugglers, mimes, and passersby who stop for a laugh or a tune. Portland could be as romantic as strolling Paris streets with your girl. So why isn’t it?
There was nothing wrong with the old normal. It worked for the masses. 100+ days in, we have a group of people determined to force us into something more extreme.
All I want is a killer Reuben sandwich and a small black coffee.
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Portland-based writer/journalist. Covering luxury goods, exotic cars, CJ-CX, horology, lifestyle, & workplace issues. Comments welcome! dp@dpatlarge.com. Follow on twitter – @dpatlarge
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