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Demonstrators march east on Central Avenue towards UNM during a ant Donald Trump protest Wednesday, Nov. 9, 2016. 

Demonstrators march east on Central Avenue towards UNM during a ant Donald Trump protest Wednesday, Nov. 9, 2016. 

Column: A personal account of the anti-Trump protest

A Daily Lobo reporter who saw it all describes the demonstration

I arrived on Central Avenue and First Street around 7 p.m. on Wednesday, to a moderate crowd gathered on the street corner. They were protesting the election results and renouncing the new president-elect as their leader.

Not 24 hours before, our nation received a shock: The Donald was elected our new president.

I remember where I was that night. I was having a drink at the campus bar watching the votes come in from each of our nation’s states, and at this point I was nervous that Hillary Clinton wouldn’t emerge victorious from this vicious campaign that pitted the American people against each other.

I knew we were f***ed when the electoral votes from California didn’t help Clinton gain a lead. I downed my beer, said farewell to those around me and trudged home where I wouldn’t sleep but for brief nightmares of protests and anarchy.

I’ve never been one to have prophetic dreams, but it would appear that every dog has its day. The next night, I watched as a splinter group of the protesters went to provoke the police, who had blocked off streets in the downtown area.

I wasn’t there to get arrested, but maybe some of the protesters were — I couldn’t tell you what point that would have served.

A little before 7:30 p.m. we began the march up Central. I was there with some colleagues from the Daily Lobo who were there to cover the event for the news desk — I was there to represent the Gonzo journalist, and I was ready to see it through to the end.

None of us at that time had high hopes for the protest. On a college campus you see this stuff all the time — whether it’s calling for justice, or some goon ranting to convince their bemused audience to seek an appeal from God. We expected the march would disperse after we went from downtown to the University.

I spent time on the fringes of the march, but soon I made myself part of it. So much for any claims of objectivity. We picked up others along the way as we made our march. Between the chants, car horns and knocking over traffic cones, the march gained traction as it clogged up nearly the entirety of the busiest street in the city.

Once we were at the University, we rallied to wait for another protest group to arrive. But there were divisions within the group. Some wanted to “keep the disobedience civil,” and others wanted to “get rowdy.” You could imagine where it went from there.

We took to the street again and met the other protesters. The student group Red Nation came as reinforcements and doubled the number of angry citizens who felt jilted by the system. You could cut the tension in the air with a knife.

I guess most of us, myself included, expected for the demonstration to end when we returned to the downtown street corner. Then I heard the phrase that would make the evening take a turn for the worse.

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“We’re taking the freeway” one of the demonstration leaders yelled to a ravenous crowd. It became that kind of a night.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t sh***ing my pants on our way to the Central Avenue freeway overpass. I pondered thoughts on how many of us would get arrested, how many cans of tear gas would be shot at us, and outlandish thoughts like “will the cops join us?” No matter what happened, this was going to get ugly.

We reached the highway, and that’s where the divide began. It widened the gap between those who wanted to get angry and those who wanted to keep the protest legal. Standing on the wooden steps of the freeway shoulder, I saw automobiles stop hot in their tracks as the protesters took to the highway and caused the average folks trying to get home to run an hour late.

It wouldn’t be long before the riot police arrived.

Feeling an imaginary thread tug at the back of my neck, I descended the steps and made it to the parking lot of the Crossroads Hotel. I turned around and saw a squad of militarized officers in riot gear march down the highway with animatronic precision.

“Jesus, this just got interesting,” I thought. I stood there, damp rag around my face, watching the riot police force the protesters off the interstate. No shots were fired, no one was tased and amazingly the protesters held their ground.

The riot police lined the shoulder, and what was once a protest became a standoff — the system versus the malcontent. I sent the photos of the standoff to my editor and saw some of the protesters raise their hands while standing on top of a power box, a scene straight from a Goya painting.

While the majority of the protesters concentrated on Oak Street, another squad of riot police came up under the overpass. It was at this point the police issued an ultimatum for the protesters — either disperse, or face the consequences.

I didn’t stick around to see how that unfolded. Once the police began to advance I made myself scarce. Thankfully I met up with a couple of protesters who gave me the information I needed. From their account there was no tear gas and no shots fired, but the threats from police eventually made the protesters scatter like rats from a sinking ship.

I had to walk back to my car. On my way back, I saw that officers patrolled the side streets. I was spooked but I made no effort to stop. I ran into a couple who were having a glass of wine at a bar. I told them I was a journalist, and they told me that they were scared of what’s going to happen to the city and the nation. I couldn’t disagree with them.

Walking down Lead Avenue, I saw protesters walking away from ground zero of the demonstration. Oak and Central was quieter than a graveyard. I thought this was the end of it. I made it to my car and began my journey back home.

I had plans to go home and hit the hay, but I made the happy accident of driving down Central near Yale Boulevard — where I saw yet another standoff with police and protesters. A journalist’s work is never done.

Thankfully this was the end of the night — a few yells, and some destruction of public property. But that’s how the night ended, with the riot cops eventually grabbing a city bus to go home and have a beer themselves.

A calm night had turned ugly. Protests like this one happened all around the nation last night. This night had shown that the American people weren’t going to take this turn of events — and a President Donald Trump — lying down.

Fin Martinez is the culture editor and resident Gonzo Journalist at the Daily Lobo. He can be reached at culture@dailylobo.com or on Twitter @FinMartinez

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