by JENNI MONET
Shannon Rivers protested Trump at the Phoenix rally on Tuesday. For Rivers, a tribal citizen of the Akimel O’odham of the Gila River Indian Community, the alliance between indigenous people and Latinos is personal. “Many [Latinos] are our family,” he said. PHOTO/Jenni Monet.
It came with a loud boom followed by a second one—a series of smoke bombs lodged toward a crowd of protesters in downtown Phoenix Tuesday night.
“You guys better get going before the gas starts,” said a local police officer wearing a helmet, his plexiglass face shield flipped upward atop his head.
“Wait … What gas?” said a young cyclist standing nearby. Then he asked again with more urgency. “What gas?!”
“The historical trauma is still happening today.”
Half a city block away, a peaceful gathering had erupted in rapid but short-lived chaos after, police say, someone lodged a burning projectile at an officer, and in response, police fired back. The city’s police chief said pepper balls, tear gas, and other nonlethal chemicals were used. The drama disrupted what had otherwise been an hours-long nonviolent demonstration held by many protesting President Donald J. Trump. He chose Phoenix to host a campaign-style rally, his first event since the deadly clashes in Charlottesville, Virginia.
For the indigenous people who attended the rally, this police response was a familiar narrative.
“The historical trauma is still happening today. We’re still suffering but in different ways,” said Anthony Thosh Collins, a citizen of the Onk Akimel O’odham with the Salt River Pima-Maricopa Indian Community. His tribe’s land base is surrounded by the nearby sprawling suburbs of Scottsdale, Mesa, and Tempe. But for Collins and dozens of other indigenous rights activists protesting Tuesday night, their message in response to recent white supremacist rhetoric was simple: “This is our land.”
“I would hope in the future the mainstream media [start] recognizing us as the original inhabitants of the land and that we too are still suffering today,” Collins said.
It came with a loud boom followed by a second one—a series of smoke bombs lodged toward a crowd of protesters in downtown Phoenix Tuesday night. “You guys better get going before the gas starts,” said a local police officer wearing a helmet, his plexiglass face shield flipped upward atop his head. “Wait … What gas?” said a young cyclist standing nearby. Then he asked again with more urgency. “What gas?!” “The historical trauma is still happening today.” Half a city block away, a peaceful gathering had erupted in rapid but short-lived chaos after, police say, someone lodged a burning projectile at an officer, and in response, police fired back. The city’s police chief said pepper balls, tear gas, and other nonlethal chemicals were used. The drama disrupted what had otherwise been an hours-long nonviolent demonstration held by many protesting President Donald J. Trump. He chose Phoenix to host a campaign-style rally, his first event since the deadly clashes in Charlottesville, Virginia. For the indigenous people who attended the rally, this police response was a familiar narrative. “The historical trauma is still happening today. We’re still suffering but in different ways,” said Anthony Thosh Collins, a citizen of the Onk Akimel O’odham with the Salt River Pima-Maricopa Indian Community. His tribe’s land base is surrounded by the nearby sprawling suburbs of Scottsdale, Mesa, and Tempe. But for Collins and dozens of other indigenous rights activists protesting Tuesday night, their message in response to recent white supremacist rhetoric was simple: “This is our land.” “I would hope in the future the mainstream media [start] recognizing us as the original inhabitants of the land and that we too are still suffering today,” Collins said.”
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