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PORTLAND, Ore. — Kim Brolutti was on his knees, he said, when federal agents in Portland sprayed him in the face with chemicals at point-blank range.
It was the first demonstration in a long time for the retired 66-year-old nurse and father of two, who was compelled to join Portland activists who had called on parents from around the region to stand on the front lines after days of clashes with federal officials in the city.
As Brolutti’s eyes burned and his vision blurred, his adult children led him out of the crowd and away from an advancing line of federal police. He found a bench and sat. A volunteer street medic flushed out his eyes with water, and Brolutti’s head leaned back into his daughter’s open palms.
“Jesus, what country are we in?” Brolutti said. “Is this really how it’s going to be?”
Protests that began in response to the police killing of George Floyd have grown in recent weeks to incorporate a sustained rebuke of the Trump administration’s attempts to clamp down on demonstrations and restore order to this liberal Northwest city. Demonstrators have been tear-gassed, pepper-sprayed and shot with rubber bullets and exploding pepper balls. Some were scooped up off city streets by roving federal agents and brought in for questioning in unmarked minivans. More than two dozen have been arrested in the vicinity of the federal courthouse since July 4.
But after more than 50 days of demonstrations, even some longtime activists were caught off guard by the crowd size.
Many had joined in for the first time, gathering Monday evening to support the movement for racial justice and call for federal law enforcement to leave.
The federal forces, the Trump administration has said, are meant to defend U.S. government property — including the federal courthouse, covered in graffiti, where many of the skirmishes between demonstrators and law enforcement agents have occurred in recent days. But their presence has lit a spark among Portlanders, drawing bigger crowds night after night.
Self-identified moms in yellow shirts, bike helmets and masks mingled with dads wearing orange and holding signs with messages such as “Defend black lives, defend human rights, defend our city!” Seasoned protesters decked out in all black, with helmets and gas masks hanging from their backpacks or bodies, stood alongside newcomers who had arrived with little more than cloth masks to protect against the spread of the still-raging coronavirus and homemade signs held aloft.
“A lot of new people out here tonight,” observed an activist at the front of the crowd as hundreds cheered. “Next time you come out here, bring a gas mask, goggles. … Remember, [the federal agents] bring weapons.”
On Monday evening, a 39-year-old Portland woman named Abby and seven other mothers piled into two minivans. They wore yellow shirts and bike helmets — the unofficial uniform of the Wall of Moms, a collective of self-identified mothers who have formed human chains in front of the protests in recent nights to protect demonstrators from harm. All but two of them were first-timers.
Abby, who like many others declined to give her last name out of fear of being targeted by the federal crackdown, held a sign above her head that she first made for a small protest at her 9-year-old daughter’s elementary school.
“All mamas were summoned when George Floyd called out for his mama,” it read.
“There’s been a call for those of us who are white and able-bodied and can be out here putting our bodies on the line to come protect our community,” said Abby, a pair of pink children’s swim goggles pulled up around her bike helmet. “Our community is under threat right now.”
Several longtime activists said the continued presence of federal agents has brought out crowds not seen since the demonstration’s earliest days, in late May and early June, when protesters roved through the city, shutting down streets and closing bridges.
Toren Brolutti, 65, had seen images of the Wall of Moms — affectionately dubbed “MomBloc” and “Momtifa” by supportive Portlanders — on the news over the weekend. Seeing other mothers stand protectively in front of young demonstrators stirred something in her, she said. She felt she needed to be there, too.
When Kim Brolutti, her husband, saw a similar call for Portland dads to come out on Monday, the couple made up their mind: They were going.
Their kids, 31 and 29, met them downtown with helmets and goggles. As she fastened the helmet around her head, Toren Brolutti said, worry began to creep into her mind. Would she really need this gear?
Monday night’s protest began peacefully, with demonstrators raising their phone flashlights and softly singing “We Shall Overcome” at the foot of the Multnomah County Justice Center, the site of the county jail and police headquarters. The yellow-shirted moms moved to the front of the pack as the group began a march around town.
“Stay together, stay tight,” hundreds of voices chanted as they walked. “We do this every night!”
Monique Jefferson, 46, a Portland resident who has been attending the protests weekly since they began, joined the march Monday as she was walking home. Seeing the crowd of moms and dads present, she said, made her emotional.
“This is a wonderful thing,” Jefferson said. “It gives me hope to see all these moms and dads out here. People are going to have their free speech whether [Trump] likes it or not.”
As the march wound back toward the federal courthouse, Kim Brolutti sat down in the city park across the street to massage his tired feet. He took his shoes off and settled in. The atmosphere was festive and light, the couple said.
Moments later, just after midnight, a wall of protesters began to barrel toward him. He grabbed his shoes, sprang up and began to move forward into the crowd, confused about what had caused the rush.
As he walked into a growing cloud of gas, he said, federal agents surrounded him, their weapons trained on his chest. He got on his knees and raised his hands. Then, he said, an officer sprayed him in the face.
“Oh my god,” shouted his daughter, Maya Brolutti, 29. “Dad just got pepper-sprayed!”
With rapidly spreading plumes of tear gas hanging low over city streets, Kim Brolutti was led backward to an area where dozens of protesters paused two blocks from the Justice Center to regroup. Volunteer medics flushed out people’s burning eyes with water. Some carried injured protesters to benches and curbs, where they examined their bodies. Protesters coughed, cried and gagged as they weathered the effects of tear gas and pepper spray.
“It went from zero to 100 miles per hour just instantly,” Toren Brolutti said. “I understood [law enforcement] was supposed to warn you before they start doing the tear gas and the flash-booms and all the less-lethal rounds. But we got no warning. It just exploded.”
By Tuesday afternoon, the Broluttis were recovering. Toren said her eyes still stung from exposure to tear gas. Kim’s skin still burned from the spray. But their injuries did little to dampen their resolve to return.
“We’re going back,” Kim said Tuesday.
“Oh yes,” echoed Toren.
They were planning a trip to the hardware store to buy supplies. Next time, the couple said, they would be ready.
No surprise, secret police occupation is having the opposite effect of discouraging social unrest. But, that's probably the point.
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