By the Millions, By the Billions
An account of the state's assault on the Liberated Zone for Gaza at UVA
I don’t know that I have anything new, unique, or particularly worthwhile to add to the accounts of what happened Saturday at the University of Virginia. While I have some takeaways at the end, this post is more of an exercise for me to gather some thoughts and log some memories while they’re fresh.
Beginnings
Less than a week ago, some students and community members set up a ‘Liberated Zone’ next to the UVA chapel, which is located behind and a little to the side of the university’s landmark Rotunda. The encampment was set up in solidarity with the Palestinian people as they continue to be slaughtered and starved by the state of Israel with the aid of United States tax dollars. It was the latest of such encampments in the wake of the mass student protests across the country, all of which are connected through their solidarity in the struggle for Palestinian liberation.
It’s worth noting that, from what I know, the original plan of a couple of the main student Palestinian solidarity organizations was to hold a series of events on May Day on the Lawn in lieu of an encampment. Some students disagreed with that approach and went forth with an encampment the day before. The university originally warned organizers of the May Day event to not proceed, but it seems to me that the unexpected encampment became the focus, and both it and the event carried on undisturbed.
Chill vibes
Jen and I weren’t able to make it out to the encampment until the weekend, but had kept tabs on goings ons around it, both via social media and through direct conversations with comrades who were in and around it. The reported vibe of the space was almost comical in light of the scenes of severe escalation that were occurring simultaneously at other universities. “It was the sleepiest place,” one friend observed. “They sit in chairs reading books.” Other said that alongside teach-ins, students were focused on studying for exams, and grad students offered help on final papers.
It was known that the university acknowledged that the peaceful nature of the protest, but also that they had drawn a ‘red line’ at tents going up. In light of forecasted rain that evening, the students took the risk on Friday night.
Knowing there could be a confrontation, they put a call out to the community, and Jen and I decided to go.
The scene was sleepy, indeed. Signs calling for liberation and for justice for the 35,000 murdered were laid out around the camp. A tree was surrounded by candles leftover from a vigil held earlier that evening. In the center of the camp, they had set up a few tables—a library, an art station, a place to get food and drink.
After maybe 15 minutes of chatting with a couple of friends, one of them said we should probably just go back home. Nothing was happening. It was a quiet evening. On the way home, it started to drizzle, and shortly after we returned, it stormed.
The ol’ switcheroo
The encampment had been announcing needs throughout the week on Instagram. Due to the downpours of the night before, they sent out requests for hot breakfasts and towels.
As chronicled by our resident notes-taker and live-tweeter, Molly (support her on Patreon here), the police showed up demanding the tents be taken down, citing their mutual understanding that tents were against university policy. Not long after, a local doctor tweeted that the written policy was, in fact, that “recreational tents for camping are exempt.”
About half an hour later, the university removed the exemption.
The university’s excuse, per a local reporter, was that their policy doc and the guidance doc were different, and that the guidance doc—which was linked in the policy doc—was not up to date.
Other locals that morning were tweeting about tents pitched at the outdoor volleyball courts (in trying to find a citation for that, I actually found a better one showing that this morning, the volleyball tents are back up!).
The assumption is that the students were just supposed to take the police’s word for it despite evidence they were being duped. They didn’t, as they shouldn’t.
I want to take a second and pause here because this information is critical to keep at the forefront:
While the police response was in no way justified regardless of university policy, the policy itself was contradictory at best.
The university edited the docs before the raid and in the official statements from the school and president, they do not acknowledge this.
Other student groups had tents pitched on Grounds before, during?, and after the violence.
There was no justifiable reason to pepper spray, brutalize, and arrest these students.
There was no justifiable reason for state police dressed in riot gear and armed with rifles to descend upon Charlottesville.
There would have been no violence if the university, police, and state hadn’t escalated.
There was no moral and logical reasoning or excuse behind the violence—it was punishment for daring to challenge power in public.
Escalation
We received word as we were making lunch that police had started to mobilize. By the time we got there, there was a line of local officers who had formed a line to keep campers in and supporters, who continued to gather en masse, out. The state police slowly made their way in, and as time went on, became more and more armed. Tactical gear gave way to riot gear; riot gear gave way to weapons that looked like rifles and grenade launchers.
Faculty behind the line of cops tried to reason with them for as long as possible. However, the Rubicon had been crossed the moment the state troopers arrived. No amount of mediating they tried to do with them would ever have been enough.
Most supporters gathered with each other right in front of the police line; others stood across the street to observe. Photographers, including local ace photojournalists Eze Amos and Jamelle Bouie, made their way to the front lines and beyond to chronicle what was happening. There were chants of “Leave them alone,” “Free Palestine,” “State Police, KKK / IDF, they’re all the same” (my personal fav), “Disclose, Divest / We will not stop, we will not rest,” and “Where were you in 2017?” (referring to the infamous far-right invasion of Charlottesville, during which the police infamously protected the Neo-Nazis and Neo-Confederates against their opposition).
‘Counter-protesters’ were also present. A number held flags: U.S., Israel, and one that was a combination of two (despite common rhetoric that suggesting allegiance is antisemitic). At one point we moved along the protest line to see more of the scene, but there was a point at which more and more onlookers were white, unmasked, and notably not joining in on the chants. Uncomfortable, we moved back to be with those we knew we could better trust.
It took an excruciatingly long time before the stormtroopers moved into final formation, shields raised. When the order was given, they methodically marched towards the camp, and when they ran into something in their path—be it tent or table or human—they obliterated it. Clouds of pepper spray plumed. The police slammed and handcuffed campers.
We bought goggles in 2020 and have brought them to a few protests over the years, never actually needing them. This time was different.
“We don’t see no riot here / Why are you in riot gear?”
“35,000 dead / You’re arresting kids instead”
The line of police would stop for a while and then start again. Not satisfied with the destruction of the camp, which was supposedly the issue at hand, the state moved in on everyone else.
We swung around the local police line around the chapel to be in a better spot. We again faced problems of being around people who made us feel uncomfortable, plus as the police expanded their zone, we were getting backed up to the chapel itself, forcing us to continue to move in front of the main force.
Going to the other side of the chapel revealed a scene we had yet to witness. Zionists stood in rows on a hill on the far side of the police line, holding Israeli flags and watching the scene and cheering as if they were spectators at the Roman Colosseum. Zionists directly behind us were laughing and cheering, too, saying things like, “This party could use a six-pack.”
The inevitable
The solidarity of the crowd and the response of the street medics was uncanny. Comrades were constantly passing out masks and bottles of water, both for drinking and for washing out someone’s eyes in case police blasted them with chemicals. When someone was injured, they would be immediately escorted to the first aid station at the nearby library.
For the next substantial amount of time, the chaos was locked into a repetitive rhythm of ||: Protestors would continue to chant. Police would bash people back. People would get medical attention. :|| One funny bit in all of this was that the person who held the megaphone roared into the mic so hard for so long that their shredded vocal chords x the distortion made them sound like the frontman for Disturbed. Not all heroes wear capes, as they say.
Eventually, the riot troopers pushed everyone over the thigh-high stone wall separating Grounds from University Ave. As rain fell, the crowd and their oppressors were at a standstill.
Still around, some frat bros posed together and got a photo with the police line as their backdrop. One older white man, who we had seen plenty earlier, walked around with a smug look on his face. Some of the bros went up to him and shook his hand.
We weren’t sure whether it made sense to stick around after a while. We found a few friends and hung around them. Eventually someone came around and passed along that we would all disperse at the same time, so we waited until that moment to make the trek back home.
Aftermath
The evening was spent locked in the trance of scrolling social, sharing information, and checking in on people. Some comrades had already organized at the jail to post bail for those arrested and have food waiting for them. All but one protestor was let out on bail. That one was charged for assaulting a police officer, of which there is evidence and testimony that they did no such thing.
If you have money to spare, please support the incredible work of the Blue Ridge Community Bail Fund.
The next day I heard about the repercussions for students: Serving an immediate six-month ban, they became instantly unhoused, are unable to finish exams (threatening graduation), and will not be able to come back next semester.
Thankfully, people are mobilizing. UVA faculty and student groups have come out en masse to support the protestors. Alumni are passing around a couple of petitions, one declaring “no donations until divestment” and the other in support of justice for the student protestors. There’s a toolkit for community members to pressure different people from different angles.
It is clear that this is only the beginning. Solidarity forever. Veneceremos. Free Palestine.
Thoughts
Saturday’s violence was a microcosm of fascist action. It featured conservative forces deploying intense brute force to quash art, books, shelter, and people that dare tell truths of and run converse to their ability to maintain omnipotent authority.
More specifically, the action was capitalist in nature.
Earlier this year, the UVA student body passed Referendum 1—a demand for UVA to divest from apartheid Israel—with a supermajority (nearly 68%) of votes. The demands of the protest were in directly line with the referendum: disclose and divest. The encampment rejected UVA’s written response to those demands (which you can see here).
The next day, using the tent policy as a red herring, the ruling class called on the assistance of state of Virginia’s police force to destroy the encampment, arrest those inside, and maim their supporters. This order of events is not coincidental.
And although fascism is the darling of conservatism and VA Governor Glenn Youngkin, liberal politicians like Democratic-gubernatorial-candidate-frontrunner-and-ex-CIA-operative Abigail Spanberger are silent, too. They refuse to speak out because they know that U.S. hegemony is threatened by these actions in opposition to capitalism, colonialism, and imperialism.
When we were walking home, I remarked to Jen that it was the frat bros, the Zionist spectators, and that smug old man that bothered me more than anything.
It is possible that on Saturday, a cop could have realized in the moment that what they were doing was wrong, but felt the need to continue because they needed to follow orders. But the aforementioned people? They could have left at any time. Instead, they witnessed the brutality. Stayed for it. Laughed at it. Cheered it on. Posed for it.
Even Joe Biden is indifferent to the genocide. These kids love it. They love it so much that they want the people trying to end it to be beaten and bludgeoned and they want to watch it live on the 50-yard line.
Finally, there’s nothing quite like being there in the moment of something of this scale. The emotions are unique; they are raw; they are terrible. And while I would rather no one have to experience them because I would rather no such situation ever exist again, I feel that in some respects, personal connection may be critical in order for us to break the bonds of complacency and finally take a mass stand together for the future of humanity.
If that doesn’t finally do it for those who still cling to false realities, I have no other answer.
Peace,
Greg