These Days

We stand in the field in our uniforms, our identities wrapped up under our labels. Volunteers in our grubby jeans and colourful jackets and muddy Docs, van keys dangling from our necks, phones in steady hands filming. Filming the CRS and police in their riot gear, balding heads and covered identity badges, truncheons in hand, tear gas in pockets, filming us on their personal phones. In between, a group of young men, boys, bambinos, women, children, in black jackets and dark jeans, hoods up against the cameras, eyes stinging from chemical agents, ripped tents flapping in the wind. Another day and nobody achieves their objective, and nobody gives up.

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