FIRST-PERSON: OPENFILE REPORTER JUSTIN LING ARRESTED, RELEASED BY POLICE AT PROTEST

REPORTED BY
JUSTIN LING

Photo: Justin Ling

REPORTED ON

May 23, 2012

Under arrest. Okay, well, first it was Im under attr. Its difficult to tweet with your hands behind your back, OK? The day started with drumbeats, dancing and what may have been Canadas largest protest. Ever. Marching with them in the sun for the better part of the afternoon and after having trekked with the protesters to Westmount the night before I was forced to take a break before the regular nightly protest thats become a staple of Montreal nightlife. When I finally got there, everyone was gone. I chased some stragglers through the streets. I missed the big to-do when the police broke up the crowd. I milled around, and followed a few groups of isolated protesters, but eventually there were no protesters left to follow. Then I got a tip. The protesters were zipping through the Gay Village, I was told. I sprinted down the metro stairs then up again. As soon as I stepped out of Beaudry metro, about a hundred protesters greeted me. Together, we took a casual albeit brisk walk down pedestrian-only Ste-Catherine St., adorned with festive summer lanterns. Then the cops showed up. Im running. Vans come screaming down the street. Protesters skirt up sidestreets. They stop. Looking back, the cars are nowhere to be seen. They march again, slowly; timidly. Someone screams. Two more vans race towards us, splitting the crowd. This continues until my contingent is at most, 30 people. Im exhausted. Looking back, I think to myself that the cops probably just want to get these people dispersed and off the streets. Why keep running? I think. I stop. Bad move. Two vans stop next to me. I start moving. Two officers jump out, shields outstretched and batons raised. They shove me. Theyre screaming. I get on my knees. One hits with me with his baton. SLEEP! He barks. I lay down. Im a journalist! Im yelling. They ignore it. I have credentials! You can call my editor. They look at each other. One outstretches his gloved hand, palm open. Lets see it. I reach into my wallet and pull it out. Another officer walks over and informs me Im joining the others. My credentials are still in my hand. Im dragged across the street and told to take a seat next to some protesters. Most are silent. One is raving. Genocidaires! he spits at the cops. Some of the protesters tell him to shut up. One guy is face-down, with a cop kneeling on his back. Hes screaming. A few of us look on. They sit him upright, eventually, with plastic handcuffs on. Were silent for

awhile. I manage to type out I'm under attr. An officer growls at me. I hit send and put it away. I try again, and managed to mash out Under arrest, and tweet it. I then try the feat of snapping some clandestine pictures of the cops with my camera. Its more difficult than I would have imagined. RELATED: This isn't the first time Twitter has helped bail out a Montreal reporter. Also read"Student journalists escape arrest thanks to Twitter" One protester shouts, Why are we being arrested? An officer responds, For our safety.* The dozen-odd protesters next to me collectively scoff. The cops are stone-faced. The police move in to start putting the plastic handcuffs on us. They start at the far end. There are maybe eight protesters separating me from the police. One officer points at me. Another nods. They walk over, tell me stand up. They handcuff me and march me to the end of the line. I ask for my bag, and an officer obliges. He brings it over, drops it next to me. I gasp, fearing for my camera inside. I tell him as much. What the fuck are you doing running around with a camera? he asks, incredulous. My job. I retort. He seems unimpressed. One of the police officers walks over to tell us well be processed at a lock-up on JeanTalon. The protester next to me curses. Thats far, he breathes. I ask him where exactly it is. Im not too sure, he says. But it smells bad there. He sighs. He turns to the cops, Im thirsty, can I get my water bottle? Silence. Its in my bag. Nothing. We blow off some steam. Know any songs? he asks. I shake my head. Beer? Anyone want a beer? I ask. Ive got one in my bag! he says. The cops look on, blankly. We laugh. The plastic handcuffs are cutting into my wrists. I reposition them, but it does little good. There is no comfortable way to sit down with them on, I decide. I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket. My editor, no doubt. I reach into and turn it off, thinking I might want to save my battery if Im going to be in lockup all night. Justin Ling? An officer is walking over, calling my name. Thats me. I pipe up. They ask for ID, which I give to them. He tells me to get up. I mumble some I-told-you-sos. Some protesters cry foul. I shrug. Sorry, guys. My friend, the one sitting next to me, tells me not to worry. He keeps yelling at the cops. Im led away, where two police officers search my bag. He pulls out my camera, and drops it around my neck. Then he takes my rain jacket and spare pair of shoes. He glares at me; What do you need a change of clothes for? he asks. I stare back, blankly. It was raining. He doesnt seem satisfied, but lets it go. After looking through the contents of my bag, he asks the other officer to uncuff me. Unfortunately, thats not so easy. The officer grunts and tugs at the cuffs and he tries to take them off. I close my eyes and hope to leave with all of my fingers. The cuffs come off, after much struggle, and Im trotted out to the other side of the police barrier. Im still under investigation, they tell me. A mere formality, Im assured.

And how did they know to release me? Turns out one of the tuned-in SPVM communications staff read my initial under arrest tweet and the flurry of tweets that surrounded it. Go figure.