Local Activists Host Workshop in Richmond Community Center February 12th 2017

Asphalt Warlords

Asphalt Warlords is a work of fiction. While inspired by real events surrounding the 2017 presidential inauguration, the J20 protests, and related activist movements in Richmond and beyond, all characters, dialogue, and specific incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to real organizations and events is coincidental and not intended to represent historical fact. If it feels real…well that’s the point.

For the first chapter click here.

Mira

The blackberry tea simmered in my mug as the snow fell from outside the window overlooking Monroe Park. Professor Morrison was across the hall getting muffins from the faculty lounge. The SCAI hearing documents rustled in the pocket of my coat when I shifted. It all worked out exactly like Kai said. Just needed to write a reflective essay by the end of the month.

“How’s the tea, darling?” She appeared in the doorway.

“Perfect, thank you.”
Holding two plates of muffins, she strode back to her desk. She handed one to me and set one on the desk next to her own mug. The red one with clasped hands with the letters DSA in white. She took her seat, and I took the wrapper off the blueberry muffin.

“You’ve been through a lot haven’t you. How’re you holding up?”
“Never been arrested before, how am I supposed to be?” I fumbled with the muffin, could my stomach handle it?
“Poor thing,” She reached for the mug. “It’s a travesty the precedent this sets for free expression. Not even a week into this administration and already there are human rights abuses.” She sipped her tea and I nibbled at my muffin, hoping it would stay down.

“When I was your age we got Reagan and his trickle-down economics. Not to mention our little adventure in Chile. But by God I miss the man compared to what we have now.” Her voice trailed off and she stared deep into her mug.

“You miss him?” Her gaze met mine as she came back to reality.
“In a sick kind of way yes. I do. He had class at least. And in a lot of ways was likeable. He never made fun of people with disabilities anyway.”

“That’s why I was there.” My anger bubbled up. “Everyone can see that” —I clenched my mug so hard my knuckles turned white— “he’s a complete scumbag, and somehow—nope!—that’s not a dealbreaker for seventy million people. Someone had to go there to tell ‘em to their face. Someone had to make it real for them” The Professor’s face lit up, and she grinned the strangest grin, one of sadness and pride in equal measure, holding back tears as the dam of emotions began to buckle.

“The theater department is proud of you, of all of you, Mira. We—me, and the entire department, really, we have a gift. For you.” She slid the drawer under the desktop open and pulled out a manilla envelope. “When we saw your mugshots, we all pitched in.” She slid the envelope across the desk. It was heavy and had a thick belly. I opened it. A crisp stack of bills banded together.

“H-how much is this?” I managed.
“It’s at least a thousand dollars. I imagine you’ve lost any employment you may have had, and you need money for rent and incidentals. This should be your life raft, at least for a little while.” I sat there, in complete stunned silence.
“Have you spoken to your parents about it yet?”
“N-no, I haven’t.”
“Give them a call today. And let me know how it goes. I’ll be here for you either way.” It was like I was floating. I floated down the hallway then the stairs. Then right out the door. The heavy envelope in my coat was the only thing keeping me on the ground. Between Emily and Professor Morrison I had at least three months’ rent covered. But as I sat there in the snow, waiting for Anna. A slight dread began rearing its head again.

---

I rode shotgun in Anna’s Sentra as we watched the snow fall through the windshield. It hadn’t begun sticking to the roads yet, thankfully. The defroster was blasting and Ghost played faintly through the stereo. I could always count on Anna to chauffeur me between school and home. She always tolerated my amaxophobia, her and Rafi were saints for that.

We shared maybe ten words since we left campus. She snuck glances every so often at the envelope sticking out of my coat pocket. I hadn’t told her yet. I hadn’t told anyone yet. It was easier to hide than to explain. We turned onto Coalfield and the dread in my stomach made its way back as we made the final turn to home.
“Your parents will understand, keep your head up.” I said nothing and gave a quick hug before stepping out into the cold. She pulled off and I made it maybe five steps before I saw Dad in the doorway. I couldn’t look at him, I kept my head down walking up the porch steps.
“You ready to talk?” he said. I stood there, frozen in the snow, and I looked at him for the first time.
“Mira, it’s ok,” He hugged me tight. “Come in we’ll talk with your mom.”

I had told the story of what happened more times than I thought I would have to. I had gotten better at it each time, it’s still exhausting. My parents sat stunned around the coffee table in the living room. Processing everything I had just told them.
“We don’t have to pay for your lawyer?” Dad said. Mom shot daggers at him with her eyes.
“N-no, we don’t.” I said.
“Well,” he grinned. “Everything seems to have worked out better than expected.” A soft chuckle escaped with the words.
“Sweetie this is still serious. I’m glad you’re ok but you would be better off not going there.” Mom said sternly.
“She had every right to be there.”
“I’m not saying she didn’t, Marco, I’m saying what difference did she make by being there? Hillary lost. If we can’t accept that what good is democracy?”
My dad had the same reaction as I did. I watched his whole demeanor deflate. I think he got the message.
“Give us some time to talk Mira.” Dad said. I only heard their voices when I made it upstairs. I couldn’t make out what they were saying.

My room hadn’t changed much since I had left high school. My bed was still in the same corner, and my senior year yearbook was still exactly where I left it. I lay there in bed, staring at a different ceiling like I had for the past week. I could hear the discussion getting heated downstairs. It was hard for boomers to grasp the depth of the situation. Though my dad knew the stakes a bit more, being from Mexico originally. I tried to remember the words to the song I heard on the bus. The melody came back to me first, which I couldn’t help but hum as the fight downstairs began to escalate. One line from the chorus are the only words I remembered.
“Come out ye black and tans come out and fight me like a man.”

Khaki uniform. Black armor. Rattling, slamming, creaking. The diesel fumes. Bleach.

It all came back to me in one line of a song I had never heard before.

---

My phone buzzed sometime after midnight. It had been buzzing almost nonstop since I installed signal.
I got the venue for tomorrow. We’re going. You in or out?
I didn’t have to think about it.
I’m in.

We all saw what happened at Berkley. It gave me and Kai and Rafi hope that the fascist takeover could be stopped. Kai’s the one who shared the footage with us. He plugged us into the signal chats, somehow. And now the three of us were outside the community center downtown where the fundraiser was being held. I ended the talk with my parents in love. They would still take care of tuition and books, so long as I stayed away from protests. But this wasn’t a protest. And it wasn’t in DC. I have every right to come to this to support those who got unfairly arrested and charged that day.

The snow clung to the mulch and sidewalk in patches, with slush covering the asphalt. The sign outside the center read; Richmond Community Solidarity Night. All are welcome! The parking lot was packed and we saw a cluster of around twelve people in black hoodies with their faces covered talking to a WAVY 10 news crew. I didn’t know what to expect, but I was ready to contribute anyway I could.

A man in a neon green hat held the door for us as we entered the center. Inside the vestibule there was a table, with a small flag set in a mug. It was half black half red separated diagonally.

“Who invited you?” A man stood to the right of the table, he was wiry with tattoos all along his arm, up to his neck. At the table a woman sat behind with a clipboard.
“We were in the signal group.” Kai said.
“I know, but who invited you?” The man continued to press us.
“The guy who had the phone number on his arm in DC. I never caught his name.”
Both did a double take as they sat in stunned silence.
“You guys are good,” the woman said. “There’s food across the hall and the debrief starts in an hour.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled nervously, as I herded Kai and Rafi away, but not before I caught the woman giving the neck-tat guy an incredibly nasty look. We wandered through the center, bright hair and piercings and tattoos were common. I was jealous in a way. I couldn’t get away with that in theater. Who on Broadway would cast me looking like half these people? Eventually we found the crockpot in one of the backrooms, where we found out vegan chili was the only option we had. Reluctantly, I took a bowl. Kai took one a little less reluctantly, and we began our wander again.

It was a strange vibe throughout the center. We caught the eyes of the more flamboyant people, who stared at us in silent distrust. It could just be that we were the new faces, as the other normal looking folks fell under the same scrutiny. There was very little chatter, but the faraway sounds of folkish sounding music came in over portable speakers. The whole center smelled like weed. Not in the way you would hotbox a room, but in the way everyone there had at least an ounce on them. Noticeable that the smell would linger for at least a day or two.
“Chilli’s a little watery, don’t you think?” Rafi said.
“At least it’s vegan and I can eat it.”
I hadn’t touched it yet. I was too busy trying to navigate the strange vibe of the space to eat.

We went through a set of double doors that led to a basketball court. Inside hung a black flag with a white circle. And inside that circle were two flags, red and black. It hung over top the bleachers. There was a woman, dressed in a black tank top, speaking to another person in a black hoodie with his mask pulled beneath his face. She glanced at the three of us. We tried not to make eye contact as the three of us found seats on the bleachers on the other end of the court. We sat and watched as others in the same kind of dress came in and out through the exit doors to the building, eating our chili with varying levels of enthusiasm.

Eventually the room cleared and it was just us and the woman.
“Where you guys from?” She said approaching the bleachers.
“We’re from VCU.” Kai said. “We got linked up with your guy with the phone number.”
“You were at J20 with us?” Her expression softened.
“We were, how’d you get those law firms onboard?” Rafi said.
“They’re doing it for publicity. But we have connections.” She suddenly got defensive. “Was that your first direct action?”
“Our first what?” I asked.
“So it was then.” She said. “Well welcome to the fight.”
Kai shot me a look. I imagine we all had the same goosebumps hearing those words. Before we could say anything back, six figures in hoodies came in through the exit door.
“Problems handled, we bounced ‘em off the property.” The lead figure said.
“Did they get footage?”
“We have their camera.” The man pointed to the rear of the group. One of them held a large camera that you’d expect a news crew to have.
“Who are they?” Another masked figure pointed towards us.
“They’re cool. They were with us at J20.” All six of them removed their masks and came to the foot of the bleachers.
“Oh shit, welcome in homies. Y’all in the signal chat? What are y’all’s name.”
“Mira.”
“Rafi.”
“Bayonet.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen you guys in there. You’re doing the right thing lurking first.” He said, clearly excited. “I’m hammertime on signal if you ever see me there.” The rest of them hung back in silence, but it was less hostile than before.
“We’ll say something about you guys at the brief. You’re the real heroes here today.” The woman said warmly.
“We never caught your name.” I said.
“Chelsea.”
“Glad to be here.”

“Welcome all to the debrief of our J20 action. There are a few new faces here but before we get into it, I’d like to go around the circle and have you introduce yourselves and what pronouns you use.”

We finished our chili not long before bodies started filing in. We all sat there under the hoop in a circle two or three bodies wide, while we all went through introductions and pronouns.

“Mira, she/her.”
“Rafi, he/him.”
“Kai, he/they.”

Chelsea stood up from her spot under the hoop.
“I’d like to interrupt and say those three were with us at the inauguration. Refrain from clapping but you can snap for them.”

It sounded like a whole room of crickets chirping in approval for us. I’m sure Kai and Rafi were as confused as I was.

“We have much to discuss about the events of the past few weeks. To be equitable I’d like to invite our female-bodied folks to speak first. So to start us off we have Mikayla from DC to tell us about our action up there.” Chelsea took her seat on the floor, as another woman rose and took her place at the center of the circle.

“Thank you comrade Chelsea.” She said as she sauntered to the center of the circle. “Before we begin our debrief, I would like to ground us with a land acknowledgement. We’re gathered here today on the stolen land of the Powhatan confederacy. The first stewards of Tsenacomoco. The beating heart of Algonquin resistance along the James river, where Nottoway and Monacans traded arrows for the resistance against the colonial invaders. That water of the James now flows through the hydro-electric dam, tainting the memory of these noble tribes with white settler capitalism. We want to honor the Powhatan, Pamunkey, Mattaponi, Upper Mattaponi, Rappahannock, Chickahominy, Eastern Chickahominy, Nansemond, Monacan, Nottoway, and Cheroenhaka peoples, whose memory we honor by resisting white colonial capitalism. May the ancestors guide us as we continue our fight.”

The chirps filled the room once again. My palms hurt as I joined in. I stopped when I realized, I was the most indigenous one in the room. She continued as the chirps died out.

“Now as you all are aware, our disruption of the deplora-ball was thwarted by an undercover journalist with project veritas. This is why you vet who you meet and vet them hard. This breach of OPSEC is why we have so much heat on us now. And why to our new folks it feels so hostile here. We already have media poking around our activities. Do not trust anyone from mainstream media, only talk to vetted partners.” She cleared her throat, as everyone was digesting what she had said.

“As for our action during the inauguration, I’m happy to say the last of us are out of the DC jail. I want to thank everyone who contributed to the bail funds. Together we can prevail against this fascist takeover of the country.” The crickets once again filled the room. She exited the circle and retook her seat in the circle.

“Thank you Mikayla” Chelsea said. “Now I’d like to turn it over to James McMillan and our allies the National Lawyers Guild. The man who held the door for us rose from the floor, and took his place at the center of the circle.

“Thank you Chelsea.” He said. “We have secured two big law firms from DC and have over thirty lawyers working pro bono for our people who got swept up. The size and scale of this arrest is so big we’re actively working on bringing onboard at least five more law firms. Every lawyer in DC is sympathetic to your plight, as they all know this administration will flaunt the law every chance it gets. Good news is for most of those that were there, the most serious charges are going to get dropped most likely.” Crickets again.

“Thank you James.” Chelsea said. “Finally, let’s hear from our west coast liaison about our action at Berkeley.” She had an air of annoyance this time. The man from the door stood up and took his place in the circle.

“Comrades. What we did in Berkely can be replicated throughout the rest of the country. This is what effective community defense looked like and it’s the only viable response to inviting fascists and racist into our communities. Through overwhelming numbers and decisive action, we shut down Milo the pedo and the Berkeley college republicans. This is the standard to which we need to act to protect our homes.”

The room erupted in finger crickets. I felt uneasy. The talk of action after seeing the videos was horrifying. But for the first time, I saw people like me. Who couldn’t accept the course this country was going. They were doing something. They were the resistance. I looked to Kai, and saw a look I never saw from him before. He was into it. Far too into it. Rafi looked on, likely as horrified as I was.

“Berkely was the spark, and now it’s Richmond’s turn to burn brighter! Do not give them an inch! Do not let off the gas pedal!”

Chelsea looked distressed as he began raising his voice. As did several others.
“Thank you, Blake. We remind you to watch your volume as it may be triggering to those differently abled than you.”

They shared a tense look. And eventually he sat back down.