On the afternoon of Oct. 15, my roommate and I arrived at Piazza della Republica just before 2 p.m. to find the people excited and the police anxious.
The email from my school in Rome warned us to expect 50,000 people and a fair amount of violence. As the group of us (my roommate and the pragmatic Italians) entered Piazza della Republica, Heinekens in hand, it became clear that there were far more than 50,000 and they all seemed fairly peaceful. The live music and waving flags and free beer gave a sense of joviality to the whole event.
Though I couldn't speak to anyone beyond my roommate, I felt a sense of solidarity with the politically charged crowd. We were part of a global day of action, with cities around the world holding events in support of the Occupy Wall Street protesters in New York.
The two of us tried to find a way into the Piazza, but each entrance we found was blocked by police in riot gear with their large trucks parked in such a way we could not enter or see inside. After waiting around and allowing those more fluent in Italian to negotiate the situation, the two of us entered with a large group.
* * *
When the walk began around 3 p.m., the feeling shifted suddenly.
There was still music playing from large trucks with people dancing on board and passing out drinks; the individual groups - a few dozen representatives from the Communist Party, a good amount of disgruntled high school students, and many more whose sole purpose was to dance among the crowd - were still well organized.
But everyone was visibly anxious; people huddled closer than before; they talked in closer whispers.
As the demonstration was at least 100,000 large, my roommate and I had to exercise our best strategic crowd-weaving to get to the front, where, we imagined, the most exciting action would occur.
Along the way, we saw people old and young, passionate and peaceful. Some marched in organized groups, others in smaller mobs, but overall the crowd was calm.
There were signs saying “We are the 99%.” We saw signs with Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi wearing a crown of penises.
* * *
We reached the front midway down Via Cavour. Black smoke was billowing around a bend in the road, so we ran ahead to see.
As we approached, we saw on our immediate right several regular demonstrators harassing a member of a black bloc, a group of anarchist protesters who attend demonstrations with the sole purpose of causing destruction in order to shake confidence in the government.
The demonstrators were yelling at him for inciting violence, saying this was a peaceful event and asking him to leave. They were berating him for discrediting the demonstration and eventually striking him while he stood there, hood on, face covered, standing still.
* * *
As we ran on, we understood why the demonstrators were upset.
Two civilian cars were totally engulfed in flames. The doors were melting and the fumes from the tires melted and burned our throats. I kept expecting a dramatic explosion like those in the movies, but the cars just sat there and burned.
Everyone in the area - myself included - took footage of the destruction as firefighters yelled and put out the flames.
* * *
Despite the best attempts of the more experienced protesters to calm the crowd, a sense of panic began to permeate the demonstration. From Via Cavour to the Colosseum and on to Piazza San Giovanni, the panic ebbed and returned without warning.
The buses playing music had people reciting speeches of peace and solidarity against the corrupt government and large financial institutions while flash bombs exploded and smoke bombs choked and buildings burned, obliterating the sun.
People would suddenly turn on us with a look of panic and charge through us. We joined the crowd, running like lemmings for no apparent reason and stopping just as suddenly.
The demonstration proceeded thus, culminating in a war between the Carabinieri - the military police - and the black bloc in Piazza San Giovanni.
* * *
We stood on the steps of the church trying to stay clear of the tear gas and flares.
For nearly an hour, we watched a war unfold between the two sides. I felt horribly unprepared as those around us began pulling out lemons to rub on their eyes to protect from the tear gas and began using scarves to protect their throats.
* * *
Several thousand of us stood around the battle that took place at the bottom of the piazza.
Many were climbing statues and lampposts to get a better view. The members of the black bloc were throwing small explosives and cobblestones at the Carabinieri, while the latter drove wildly around the piazza with no regard for those in their path.
After an hour of continuous battle, it wasn't clear who was winning; both sides seemed to be taking a lot of damage.
Eventually, the Carabinieri trucks began to gain ground and drive closer to the church. They sprayed the fire hose on the crowd and threw tear gas indiscriminately. At this point, we realized that we would soon be cornered and sought an escape.
We climbed a row of portable toilets, looking for an escape, but all of us risked a 30-meter fall or potential impalement.
Realizing our imminent danger, the church opened their doors and allowed us to escape.
We exited with the scattered and shaken crowd, thanking the priests for their generosity.