War Journal: Embedded in Los Angeles

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DATELINE:  June 14, 2024.
TIME:  8300 hours Pacific Coast Time
LOCATION:  Warzone L.A.
 
Concerned by stories of Los Angeles being overrun by terrorists, Insurrectionists and socialists, I knew it was important to find out the status of the city I was living in, to understand the level of destruction that had taken place all over, sending terror and mayhem through every neighborhood.  Had the city government been overthrown?  Was there still “burdensome leadership” in charge, as Department of Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem said, who should know.  How much of Los Angeles was in flames?  How much chaos was there throughout the city?  Has it been "liberated" yet?
 
Scared, but certain of my duty, I donned as much protective gear as I had and – to keep as safe as possible – I left the security of my home and, keeping to the back alleyways and hidden in the shadows, I carefully crept to the light-rail station a half-miles away to take me into the belly of the beast downtown, not daring use a car in case it got caught in a riot and I had to escape quickly on foot.
 
I documented my journey into hell.  And happily, but still-shaken, survived to pass along the report for future generations.
 
As I walked to the light-rail station, this is how out of control my neighborhood is –

Making it to the rail station, out of breath from fear, and still looking over my shoulder for any worrisome movements, I joined my fellow-refugees, most of whom had packed the platform to overflowing, carrying only one suitcase, looks of desperation in their eyes in hopes of escaping the madness and traveling as far away as possible to the safety of a distant town.

I took comfort when the light-rail train went underground, giving me at least a momentary sense of protection.  But since that occurred near downtown, the center of the storm, I remained apprehensive as I so-carefully creep up the long stairs to the sunlight, not knowing what darkness I would encounter.
 
And terrifying it was, because I was just a mere two blocks away from where the protest was gathering.  And everywhere I looked, so close to the epicenter of disaster, the streets were overrun by rioters. Cars everywhere, bumper-to-bumper madness, the blare of honking cutting through one's soul, so loud you couldn't hear yourself think.

As I made my way stealthily through the crowds, people like animals pushing and clawing every way possible, I didn’t know if I could continue on, even though I was but one long block away from my destination.  But then, almost like a beacon of light shining from heaven, I saw security.  There, to my joy, was the National Guard (I think that’s who it was, and not the Marines, but it didn’t matter to me, it was the military.  When caught in the blazing sun of a desert, you don’t stop to ask what branch of a tree is giving you the shade you crave to survive) -- making me feel safe as they protected the streets from the Insurrection and rioting all around us.  And ever on the alert to liberate this fair city.

I knew I would now make it to my goal.  It was an inexpressible relief, having had no idea that this would be awaiting me.  These joyful images of true valor are not one one we see on TV, are they??!!  How blessed they were.

 

​And while I carefully continued walking the final block to Zero Center Point, the police and National Guard kept up their heroic defense of the city, keeping us safe, as they blocked off the swarming streets filled with traffic.  I could breathe in comfort, if only for a moment, knowing too that the U.S. Marines were just around the corner and could rush in, weapons drawn, if needed.

​​In fairness, for all the protection, yes, there was great risk from crowds of protesters, when I finally reached them.  The Insurrections and radicals all gathered outside Los Angeles City Hall.  They may seem calm and polite and totally tranquil.  Not throwing rocks and being violent, but politely holding up signs. However, this is just a still photograph, you don’t hear the noise blaring from megaphones screaming at people to "Stay Peaceful!", and boomboxes blasting mariachi music, putting everyone’s senses on edge.  Moreover, we all know there is a calm before the storm.  And Insurrectionists, rioters and terrorists are devious, well-known to try to lull opposing forces into a false sense of security.

​​Further, ratcheting up the sense of danger and the concern of vandalism, there were gangs present, which only raised the tension and put everyone on their guard.  Here, wearing their gang “colors,” all dressed in unifying blue shirts are members of the notorious Writers Guild of America.  Very dangerous folks.  To my great concern, I got sucked into their circle when they saw I (foolishly) had worn my own blue shirt, so they thought this identified me as one of their own.  I thought the safest action on my part was to stick with the gang, rather than cause a disturbance by trying to break away and been seen as a threat.

And then the protest and march began, and I got sucked along, caught in the middle, like being dragged out into the ocean by an undertow.  Packed almost like sardines.  So many caught up there praying to be liberated.  At one point, I heard a chant, but couldn’t identify it because it was in a foreign tongue.  Someone near me, who spoke a smattering of Spanish, thought they were saying, “F*ck immigrants,” which struck me was odd.  That’s when another person who spoke better Spanish – likely because it was her native language – make a correction.  She said that, no, the words sound similar, but they were saying “F*ck ICE.”  I replied that, “Oh, okay, that makes more sense.  For a minute I thought I’d gotten into the wrong line.”  She burst into laughter.  And told her teenage son – who burst into laughter.

​One thing I noticed was that – perhaps to be disruptive and counter-culture, perhaps because handwritten signs don’t have spell-checkers, perhaps as an indictment of cutbacks to our educational system – there was uncertainly on occasion about the correct spelling for some placards.  This one ahead of me caught my eye.

​The flow of the socialist Insurrection out to overthrow Los Angeles swept us to Pershing Square, appropriately named after an Army general.  Indeed, looking all around me, I sensed that it was the empowering legend alone of General John J. Pershing that kept the rioters and vandals in order.  Yet even here, seven blocks from the original gathering point, there was brutal violence, and it was where I myself was attacked and beaten.  It happened so quickly, before I could defend myself.  As I was desperately trying to cross safely through the teeming mass of bodies, from out of nowhere a young woman was pointing out something to her friends, and as she turned, her hand brushed across my cheek. "Oh, my God, I'm so sorry," she quickly said. "That's okay," I replied instinctively, careful from my emergency preparation not to inflame the situation, knowing I could get First Aid later, if necessary, when I was safe. 

It was a large crowd, and there were a great many others on either side and behind, and waves of more and more coming, and yet the spirit of authority dating back to WWI had the violent protesters intimidated, looking instead like they were waiting for the gates to open and get into the Hollywood Bowl to hear a pop music concert…

​Over 20,000 people were reported in Los Angeles on Saturday.  (Double-check notes for clarification:  I don’t mean reported in all of Los Angeles since my research shows there are 3.8 million residents.  And to be fully accurate, 12.9 million in the metropolitan area, which covers 4,850 square miles).  And I’m not referring to all the rebel terrorists being here at Pershing Square, since they were spread throughout the city. (Well, again, to be clear, yes, linguistically it was "throughout the city," but physically focused solely downtown -- although not over the entire downtown, but basically an eight-block area,)  But still, that’s a lot of rioters, Insurrectionists and vandals in a metropolitan area of 12.9 million.  And there are a lot more you can’t see. 
 
And sure, they may seem peaceful, just walking along with signs, and occasionally chanting, and maybe dancing sometimes.  But as we saw later in the day, when law enforcement fires tear gas and rubber bullets at a calm crowd for no apparent good reason, you never know how people will react.

And in the middle of all this mass protest – with the police, county sheriff, National Guard and Marines thankfully protecting the city under siege from what they describe as mayhem, rioting, violence and vandalism – liberating Los Angeles from socialists and "burdensome leaders" -- well, gosh, sometimes Insurrectionists just get flat-out hungry.  Protesting and trying to overthrow the government is hard work, and it was a hot day.  Luckily, because this is the kind of city Los Angeles is, the City of Angels there was an outdoor café nearby to help feed The People…

And one thought remains, as  I make it safely back home, thanks to the protective support of law enforcement:

If Trump, DHS Secretary Kristi Noem, Border Czar Tom Homan and others are truly as interested as they insist and show here in Los Angeles to deport immigrants who got into the country illegally, I pass along the suggestion which appears to have fallen through the cracks:  they should go after Elon Musk -- whose brother Kimbal says on camera, with Elon uncomfortably sitting there, that they were "illegal immigrants."