I was invited by a Buddhist photo friend to attend a silent march to the ICE facility from a park near the building. I figured I was in for an inspiring, meditative and hopeful experience. Kevin and I toted our cameras, while others held flowers and signs about love and justice. There were a few families with children in the small crowd.
Alongside our tiny contingency was a Labor Union march that had attracted thousands of protestors, enthusiastic folks with creative signs and frog costumes singing upbeat songs, chanting the predictable fuck Ice! and enjoying an unusually warm and sunny Portland winter afternoon. We all converged with a large group of bicyclists riding in honor of Alex Pretti. Our group followed behind and often beside the "Labor Against ICE" protestors. Signs were lifted high in the air, many with pictures of Renee Good and Alex Pretti. As we marched toward the ICE building, there was a sense of unity, strength in numbers, hope that we could make a change.
Many marchers got to the ICE building and beyond. A couple friends of mine made it that far and then settled in for coffee at a cafe on their way back home. All was well. My group was much further back. When we were about a block from the building, there were suddenly eight or so very loud explosions, some violent enough to break glass in the windows of buildings on that street. Before I even realized what was happening, the view ahead was filled with tear gas, enough to create a wall between us and the ICE building.
Most people turned back. There were children, after all. Meditators clutching flowers.
Others were prepared, donning their gas masks and moving ahead through the gas. Kevin and I proceeded toward the building, also.
On the other side of the massive dose of tear gas was the building, and there were three federal agents positioned on the roof in full tactical gear with guns pointed down at the gathering crowd of angry protestors, middle fingers jabbing the air. The tear gas made my eyes sting and water, and it was hard to breathe. I was able to take a few photos before I had to turn back. Fortunately, someone pressed a mask into my hand and gave me a bottle of water. I felt determined to document what was going on, so once I felt a little better, I returned to the scene. Portland police were there, but they did not intervene.
After the tear gas dissipated, there were a couple hundred of us left. There was music blaring, bubbles bubbling, angry chants and taunts directed up toward the three agents on the roof. A couple of times, pepper balls and rubber bullets were sprayed into the crowd.
I left as the nearly full moon rose up over the scene and darkness enveloped us. These are the pictures I made.
anything but a silent march
2/1/2026
I was invited by a Buddhist photo friend to attend a silent march to the ICE facility from a park near the building. I figured I was in for an inspiring, meditative and hopeful experience. Kevin and I toted our cameras, while others held flowers and signs about love and justice. There were a few families with children in the small crowd.
Alongside our tiny contingency was a Labor Union march that had attracted thousands of protestors, enthusiastic folks with creative signs and frog costumes singing upbeat songs, chanting the predictable fuck Ice! and enjoying an unusually warm and sunny Portland winter afternoon. We all converged with a large group of bicyclists riding in honor of Alex Pretti. Our group followed behind and often beside the "Labor Against ICE" protestors. Signs were lifted high in the air, many with pictures of Renee Good and Alex Pretti. As we marched toward the ICE building, there was a sense of unity, strength in numbers, hope that we could make a change.
Many marchers got to the ICE building and beyond. A couple friends of mine made it that far and then settled in for coffee at a cafe on their way back home. All was well. My group was much further back. When we were about a block from the building, there were suddenly eight or so very loud explosions, some violent enough to break glass in the windows of buildings on that street. Before I even realized what was happening, the view ahead was filled with tear gas, enough to create a wall between us and the ICE building.
Most people turned back. There were children, after all. Meditators clutching flowers.
Others were prepared, donning their gas masks and moving ahead through the gas. Kevin and I proceeded toward the building, also.
On the other side of the massive dose of tear gas was the building, and there were three federal agents positioned on the roof in full tactical gear with guns pointed down at the gathering crowd of angry protestors, middle fingers jabbing the air. The tear gas made my eyes sting and water, and it was hard to breathe. I was able to take a few photos before I had to turn back. Fortunately, someone pressed a mask into my hand and gave me a bottle of water. I felt determined to document what was going on, so once I felt a little better, I returned to the scene. Portland police were there, but they did not intervene.
After the tear gas dissipated, there were a couple hundred of us left. There was music blaring, bubbles bubbling, angry chants and taunts directed up toward the three agents on the roof. A couple of times, pepper balls and rubber bullets were sprayed into the crowd.
I left as the nearly full moon rose up over the scene and darkness enveloped us. These are the pictures I made.
