The Best Moment of 2020: The Burning of the Third Precinct
By Hamilton Nolan – Dec 15, 2020
Everything else was bad
This year, wretched as it was, was not steadiÂly wretched from beginÂning to end. It was more like a wave, crestÂing right at the edge of optiÂmism before crashÂing down hard and washÂing everyÂthing back out to the black and hopeÂless sea. It’s espeÂcialÂly easy to rememÂber the high points in a year like this: They were brief moments when events broke the heavy pull of gravÂiÂty and rose up, before falling back down again.
On FebÂruÂary 22, under bright and mild blue skies, I went to a plush casiÂno on the Las Vegas strip and watched hotel workÂers vote overÂwhelmÂingÂly for Bernie Sanders in the NevaÂda cauÂcus. Bernie won by a mile, and there was a swelling sense of elaÂtion — this was our time. He stood, that day, as the clear favorite for the DemoÂcÂraÂtÂic nomÂiÂnaÂtion, the man who was poised to sweep away our grotesque leader and ushÂer in a new age of humane progress. Joe Biden’s camÂpaign volÂunÂteers were stayÂing at my hotel, and I rememÂber lookÂing at them with pity as they stood around in their Biden shirts in the lobÂby, a sad bunch of misÂfits fruitÂlessÂly tryÂing to resÂurÂrect a long-dead dream. The peoÂple powÂer was on our side. The atmosÂphere was gidÂdy. There were celÂeÂbraÂtions. There were crowds. EveryÂthing was open, and you could see, just down the road, the world that we wantÂed, just waiting.
One month latÂer, Joe Biden had the nomÂiÂnaÂtion well in hand. The Las Vegas strip had been shutÂtered, along with everyÂthing else. The mighty CuliÂnary Union, whose memÂbers ran the casiÂno indusÂtry, was sufÂferÂing from 98% unemÂployÂment. New York City was in lockÂdown, the panÂdemÂic had begun to rage, and our bizarre nationÂal nightÂmare of sickÂness and death and soliÂtude and devÂasÂtaÂtion was beginÂning to unfurl in all of its horÂrifÂic majesty.
And it’s been pretÂty bad since then. The year teased us with false hope, then snatched it away and unveiled a grindÂing, ceaseÂless calÂenÂdar of monotÂoÂny stirred togethÂer with tragedy. Even modÂestÂly good events like Trump’s elecÂtion loss or the makÂing of vacÂcines were leavÂened with the heavy knowlÂedge that there is an alterÂnate world where they would have turned out much, much better.
There is only one moment in 2020 that stands out as one of undiÂlutÂed elaÂtion. That moment came on the night of May 28, three days after George Floyd was killed by police. The protests that would soon sweep the nation were still cenÂtered in MinÂneapoÂlis. Around 10:00 p.m. that night, I sat a thouÂsand miles away, slackÂjawed, watchÂing a live stream of riot police evacÂuÂatÂing from the Third Precinct headÂquarÂters. The cops all scurÂried away, and proÂtestÂers proÂceedÂed to burn down the police station.
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The cops ran away and the proÂtestÂers burned down the police staÂtion. That was one of the coolest fuckÂing things I’ve ever seen.
Is that immaÂture? I don’t care. The cops ran away. The peoÂple burned down the police staÂtion. Take that! StuÂpid cops! If the sheer cinÂeÂmatÂic gall of such a thing does not fill you with some levÂel of delight, you are too mature. You have allowed an imporÂtant part of you to die. I pity you. You see, norÂmalÂly, cops chase peoÂple. Police come into our homes and do what they want. In this case, the peoÂple chased the police. And they went into the police’s home, and they burned it the fuck down. Now do you see? This was beauÂty. This was, for a few hours at least, the triÂumph of hope. It was like watchÂing a very ephemerÂal war being won. I do not care that one of the peoÂple latÂer indictÂed for this was a right winger — that just makes that night a very rare examÂple of the entire politÂiÂcal specÂtrum achievÂing a comÂmon goal. I do not care to hear any ratioÂnal arguÂments about what such an action did or did not “accomÂplish” in a cold, anaÂlytÂiÂcal sense. Life is full of injusÂtices large and small, of powÂerÂful instiÂtuÂtions that subÂject us to all manÂner of unnecÂesÂsary inconÂveÂniences and outÂrages, and nothÂing embodÂies this perÂpetÂuÂal state of unfairÂness more than a police staÂtion. SomeÂtimes it is necÂesÂsary to see the powÂer of the peoÂple in action, just to feel alive. I will tell you what this action accomÂplished: It was aweÂsome. We all needÂed that.
This was a bad year. But it was also the year that the cops ran away, and peoÂple burned down the police staÂtion. I guess you nevÂer can tell when your luck is going to turn around.
Featured image: CARLOS GONZALEZ/STAR TRIBUNE VIA GETTY IMAGES
Hamilton Nolan is a labor reporter for In These Times. He has spent the past decade writÂing about labor and polÂiÂtics for GawkÂer, SplinÂter, The Guardian, and elseÂwhere. You can reach him at Hamilton@InTheseTimes.com.
