A volunteer with UK Indymedia and independent reporter had the back of his leg torn off by a concussion grenade fired at close range. (Even when mortared up into the air these things are some wicked dangerous.) This took place in a police attack against a group of returning from peaceful anti-G8 demonstration.
*What, if you don't smash windows, you get gunned down for failing to provide the cops with a pretext?!* [don't look if you're the type that gets queazy]
FWIW, I'm not really keen on window-smashing. It's profoundly distracting, and has little or no effect that I can detect. I'd much rather 20,000 marching to the elite's luxury hotels to remind them what's what. But ... if you saw the way the storm-troopers carry on ... it's chilling ... really chilling.
The Indy reporter went through a two hour surgery ... more procedures to come, to reconnect muscles and nerves. And the guy who was dropped 20 metres? The cop who cut the cord "didn't know he was there". Ya. Right.
After writing this I couldn't help running through the memories ... the Chicago video team staggering into the studio, their cameraman's eye's rollling in his head, a huge new bandage on his forehead where a tear-gas grenade had laid it open ... the street medic, a nurse, gagging and wretching and heaving her guts out when she reached the IMC from the forward aid station, where the cops had laid down a barrage of gas before stripping aid workers and patients of all protective equipment and sending them into the swirling street ... buddy, the street artist, an absolutely cherubic pacifist, laying in the corner of the decontamination area, teeth clenched, having gotten a concussion grenade in the kidneys ... the look on my friends face, the MD street medic and alpinist, as he tenderly immobalized the leg of someone who had their knee-cap shattered by some sort of police projectile.
Oh, look, the tears have come again, as though to cool my cheeks! Is this the last time I'll cry, do you think?