Jersey Tear Gas: Sponsored by Governor Mikie Sherrill
Mikie Sherrill’s on a mission: to do ICE’s bidding.
On May 29, at approximately 9:40 pm, from the north side of Doremus Avenue, New Jersey State Police told the few who were congregating there that protesters had 15 minutes to clear the area and move south, or else. No clear specification of where exactly everyone was supposed to go before they were considered to have complied.
Orderly chaos ensued as people spread the announcement. Groups of volunteers started carrying all the donated supplies as quickly as possible, even taking canopies to the other side of the road, away from the concentration camp. Thankfully, it seemed that the participants moved everything found outside.
Soon everyone will know this part’s timeline, so I will not go into too much detail about the ordeal. Fifteen minutes passed, and platoons of officers in riot gear appeared in the background. In formation, they pushed protesters and pressed at the beat of “MOVE-BACK!” Tear gas cans exploded next to us, and horses almost trampled us. People next to me were hit with rubber bullets. People retreated behind the front line while ICE agents at the south gate shot tear gas bullets behind everyone, covering the entire crowd with the chemicals. When police were done pushing outside the facility’s perimeter, they waited for a few minutes and threw a deafening flurry of canisters before retreating. More details can be found in the livestream I recorded at Radio Jornalera NJ.
Elected officials at Delaney Hall come and go—Congresspeople, the mayor, and, back on Monday 25, the Governor.
But Sherrill’s visit really stuck out to me. She arrived at noon, approached the gate, knocked on a fence, spoke with a few families—her photographers having the time of their lives—and tried to hide her annoyance when organizers questioned her about her 3-day-late presence. She was busy during the weekend advertising Jersey Summer ahead of the World Cup.
When she was done hearing people, she walked out. I never saw a politician with the skill to bolt out that fast.
It left a bad taste in everyone’s mouth, but eventually she’d have to come back, right? The first demand of the hunger strikers is to see her, after all.
But on May 29, she did show up. In spirit.
Earlier in the afternoon, we had to get on Doremus Avenue. State Police were checking ID’s and turning away several protesters, who had to park on other roads and walk several minutes to the outside of the concentration camp.
At around that time, the Governor finished a press conference about the protests at Delaney Hall. Not only did she fail to address the hunger strike, but she also stated the following:
“New Jersey law enforcement is today establishing a peaceful, protected protest zone in the area right outside Delaney Hall.”
Uncertainty filled the air among those on the ground.
While I was there, the afternoon’s relative calm was interrupted by the sight of journalists and some protesters rushing towards the north side of Delaney. The Office of Emergency Management and Homeland Security (OEM) and the New Jersey State Police were there. OEM workers arrived in a truck carrying concrete blocks. Another group started placing orange fences, blocking the avenue and creating two fenced areas: one in front of the wall in the middle of the facility, and one in front of a warehouse outside the perimeter. It looked like our Governor did not want the protesters to stand outside of the gates at all.
Then, it happened: At 7 p.m., a message from a police megaphone came from the south side: “We need you to relocate to the designated First Amendment zone.” Grim oxymoron.
Protesters peacefully sat down in front of Delaney’s south entrance as a response, and that’s when it clicked: the outcome of the day was decided at that point. I just knew it. I told a few trusted people about it, but I awfully regret not shouting it from the rooftops at the time. Everything afterwards ended up happening.
See, Mikie Sherrill appears to be the pragmatic type, so let’s talk pragmatically for a second, as if we were her strategists. There were two options:
- The State Police retreats; a bad look on the state government’s authority, and a cause for the Trump administration to deride her as weak and rebellious.
- The State Police acts; a bad look on the state government’s authority, and a cause for grassroots organizations to deride her as abusive and hypocritical.
A strategist on the government’s side would’ve chosen option 2 — the World Cup approaches and the feds are threatening to close the Newark airport! There is no way the Governor would sacrifice the touristic boon and her sovereignty for the demands of a pesky group of immigrants. What are families desperate for their detained loved ones’ well-being compared to the no-nonsense wonders of realpolitik?
Here’s how I imagine it: Mikie Sherrill sat down at her desk at the Statehouse. With a straight face, she met with the State Police Superintendent. She made a decision, dismissed him, and then, assuming she has a conscience, sat alone in her office. Maybe she stared at the wall for a minute to recap everything in her mind. Did she swallow saliva at the thought of the consequences? Doesn’t matter. She made a conscious, calculated decision, and later went on to see her kids while people were being gassed and shot.
This article is being published early on the morning of May 30, before we all see what her statement will look like. I wish I could say that I won’t spend too much time reading it, but I’m also sure that the die has already been cast, and its faces are all the same: she’s sacrificed her reputation for ICE.
I realize that there is something that scares me more than explosions next to me: indifference. Now, imagine indifference turned into a directive. There is your governor, New Jersey. There is your saint of a Democrat.
Go ahead, Mikie Sherrill, and make the calculated decision to let the blood on your hands dry out. I feel pity for you, and I will feel pity for your defenders today and tomorrow.
