Price of protest: hit by a baton and stamped upon

Published: 6 January, 2011

• I WAS on the edge of a group of protesters in Parliament Square, standing peacefully. We weren’t even moving. Suddenly, police on foot in full body armour (and wearing balaclavas) charged us with batons raised. I was pushed backwards into the people behind me in the initial charge but the crowd pushed back to stop everyone falling over. 

I saw several around me hit by batons and fall, screaming. I was then hit over the head by a baton, hard enough to knock me sideways, then hit again, I think by the same officer. My ears rang, everything went quiet and I couldn’t hold my balance. 

My knees gave way and I fell over. An officer stepped forward and deliberately stamped his foot into my chest, winding me. Another officer rested his boot on my head. A huge man, a protester, who had stood next to me picked me up and held my bleeding head in front of the police (this I heard from him as I was semi or unconscious). They did not hit him but did not move aside. He repeatedly screamed for a medic but the police pretended not to hear him although it was clear to look at me that I needed one. 

He held me in both arms and pushed at the police line with his shoulder. They pushed back once, but then let him through – but hit a man who tried to follow. Next to him, a police officer spontaneously collapsed, apparently feigning unconscious-ness. 

As the officer was not on the front line, had had nothing thrown at him and was wearing full body armour including helmet with visor down, he could not have been injured. The only nearby medic immediately tended to this officer. Both medics and police ignored me and my friend, who shouted repeatedly for assistance. 

Giving up, he half-walked half-carried me to hospital. Once there he attempted to get the police to take a statement from me but was told there was none available. I spent three hours in hospital, dizzy, bleeding from the head and being repeatedly sick. My speech was apparently slurred and I have poor memory of what happened for the rest of the day. I had been told to stay overnight but feeling scared and victimised from being hit I left and returned home. The man who’d saved me was named Adam but I never learned his surname. 

KIT WITHNAIL 
Birkbeck,
University of London