As I’m writing this, the first woman to ever be nominated by a major party as a presidential candidate is giving her phony, shrill, herpes-laced acceptance speech. Turns out that a lady can really go places when she shacks up with a former president. Outside the Democratic National Convention, angry Bernie Sanders supporters and a horde of other unsavory groups are gnashing their teeth, chanting every cliched slogan in the book while police stand ready for crowd control.
My own involvement in this story is limited: my attempt to film the protests at FDR Park ended almost immediately after it began, when antifas spotted and stalked me for several blocks. I had to ask cops to intervene twice to get them to back off. The best part was that I captured it all on video: you can see it here. While I wasn’t hurt, the antifas severely hampered my ability to stream for Red Ice (check out their stream here).
I walked down to FDR Park around 7:30, after I’d checked out the action at City Hall: it was deader than Bernie Sanders’ political career. Aside from one sad Black guy selling #BlackLivesMatter T-shirts and a poorly-painted bus attacking Donald Trump (that I initially mistook for a pro-Trump bus), I could barely tell there was a convention going on. The fact that it had been raining all afternoon—with flash flood warnings for the evening—seemed to have scared off most of the hippies. On the way down, I also passed the spot where triggered Leftists had demanded the removal of a Mississippi state flag on Monday: it was still gone.
As I passed Marconi Plaza, I noticed that the police presence was dramatically higher than yesterday. Cop cars were festooned across the road like shell casings at a gun range, and police choppers buzzed overhead in the direction of the DNC. Platoons of police were positioned at strategic points along the road. Underneath the I-76 bridge, someone was blasting Michael Jackson tunes, a detachment of cops watching them. All around me, protesters shimmied to and fro carrying signs.
I switched on Periscope as I approached the entrance of the park, both for self-preservation and because there were a mass of protesters ahead of me. I wager there were at least 200 people at the entrance to FDR Park, with nearly as many cops. As I walked up to the sign greeting visitors, I caught the eyes of a pair of burly guys wearing bandannas. Shit…
“We remember you from the BLM march!”
“Go back to Chicago, Nazi! We don’t tolerate you motherfuckers here!”
The antifas tried to cut off my escape route, but I slipped around the border fence and towards a group of cops. I explained the situation and asked if I could leave, as the antifas shouted “Nazi!” One of the cops told me I was free to go, which I did… as the antifas followed me.
“Ooooh, big tough guy, running to cops!”
“You gonna put this on your blog, pussy?”
I was terrified and angry, but also alone. Antifas use the same tactics as schoolyard bullies: goading their enemies into attacking, then playing the victim. If I’d stuck around, they’d have either cornered and attacked me out of sight of police, or they’d provoke me into attacking them, then get me arrested and make me look like the bad guy. My only option was to retreat while filming. I crept from one group of cops to the other, always remaining within sight of law enforcement, as the antifas chanted “NO KKK, NO FASCIST U.S.A.!”
As I leapt from platoon to platoon like some demented game of Frogger, I started to get numb to the antifas’ verbal abuse. They literally have only two insults: “Nazi” and “White supremacist.” I guess attacking me for my weight or hairline would run afoul of the eight million “isms” and phobias that Leftists have to remain mindful of at all times.
I was approaching the CVS on Broad when the crucial moment happened: one of the antifas shouted, “If it weren’t for all the cops around, we’d fuck you up!” This was live streamed out to my followers on Twitter and Periscope, and witnessed by the two dozen some-odd people around us. I moved over to a cluster of cops and explained that the antifas were stalking and threatening me and I’d broadcast all of it to my followers.
“What, your Nazi followers?” said one of them.
At the sight of the confrontation, a gaggle of college-aged girls with pro-Sanders signs started chanting, “Peace! Peace! Peace! This is a peaceful protest!” at the antifas. A middle-aged Democrat also gawked at them in disbelief. The Leftists were taking my side.
The cops, realizing what would happen if the antifas would keep following me, told me to keep walking north and told the antifas to walk south. Home free… or so I thought.
I kept streaming to Periscope as I walked away, and I also chatted a bit with the Democrat, who was astounded that I was being threatened with violence. I crossed the I-76 underpass and was making my way back to Marconi Plaza—and the Oregon subway station—when I saw one of the antifas (a White guy) was still tailing me. Fuck. My best guess is that he had crossed to the other side of Broad (it’s a big road), out of sight of the police who separated us.
I dashed across the road and made a beeline for the station, which had its own platoon of cops. Bad move. I was putting myself in a situation where I’d have no escape route. I rationalized it by thinking that the antifa would be too cheap to waste a subway token just to nab me. Still panicked, I sweatily threw down the $2.25 to the subway operator (SEPTA doesn’t take credit cards, and they don’t give change) and slipped into the station. I then shut down my Periscope feed. Another bad move.
As I waited feverishly for the train to show up, the antifa walked down into the station. I fumbled for my phone.
“I don’t give a shit about your phone!” he threatened. “I could just snatch it right out of your hand, you fuckin’ Nazi!”
I yelled to a SEPTA police officer sitting nearby that the guy was stalking me.
“Why should he give a shit?” the antifa taunted. “He’s a person of color!”
I crossed to the other side of the platform and ran up the stairs from where I came. I motioned to the police outside that I was being stalked. They asked me to come outside. The antifa followed me out as I explained the situation… again. His buddy also showed up out of nowhere.
“I’m a journalist, I was filming down at FDR Park, these guys have been following me—”
“He’s lying!” said the White antifa. “He’s a Nazi and an instigator! He was there to cause trouble! Look at his blog!”
“These guys said on camera that if it weren’t for the cops around, they would fuck me up!” I replied.
“No, we didn’t!” they denied.
“I have it recorded, streamed it live,” I countered. “Only person here who’s instigating and breaking the law is you, my friend.”
At the mention of “breaking the law,” the cops turned their heads. I know how to talk to police in their language. Showing them you’re not a threat and emphasizing that you’re not a lawbreaker/not causing trouble will get them to side with you or leave you alone in nine out of ten cases.
Once again, after hearing me out, the police opted to separate us, letting me back into the subway station and sending the antifas back to Marconi Plaza. I thanked them profusely and went back down just as the train was pulling in. The other passengers, a mishmash of hippies and hipsters carrying Sanders signs, seemed bewildered at what they’d just witnessed.
Philadelphia has a ludicrously simple subway system with just two lines: one going east to west, the other going north to south (the one I was on). The logical place for me to get off was City Hall, since that’s where the two intersected. However, City Hall was also where anti-DNC protest activity had been taking place all week. If I showed up there, I’d be risking another encounter with antifas.
Instead, I disembarked at Walnut—Locust, one stop before and where no protests would be taking place. However, as I was heading up to the street, I saw a SEPTA worker who looked like he was pointing at me and telling a Black guy, “There he is!” In my paranoid state of mind, I immediately assumed that the antifas had moles in the transit system who were spying on me. A friend later told me that that was unlikely—transit workers generally hate Leftist agitators, because all they do is make trouble for them—but I wasn’t willing to take any chances.
I dashed up onto Walnut and took a left towards Rittenhouse Square, looking behind me to see if I was being tailed. Ducking into a Chipotle to hide, I bought a soda so I could re-hydrate (as I’d been sweating like crazy). Realizing that walking home was a bad idea, I called an Uber to take me the rest of the way. Service was fast: the cab arrived in just a couple minutes. After double-checking to make sure no one was stalking me outside of the restaurant, I jumped in the car to freedom.
It’s flattering that I’m important enough for the sub-90 IQ thugs of the Left to keep watch for, but being stalked by masked thugs for half a mile is a frightening experience. Dealing with the antifas kept me from reporting for long at FDR Park, where things went sideways fast: indeed, Mike Cernovich claims that the Democrats were using signal jammers to keep people from broadcasting.
While the DNC didn’t quite reach Chicago 1968-levels of anarchy, the images of chaos we’ve seen from Philly—compared with the more placid, Americana-laced RNC—will be sealed in the minds of Americans from now until Election Day. Similarly, the anti-White Coalition of the Fringes message of the DNC—combined with the now-proven rigging of the primary against Bernie Sanders—will drive working-class Whites into the arms of the Donald. The question now isn’t whether the Right will win: it’s by how much.
But I do have to dispute President Trump on one thing: I’m personally never gonna get tired of winning.