Reshared post from Dave Beckerman

If you are one of the many of us going off to protest, to bear witness, to object, then I want you to be prepared.

Beforehand:

• Make sure someone knows you are going, and that they will check in if they haven’t heard from you by the end of the night. Preferably someone who would be willing to come stand bail for you in a pinch. Have their phone number memorized; not just in your phone.
• Know what your rights are. Review these cards and have them on you so you know how to deal with the police.

Things to Take With You:

• A bottle of water
• Food
• Comfortable shoes
• Layers
• A fully charged phone, and preferably a backup battery
• A backpack that includes a first-aid kit, any medication that you cannot do without, and whatever basics you might pack for an emergency overnight trip, water-based baby wipes, eye drops
• ID
• Enough money to buy food/make a phone call, whatever
• A sealed plastic bag containing a bandana soaked in vinegar in case of tear gas.
• Notebook and paper.

Do not take anything with you if its loss would be devastating.

If you are planning on being on the frontline:

• Wear goggles or shatter-resistant glasses. Rubber bullets are real bullets, encased in a rubber coating. Pepper spray has been used on protestors here in Seattle. Other possibilities are tear gas and fire hoses.
• Wearing a backpack on your stomach with some padding, such as a change of clothing, will give you some small protection if police are jabbing batons in order to push people back.
• You may want to think about a gas mask. Here is a simple DIY one. Here is a reasonably priced one on Amazon. Be aware that wearing that mask unnecessarily may make you a police target.

How to Act:

• Do not respond to provocation.
• Pick your battles.

Another teaser from a steampunk short story I’ve been working. My codename for this world is Altered America, and this is the fifth short story I’ve placed in it.

Each time they stepped on the swaying platform between the cars, Laurel paused. Jemina couldn’t blame her. There was an exhilaration to the travel when you could feel the buffet of the passing air that was lacking when you were inside the actual cars.
They stopped outright on the last one. Laurel clenched the railing, shoulder-height for her, with both hands and looked out. Her hair lashed in the wind like an uncontrollable Medusa’s tangle.

“Will we see Indians?” she said.

“Quite probably,” Jemina said.

“And buffalo?”

“Undoubtedly.” Jemina had, as was her way, researched the trip well before embarking on it. She knew the distances between cities, and had the route plotted out on the map of the United States that hung in her head, colored with elementary school dyes, unfaded over the years.

Laurel took a deep breath of the wild air, sweet grass mingled with coal smoke, before reluctantly moving to the door.

Jemina stepped after her. They both nearly collided with the passenger coming out, who scowled at both of them, dividing the look between both and them and pronouncing them equally unsatisfactory. He was dressed in the Western style, with high-heeled boots, but with a tuft of lace at his untanned neck, a dandy’s puff that somehow set Jemina instantly against him.