During the 2020 protests in Portland, Oregon, anyone planning to video or photograph the demonstrations was asked to avoid identifiable faces or traits that could implicate protestors, for a variety reasons. For one reason: people were organizing complex acts of resistance that needed to remain anonymous. For another reason: a lot of what was happening was illegal.
Think what you want about that time, it was no "one thing". It was as nuanced as the fabric of our society.
As a Portland resident who marched against injustice, it was a meaningful act of participation in something I care about. For some others, it became a rallying call for their very soul. For others still, it was simply an opportunity to f**k sh*t up.
As the year continued to devolved and the protests became riots, going on for more than 100 consecutive nights while the worst global pandemic in 100 years raged on, everyone was wondering what the hell was going on in Portland—home of "put a bird on it" and kooky airport carpet.
It became an interesting challenge to document something without revealing too much, especially during daylight hours, and this photo has haunted me the most from that time because of the murkiness of certain details and the clarity of others. It bears an uncanny resemblance of my memories from that summer.
Whatever your opinion, know that it was complicated, and I personally hope that someday the whole story gets told with the compassion and accuracy that was so impossible to find in the moment. It will be a tough nut to crack as a documentary, but utterly essential.