I was struck by a cop with a truncheon when I was 10 years old, he was trying to make a point. A billy club, if you like, or a baton as they call it now. Been stood up and searched by the constables since then, once upon a time I was hoisted onto the hood of a car and threatened. But forty years later, there I was, tonight, across from Foley Square, trying to separate a metal barricade along with a slender young woman, and the cops converged. I held the barricades open while they screamed at me, and I held them open when the shaved-head plains-clothes cop brought his baton to bear, first on my balls, then on my forearm. The second stage hurt more than the first. He actually opened a wound with his repeated blows. I write this just to bear witness. I am sorry that it’s only my own pain that I can record.