Three young people approached us on the chaotic street, brandishing spray bottles. We could only see their eyes, due to the black bandanas stretched across their faces.
“Abre los ojos!”
I tried to open my eyes in response to the woman’s insistent voice, but my eyelids had their own agenda. The tear gas burned, and tears streamed down my face. Opening my eyes seemed impossible. But I managed to do so.
“Esta es leche,” she said, as she sprayed milk directly into each of my eyes. Her friend did the same for my boyfriend, Scott.
“Dame tu brazo,” she said, reaching for my right arm. She pulled out a different spray bottle. “Vinagre,” she explained, as she soaked a small section of my sleeve with vinegar. She raised her arm to her mouth and took a deep breath, demonstrating that I should breathe through the wet spot on the inside of my wrist. I did, and it seemed to reduce the searing sensation in my nose and throat, if only slightly.
She gave me a moment to catch my breath, then said, “Levante la lengua.” I complied, and she placed a pinch of salt under my tongue. “Vas a estar bien,” she assured me. “You will be okay.”
We were still several blocks from our AirBnB apartment in the historic center of Quito, and the day’s protests were ramping up. Young men with tall wooden sticks were using them to pry up paving stones to throw at the police, who had established barriers to protect government buildings. We needed to approach those police barriers to get home, but we were apprehensive about walking between the rock-wielding young men and the riot police. But when we approached the young men and pointed in the direction we needed to go, they politely told us it was safe and we should continue. The police officers were similarly friendly, laughingly repeating the ‘puto’ and ‘cabron’ insults the young men shouted at them. Several times during our meandering journey home, police officers directed us toward appropriate detours, and at one point, they opened the barriers to let us pass through after we told them our address.
Drifting tear gas continued to redirect our progress, and on those blocks, young people warned us to turn back, pointing us toward streets with clearer air. During our roundabout route, at least a dozen young men and women expressed concern for our welfare, and reminded us to be vigilant against opportunistic thieves.
By the time we arrived home nearly two hours later than planned, we were exhausted and relieved. Safe and secure behind a locked metal door on the street and two heavy duty doors at the entrance to our third floor apartment, we were finally able to relax, at least for a while.
As night fell, more fires flared in the streets while intensified shouts and chants arose from the distance, accompanied by the honks of vuvuzelas, the official musical instruments of the local rebellion. When the sounds came closer we ventured onto the balcony to investigate. Hundreds of protesters had gathered at the bottom of the hill where our street connected with La Ronda, the old road that circles the historic center. At the top of the hill, dozens more protesters stood together in solidarity, while a few ran down the block to confront a group of four policemen who were trying to get into the hostel across the street. The cops remained impressively calm as dozens of angry young men with tall wooden sticks surrounded them, but there was no violence. The policemen were shuffled into the hostel and escorted quickly to an upstairs room, where they closed the curtains and turned off the lights.
Our view from the balcony was limited, but we could see the protest grow as more people poured down the street to join the growing crowd at the T-junction. Shots rang out every few minutes as police launched cartridges of tear gas into the crowds from fat-barreled assault-style rifles. As we caught more whiffs of tear gas, we closed the doors and windows and eventually retreated to bed.
The next morning, we roamed the quiet streets, which were littered with rocks, bricks, bits of burnt wood, smoldering ashes, and empty tear gas canisters. The only vehicles we saw were police motorcycles, SUVs and a few armored trucks. No buses were running, and taxis were nowhere to be found. Crews of police were reinforcing barriers to prepare for another siege while locals walked the streets gathering groceries and other supplies to stock up for the evening. Many stopped to ask us how we were doing, and reminded us to stay vigilant.
As of 8pm on October 8, the protests had not rematerialized, but protestors had reportedly stormed the general assembly building, which added context to the day’s news that the government seat had just been relocated to Guayaquil, in response to an influx of tens of thousands of indigenous citizens from surrounding areas. Unconfirmed reports indicate that the military rescued dozens of soldiers who were being held hostage by the indigenous groups, but no evidence has been shared. It should be noted that three Ecuadorian Presidents have been ousted by protests by indigenous groups between 1997 and 2007.
Ecuador’s current President, Lenin Moreno, is blaming his predecessor, Rafael Correa, and the current Venezuelan President, Nicolas Maduro, for being behind the protests. “These incidents of vandalism and violence demonstrate there is some organized political intention to destabilize the government and break constitutional law, break democratic order,” Moreno said during a nationally-televised address. “They are foreign individuals, external and paid,” he said. “This trick by Maduro with Correa is to cause instability.”
He offered no evidence for these claims, however, and both Correa and Maduro reject these claims. As for the citizens of Quito, some are ready to move on, convinced that there is nothing they can do to change the government’s position. Others are hoping President Moreno will be ousted and the gasoline subsidies will return. But no matter which position they stake out, it seems the average Quitenan wants to ensure that visitors to their beautiful city feel safe and welcome.