By Steven T. Jones

I WOKE UP Thursday to the news of war and immediately hit the streets. My mission wasn't just to voice my opposition to war – although I am angrily against this attack on Iraq – but to also cover those kindred spirits who turned out by the tens of thousands to shut down San Francisco in a massive show of antiwar unity.

Yet in the police-state climate that gripped the city on March 20, the first full day since the war began, everyone on the streets was deemed an enemy of law and order: protesters, journalists, legal observers, and even passersby. And so it was that I found myself arrested, handcuffed, and hauled away in a police bus to a makeshift processing center at Pier 27 for booking. Like almost everyone on my bus, it was the first time I'd been arrested. But perhaps I'm getting a little ahead of the story.

A little before 7 a.m., I hopped on the California Street cable car and headed to the Embarcadero, where I knew protesters would be gathering. The San Francisco Chronicle's headline screamed "War" in second-coming-of-Christ-size type.

Arriving at the end of the line, I saw more than a hundred protesters headed up Market Street and followed them. They walked a few blocks with a contingent of 14 San Francisco Police Department cops on dirt bikes in tow and then stopped the procession at the intersection of Market and Beale Streets to stop traffic. It was the first of many such actions throughout the day.

"You are ordered to leave the intersection immediately or be subject to arrest," an officer said over a bullhorn. Instead, the protesters broke into antiwars chants, songs, and slogans – including "the whole world is watching" – and the standoff was on.

About 50 protesters stayed in the intersection while another 50 to 100 lingered on the sidewalks and on bikes in the street. As the waiting game continued, those on bikes took off en masse up Beale and about a dozen masked young anarchists headed toward the Embarcadero. The protesters would play such divide-and-conquer games with the cops all day long, gaining temporary control of intersection after intersection.

Around 7:20, a half-dozen police cars arrived to reinforce the troops at the intersection. They wore riot helmets and wielded long batons, and on a commander's order to close the circle, they surrounded us and used the batons to shove anyone who tried to leave back into the center.

It was a tense situation, but the mood lightened a bit when Roman Fliegel rode up along the outside of the police circle on a bicycle pulling a trailer mounted with large speakers blaring lively, bouncy music. Some started dancing, but the party was cut short when four officers pounced on Fliegel and aggressively forced him to the ground, stomping his face into the asphalt. I believe Fliegal was probably the first arrest in a day that would include more than a thousand.

As I stood with the protesters, I did what I had come to do: interview them about how they felt and why they were there. Here are a few of their stories and views:

• Melodie Barclay of Oakland came to "bear witness" and didn't plan on being arrested but got swept up in the police net. But she didn't mind what she faced. "It's a small sacrifice for me today to spend a day in jail to voice opposition to this terrible war," she said. Was she hopeful it would help? "This is out of my own conscience. Gandhi always said you can't do something with the expectation of results."

• Erik Negash stood defiantly with a raised peace sign. A young African American man (and one, coincidentally or not, who was treated more roughly on his arrest than anyone except Fliegal), he, too, didn't plan to be arrested, having been shoved into the center by a cop, but that just increased his antiwar resolve. "They are trying to deliberately intimidate the crowd," he said. "I came here for peace, and if this is the penalty for that in this country, I'll take it."

• Anne Marie of San Francisco was also facing her first arrest and admitted with trepidation, "I'm not excited." But she feels so sick about what this country is doing that she had to be there, to do something. "I couldn't sleep last night thinking about what was going on," she said. "But looking around, I feel proud to be here today."

• Martha Zenk is an Alameda County schoolteacher who just that week had received a layoff notice, another victim of budget cuts. "I got laid off, our art and P.E. classes are being cut, all so we can pay for this war," she said. She's still teaching for now, but took the day off to protest, as she told her students she would do when war broke out. "One student gave me a big hug and said I was doing the right thing."

• Rod James, a Mendocino lawyer who wore a "Legal Observer" hat and shirt, was part of a contingent from the National Lawyers Guild on hand to make sure the police didn't violate people's civil rights. He attempted to explain this to the officer who shoved him into the center as he tried to exit in the very beginning, and was told, "I don't care, you're under arrest."

"Ironically, I'm making sure people aren't arrested that don't intend to be," James said. "This shows the sad state of affairs of our rights in this country."

The next tense moment came at 7:45 when someone in the middle of the circle threw a backpack to the outside. It was caught by a man who had his four-year-old son on his shoulders. The cops pounced, shoving the man to the ground and pulling the crying boy off. Rage surged through the crowd, and it seemed as if things might get ugly, but the police kept a tight lid on the situation, using their clubs to shove back protesters who had moved forward.

The man who caught the bag was arrested and led away, bleeding from a gash above his right eye, and the child was placed in the circle of those to be arrested, because that's where his now-panicked mother was. Her name is Daphne Miller, a San Francisco physician.

"He was not intended to be a part of this," she said to officers, as the crowd jeered at the cops and situation threatened to escalate. She pleaded with protesters as they were arrested, "Please don't let any violence happen here," lest her son see the police injure another protester. Eventually, commanders on the scene apparently sensed they had a public relations nightmare on their hands and let Miller and her son go free.

One by one, the protesters were arrested. Some offered resistance or went limp, but most just went along with it. When the officers came to me, I presented my press credentials, issued by the California Highway Patrol, and said, "I'm a journalist. I'm here conducting interviews and shouldn't be arrested."

"I don't care if you're a journalist," the officer told me, grabbing my arm and handing me over to Officer Gala, Badge No. 899. I repeated my First Amendment assertion to him, and he also didn't care, although he was friendly enough and gave me a moment to put my notebook in my bag and secure it before taking the bag, cuffing my hands behind my back with plastic ties, and leading me to the police bus line.

After being photographed, we were loaded into the police bus, while the arrestees who came after us were loaded into Muni buses that had been commandeered for the day to shuttle both arrestees and police officers around the city.

The mood was mostly light and fun as we were driven to Pier 27, where we sat on the bus for about an hour. Mainly, we were proud of getting in trouble standing up for a cause in which we all believed.

By 10:30 a.m., I and most of the rest of us were cited for refusing to obey an officer's command and blocking traffic, and released on our own recognizance. Police officers generally fell into two categories: friendly service providers and autocratic pricks. A couple admitted to me that they had intended to hold us as long as possible, but as the buses of protesters continued rolling in, they had to let us go.

By 11, we were back on the streets. I even ran into Negash around noon at the intersection of Jones and Market, as police trapped protesters from two sides and threatened arrests, and we shot each other one of those "here we go again" looks.