“INCIDENT COMMAND, THIS IS 600! Permission to engage! Incident Command, they are busting through the windows, permission to engage!” Partee was screaming into his police radio and then cursing the silence that he heard in response. “Incident Command” was the call sign for his leaders, the brass who were moving the pieces on a chessboard that was on fire. Every one of the district commanders had a unique call sign, so the commanders knew whom they were speaking to. Central District was 100, Northern was 500. As the head of the Northwest District, Partee was 600. As he screamed into the radio he felt 600 was also his priority order. He had been trying to get positive engagement orders from his commanders for the past five minutes. A group of young men were kicking the windows of the Michael Kors store across the street from the Inner Harbor. This was far from the only incident within his area of operations, but this one was just ten yards from where Partee stood in his police blues. He was not wearing riot gear; when he’d showed up at his post at two-fifteen that afternoon, he was not expecting to need it, since none of the prior protests over the past few days had required it. He hadn’t been warned this one would be so different.
Partee’s unit was officially called the Inner Harbor Unit, but some in the community called them “the Bumblebees” because of the checkered patches on their uniforms and the way they seemed to swarm at the first sign of trouble. The patches were a celebration of the Baltimore flag, a patchwork of black and old gold with Baltimore’s Battle Monument anchoring the center. The monument had been built to commemorate the soldiers who fought against the British in the War of 1812.
The Inner Harbor Unit was certainly prepared for protests, but that didn’t mean they were prepared for riots. Partee had seen protests before. Groups of protesters would stand at City Hall shouting catchy slogans and rallying cries. Emotions might run high, but eventually everything would calm down and the crowd would disperse. The protests following the death of Freddie Gray had been more emotional and intense than usual, maybe, but not sustained, and until today hadn’t escalated beyond slogans.
Partee’s contingent of officers included six platoons, each with about twenty-three officers, as well as officers from Montgomery County and Prince George’s County who’d come to help in anticipation of increased protest intensity. Montgomery and Prince George’s Counties are relatively affluent neighbors to Baltimore, but they also bump up against Washington, DC. Many officers who start their careers in Baltimore City migrate to these other counties for the higher pay and easier conditions. As one officer said, “More pay, less drama, easy decision.”
A little more than an hour after he arrived, Partee noticed marchers coming down Pratt Street, a major thoroughfare that hugs the Inner Harbor. He began placing his people in position to detour protesters. He knew he had to funnel them in another direction in order to keep their focus off the economic fulcrum of the city. He lined up his officers in front of one of the major entry points to the promenade, and had the rest line up in front of the harborside shops. As the marchers followed the commands of Shabazz and groups started moving toward the eastern side of the promenade, he set up a line on the backside of the Light Street pavilion, so if the protesters made it to the Harbor, they’d be surrounded: on one side they would face Baltimore City police officers, on the other side would be the water. Partee’s strategy took him back to his earliest lesson at the police academy: use the terrain as your ally. As he’d soon learn, that hard lesson could cut both ways.