As the rubber bullets and teargas flew during last year’s protests, an epidemic of ‘less lethal’ shootings inspired a network of survivors
My mind raced in the seconds after I was shot.
I heard the gun go off and turned my head toward the sound, just in time to watch the spinning aluminum canister slam into my brow. Everything went black. I stumbled. When I regained my balance and opened my eyes, the sight in my right eye was gone. Something in my head told me the teargas canister was the last thing I’d ever see clearly.
