Pat Dollard

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Sky News

Tim Marshall

Each motorcycle in the riot squad carries two officers. One at the front to control the machine, one at the back to hit people with a long baton.

I was following a small crowd near the Interior Ministry and could feel the tension rising when suddenly the violence began.

A team of about 20 motorbikes roared down First Street scattering the crowd. I darted onto the pavement rather stupidly thinking I’d be safer there. Two of the bikes mounted the kerb and came straight for me. I put my hands up in a surrender position as an officer readied to hit me. We made eye contact, and he lowered his arm. Other people didn’t get away with it. I saw several people batoned, some were dragged off covered in blood.

The crowd grew to about a thousand and began stoning a group of riot police who were on foot. Large refuse bins were overturned. I saw one dragged across the street by two young women in headscarves and long tunics, they took a newspaper and set the whole thing alight. Soon 8 or 9 of the bins were on fire.

By now the riot police were throwing the stones back at the protestors and both sides were taking casualties. Every few minutes the police would charge down the street, causing the protestors to fall back, then the police would halt as the rain of stones became too heavy. Young men and women were breaking up bits of the pavement to use as weapons as the crowd kept growing.

As it retreated into Falestine Street the protestors spotted three banks. Dozens of windows were smashed as were several in 2 government related buildings.

When people heard me talking on the phone in English they came up to me imploring me to ‘tell the world how they have stolen our election’. One women in a full headscarf and full lenght black tunic down to her feet said ‘We hate this regime and its stupid friends in Russia, Venezula and Gaza

The tear gas came in causing those at the front of the now 2,000 strong crowd to cough, but eyes streaming they kept up the hail of stone throwing. I got too close to the front and in range of the police. A stone an officer had thrown hit me on the lower leg. As I walked out of range the police surged forward, helmets on, visors down, shields up, batons ready.

I ran with everyone else, doging cars and motorcycles, bumping into people, everyone looking over their shoulder as the police kept coming. Most streets in Tehran have three foot deep drains flowing down the side with the occasional metal gratings upon which to cross. As I looked back I fell straight through one of the gratings which had some bars missing. With my leg bleeding, and the police bearing down, I was stuck and the crowd was surging past me. Suddenly two pairs of friendly hands reached down and pulled me up, I managed a quick thank you and limped up a side street before circuling round and meeting up with the crowd as it neared a city square.

Now they were on wider streets the crowd was more dispersed. A few more baton charges broke it up into smaller groups, the heat, temporarily was lowered. As darkness fell I headed off, wallking past smouldering barracades surrounded by young people still chanting the slogan of the day about President Ahmadinerjad; ‘Go Go Dictator’.