The Baseejis were just as ruthless. Those who didn’t ride on motorcycles walked the streets in large packs carrying clubs. They didn’t wear uniforms, so they could easily ambush protesters. They beat one protester so badly that he collapsed in the middle of an intersection and trembled uncontrollably. I saw one battered young man crawl into the lobby of an apartment building, curl up under the stairwell and sob. He had welts on his forehead and bruises up and down his arms.

“They hit me with everything,” he said as he gasped for air. “They hit with clubs. They hit me with chains.”

When the two sides weren’t throwing objects at one another, they were hurling insults. I heard and felt the hatred on both sides.