我当时在宾夕法尼亚州的特朗普集会上。这是我看到的。
【中美创新时报2024 年 7 月 13 日编译讯】共和党总统候选人、前总统唐纳德·特朗普在 2024 年 7 月 13 日星期六在宾夕法尼亚州巴特勒举行的竞选集会上遭遇枪击。《波士顿环球报》记者詹姆斯·平德尔（James Pindell）现场作了下述报道。
宾夕法尼亚州巴特勒——在前总统唐纳德·特朗普登上匹兹堡以北一小时车程的县集市舞台前约 25 分钟，我的目光一直盯着两个地方。
首先，有一位老妇人，我刚刚给她喂了水；她经常中暑，医务人员正在尽最大努力控制。其次，我越过她的肩膀注意到舞台后面一个谷仓的屋顶上有动静。
两名美国特勤局特工正紧急使用大型军绿色双筒望远镜扫描远离人群的区域。他们没有朝其他方向看。然后，每个特工都把看起来像狙击步枪的东西指向同一个方向。这也是入口道路的方向，成千上万的集会参与者中的大多数人都走了这条路。
假设这也是特朗普车队要走的路，我没多想。我想他们的紧迫性只是按照协议跟踪车队的一部分。
自 2016 年特朗普获得特勤局保护以来，安全预防措施与我参加过的所有其他特朗普集会类似。有一排磁力仪可以快速检查人员。感觉就像进入芬威球场观看红袜队的比赛，只是有武装的特勤局特工在场。几乎所有人群都被警告不要带任何包。一位我付钱把车停在离活动地点更近的地方的女人提醒了我这一点。
然后，在我注意到特勤局特工的活动 30 分钟后，也就是特朗普演讲大约六分钟后，传来了一声巨响。
那是枪声吗？我在中西部长大，身边都是枪，所以我很熟悉那种声音。也许是烟花之类的？
当我抬头时，同样的探员正朝着他们枪一直指向的方向射击。我知道他们在射击，因为我能看到他们枪里冒出的烟。
我应该注意，这是根据我在集会和事后的第一手经验撰写的报道，随着新事实的出现，我描述的一些细节可能会有所改变。
我正站在一个临时新闻发布台的正前方，许多拍摄该事件的电视摄像机都放在那里。
早些时候，这是我躲避 91 度高温和直射阳光的避难所。我很幸运能坐在钢制的临时发布台下，享受阴凉和偶尔的微风。
《波士顿环球报》派我来报道这次活动，并写一篇故事，作为密尔沃基共和党全国代表大会前的“揭幕战”。
我来这个地区还有另一个原因。我原本要带着我唯一的孩子飞回家，他今年 9 岁，刚刚和他的表兄弟和姑姑一起度过了一个愉快的夏日假期。这是自从他 2 岁以来，我和妻子第一次没有他陪伴。我非常想念他，所有父母都能理解。
但在看到屋顶上特工的枪冒出浓烟后，我的目光落在了舞台右侧的某个东西上。它看起来像是消防水管或执法部门的瓦斯，可能是为了分散注意力。
但是，等等，特朗普在哪里？在那大约 10 秒钟的时间里，我不知道特朗普是否被枪击了。
感觉就像特工们看到了他们不喜欢的东西并积极应对。我没有听到任何来袭的枪声，也没有看到任何人倒下。
我可以清楚地看到舞台，但那一刻，我正在打字记录特朗普的讲话。当我再次看向讲台时，特工们似乎把特朗普按在地上保护着他。然后其他特工走上了舞台。
几秒钟后，特朗普站起来，向人群挥舞着拳头，嘴里说着我听不懂的话。那是他右耳上的血迹，还是只是他那顶红色的 MAGA 帽子上的血迹？我一直盯着那只耳朵看。我大概在 40 码外。那看起来绝对像是血迹。这是我第一次想到特朗普可能被击中的可能性。
人群惊呆了。大多数人蹲下，试图躲起来，尽管那只是一片开阔的田野，有围栏，就像任何县集市一样。
在特朗普被护送到他的车上，人们感觉到集会已经结束，他们安全了，人群转向媒体。
人群很生气。到处都是中指。他们问媒体是否满意，并指责媒体。
“你们干的，”他们对记者说。
我不确定他们发表这种声明的理由，但他们在找人来责怪。一时间，感觉就像一群暴徒在不断壮大。我和妻子之间被一道临时的钢栅栏隔开，但如果事态发展为暴力，这道栅栏也起不了多大作用。
这就是我的暗示。我摘下记者证，拔掉设备插头，把所有东西都装进背包里。
我的第一条短信不是发给我的编辑的。
是发给我家人的，主要是为了让儿子和妻子知道我没事。
题图：共和党总统候选人、前总统唐纳德·特朗普在 2024 年 7 月 13 日星期六在宾夕法尼亚州巴特勒举行的竞选集会上被移下舞台。EVAN VUCCI/美联社
附原英文报道：
I was at the Trump rally in Pennsylvania. This is what I saw.
By James Pindell Globe Staff,Updated July 13, 2024
BUTLER, Pa. – About 25 minutes before former president Donald Trump took the stage at a county fairground an hour north of Pittsburgh, my eyes kept darting to two places.
First, there was an elderly woman to whom I had just given water; heat strokes were occurring frequently, and medical professionals were doing their best to manage them. Second, over her shoulder I noticed movement on the roof of what appeared to be a barn behind the stage.
Two US Secret Service agents were urgently using large military-green binoculars to scan an area away from the crowd. They weren’t looking in any other direction. Then, each agent pointed what appeared to be sniper rifles in that same direction. It was also the direction of the entrance road, which most of the thousands of rally attendees had taken.
Assuming it was also the road that Trump’s motorcade would take, I didn’t think much of it. I figured their urgency was just part of tracking the motorcade per protocol.
The security precautions were similar to all other Trump rallies I have attended since he received Secret Service protection in 2016. There was a line of magnetometers that swiftly checked people. It felt like entering Fenway Park for a Red Sox game, except with armed Secret Service agents. Nearly all of the crowd were warned not to bring any bags. I was reminded of this point by a woman I paid to park closer to the event.
Then, 30 minutes after I noticed the Secret Service agents’ activity and about six minutes into Trump’s speech, there was a loud popping noise.
Were those shots? I grew up with guns in the Midwest, so I’m familiar with the sound. Maybe it was fireworks or something?
When I looked up, the same agents were shooting in the same direction their guns had been pointed all along. I knew they were shooting because I could see smoke from their guns.
I should note, this is a report based on my firsthand experience at the rally and the immediate aftermath, some details I describe may change as new facts emerge.
I was standing directly in front of an ad hoc press riser where many of the television cameras capturing the event were positioned.
Earlier, it had been my refuge against the 91-degree heat and direct sunshine. I felt lucky to be able to sit under the steel makeshift riser for shade and the occasional breeze.
The Globe had sent me to cover the event and write a story that would serve as a “curtain riser” ahead of the Republican National Convention in Milwaukee.
I had another reason for being in the area. I was going to fly home with my only child, who is 9 and had just spent a week away in summer bliss with his cousins and aunt. It was the first time my wife and I had been without him since he was 2. I missed him tremendously, as all parents can understand.
But after seeing the smoke rise from the agents’ guns on the roof, my eyes caught something to the right of the stage. It appeared to be either a firehose or gas from law enforcement, possibly meant as a distraction.
But, wait, where was Trump? In those approximate 10 seconds, I didn’t know if Trump had been shot.
It felt like the agents had seen something they didn’t like and were proactive about it. I didn’t hear any incoming fire or see anyone go down.
I had a clear view of the stage, but at that moment, I was typing up what Trump was saying. When I looked at the podium again, the agents appeared to have Trump on the ground, protecting him. Then other agents were on the stage.
Seconds later, Trump was up and pumping his fist to the crowd, mouthing something I couldn’t make out. Was that blood on his right ear or just his red MAGA hat? I kept staring at that ear. I was maybe 40 yards away. It definitely looked like blood. It was the first time I considered the possibility that Trump may have been hit.
The crowd was in shock. Most people crouched down, trying to take cover, although it was just an open field with fences like any county fairground.
After Trump had been escorted to his car and people sensed the rally was over and they were safe, the crowd turned on the media.
The crowd was angry. Middle fingers were everywhere. They asked the press if they were happy and blamed the media.
“You did this,” they said to reporters.
I wasn’t sure of their rationale for such a statement, but they were looking for someone to blame. For a moment, it felt like a growing mob. I was separated by a temporary steel fence, but that wouldn’t help much if things turned violent.
That was my cue. I took off my press credentials, unplugged my equipment, and packed everything into my backpack.
My first text wasn’t to my editor.
It was to my family, mainly to let my son and wife know I was OK.
