Jah was a minor celebrity in advocacy circles. A former juvenile lifer, he had been released from prison because a national organization represented him, made a cause célèbre of his case and sent him on a speaking tour. Later, he had a memoir of his life published, co-written with an attorney from the Southern Poverty Law Center and since then had been a staple on local and sometimes national news because he spoke so stirringly about his experience, and the need for criminal justice reform.
Jah had the perfect look for his role—handsome, but not so handsome he looked slick; a little rough around the edges but with high code-switching quotient, and just connected enough to the life he left behind that he could call himself an expert. I wasn’t super excited about him for Tee, because there was a hint of a hustle just underneath Jah’s activist exterior, a tiny stain of old-bad-habits that I just couldn’t make myself un-see.
“Let’s go then,” I said. “It’ll be good to sit down for a while.”
Those words summoned Kai’s attention back to me and I pointed out where we were headed. He nodded and we followed Tee as she led the way. Something in his posture told me he was still assessing, still taking things in.
At the tree, Tianna collapsed onto the ground and against Jah’s side, reclining against and claiming him. I introduced Kai to everyone and then we sat as well. When we were settled, he reached for and helped me remove my backpack. For a few seconds, our tether got a tangled and we exchanged the smile of a shared joke, as he unclipped it from his belt.
“Your eyes kinda pink there, bruh,” Jah said, lifting his chin in Kai’s direction. “They got you with that gas, huh?”
“Yeah,” Kai said. “Wasn’t too bad.”
“Wasn’t too bad?” a girl named Julie said. “I thought I was going to freakin’ die. And it has this weird vinegar smell, right? Like … if someone hadn’t handed me that milk …”
“I heard that’s a myth,” someone else said. “That milk helps relieve the effects of tear gas.”
“It helped me,” Julie said.
“Milk works,” Jah said.
And that was the end of that. That was usually how things went when Jah spoke. He had more cred than anyone because he’d been in Ferguson, in Baltimore, at just about every uprising major and minor since he got out of prison ten years ago at eighteen.
When Tianna first hooked up with him, I told her I’d heard his name but didn’t know much about his case, or why he’d gotten life as a juvenile in the first place.
That’s besides the point, she had snapped at me. The point is that no juvenile should be sentenced to die in prison.
Of course, I said, backing down. Of course not.
Later though, I looked it up.
Jah and two older cousins had robbed a cheesesteak carryout joint at eleven p.m. when the sole proprietor, Haynes Fletcher, a fifty-three-year-old father of two and grandfather of one had been closing down for the evening. One of Jah’s cousins demanded all the money in the register, and Mr. Fletcher complied. When the cousin counted it, he was enraged by how little there was. He told Mr. Fletcher he was a liar and beat him about the head with the butt of the gun. Mr. Fletcher insisted he had nothing else. Jah’s cousin shoved him to the ground, shot him in the face and then they all left.
During the robbery, fourteen-year-old Elijah had been playing lookout outside. The testimony was that when his cousins went into the carryout, they told Elijah they were “‘bout to get some free food.” Although both cousins had confirmed that they didn’t think Elijah knew what their intentions were, the prosecutor argued that he was not only aware but complicit because at the sound of a gun discharging, young Elijah hadn’t run away but stayed at his post until his cousins emptied the restaurant of everything of value they could find, including several pounds of frozen, shaved beef.
I didn’t know what to think of Jah’s conviction, and his possible complicity in a murder. But I believed fourteen was too young to be in prison for life. I tried not to think of Haynes Fletcher. I thought instead about what Tee said was the most important thing—Jah’s redemption work. That was the word she used “redemption.”
By the time the speakers began their loud and rousing calls for justice, the sun had let up and was beginning to retreat a little. Everyone’s energy was waning but waxed once again when after the reminders of the words of the call and response.
No justice!
No peace!
No justice!
No peace!
No peace!
No peace!
We all stood, and cheered and whistled. And as soon as there was no one left to speak, all of that energy had nowhere to go. I think that’s probably why what happened later happened. The news was all over Twitter of what was happening in other cities, of cops losing their shit with protestors, overwhelmed, exhausted some of them, angry.
We all looked down at our phones, reading accounts of marauding gangs of white men in different neighborhoods, daring protestors to march where they lived.
“We gotta get back down to Center City,” Jah said. “Closer to City Hall. That’s where all the action’s gon’ be at.”
Kai and I exchanged a look.
That was where we had been picked up, and there had already been plenty of action there today. The difference now, was that it was getting dark and the police presence would already be in place and fortified, expecting trouble.
“And we definitely need to be where the action is,” Tianna said nodding.
“What kind of action y’all talkin’ ‘bout?” Kai asked.
Since he had spoken so little, everyone turned to look at him, me included. As the afternoon turned to early evening, he had stayed close, standing just behind me, so I felt
