I was more than down for a protest. Not just for this incident, this moment, but for me. Because I was sick of feeling like I was on the sidelines of all the real mobilization efforts. Tianna’s always in the thick of it, but maybe it’s because I’m soft-spoken or whatever, but no one in the group ever calls me when they need to make things happen. Tianna has really good rapport with the groups on the West side of the city, and her call list is a mile long with community-based groups that are authentically youth-led. I only know mostly other college-based activists, and nobody thinks they have any real street cred.
College kids got too much to lose! Tee is always telling me. They ain’t about this life. Not for real for real.
Like we aren’t college kids ourselves.
But for sure Tianna sees herself as having less to lose. Because she has already lost so much.
She grew up in the South Bronx which everyone still thinks is the equivalent to serving several tours in Iraq even though that’s not true anymore. But that gives her a voice in making all kinds of decisions that no one bothers to consult me on, even though we’ve both been in the group for the same amount of time.
But I can’t feel resentful about that for real. Tee has three brothers … or had three brothers. Two of them were killed. One by police and the other by another Black kid. Both died before they were even twenty-one. Tee talks about them like they died yesterday. And I can’t say that it doesn’t feel like that since I’m an only kid.
To be real though? Tee is legit. She talks about dismantling structural racism with the kind of fire that would probably have her in public office one day if public office were something she would ever aspire to. Anyway, so she was one of the key organizers of the march down to the museum and I was excited to go. To support the movement, and to say his name in affirmation of his humanity.
We were starting south of City Hall and walking all the way up. Thousands would be there, people were saying.
There’s never been anything like this, not in this city, not unless it was about football, so far as I can tell. Definitely not since the Civil Rights Movement. Not since the Black Panther Party.
My grandfather was a Panther, and my dad grew up on their doctrine. Now he teaches it, at the same mostly white college that I go to, that Tee goes to, in the suburbs. I wanted to be there because I need to see some of this for myself. Not just on television, or Twitter. I mean, this was it. There would probably never be another chance in my lifetime; and if we succeed, there shouldn’t be.
Anyway, me and Tee met up with a bunch of the others, dressed as planned in all-black, backpacks filled with water, milk, power bars, rags, an extra-shirt. From the moment we got out there, I knew it was going to be a little less controlled than planned. The mood was frenetic, and even when people were standing still, the air was full of hyperkinetic energy. Folks were all fidgety, and bouncing back and forth on their feet, talking faster than normal, jittery, skittish.
It’s because it’s early, Tee said, when I pointed that out to her. It just happened. People are still real mad.
Things started out orderly enough, everyone relieved to have an outlet for all our coiled energy. There were people with bullhorns, Tee being one of them, directing us in a call-and-response chant for justice. I was near the front of the procession, carrying my sign, hands holding it high. I felt proud to be there, and even the beginning beads of perspiration down the back of my neck and under my arms, even the prospect of the long walk in the heat didn’t bother me.
I had one, shameful, self-centered moment where I sort of hoped I would be on television so my dad could see me out there, marching for justice and be proud of me. I even imagined him sitting on his chair in the living room, leaning forward when he recognized me, nodding his head in approval. But that was stupid. I quickly scolded myself and put that out of my mind though, and concentrated on making my voice louder, more emphatic, more impassioned.
As we passed some buildings, people leaned out, shouting things at us. Most of it sounded supportive. But not all, definitely not all. Things got dicey the closer we got to City Hall. That was when I started noticing the cops lining the streets. Some of them had looks of studious nonchalance on their faces so I could practically hear in my head what they had probably been told: ‘Don’t do anything to escalate. Keep your distance from the protestors unless you there’s a reason to intervene.’
And it seemed cool, until we passed around City Hall, the crowd splintering into two distinct clusters, one on the east side of the building, the other on the west side. I glanced over my shoulder once and was awed by how many of us there were. It was getting hotter, the air heavy and dense.
On the other side of City Hall, that’s when it happened. Just as we approached the statue, all hell broke loose.
I didn’t get the worst of it with the tear gas. Just as one of the canisters hit the ground about thirty feet away from me and everyone scattered, which is when I got nabbed, by a big, burly Black cop who looked pained to have to cuff me, even though all he used was
