Building a New America
First and foremost, THANK YOU to my siblings in Philadelphia, the United States and around the world that march in the streets everyday to stand up to racial injustice. THANK YOU to the strangers that see suffering and rush to help, who literally lifted ME up when I was down, and pulled others over the walls that seek to contain our fighting spirit. THANK YOU to the friends that have reached out to lend unwaivering support and whatever else your hearts could possibly yield.
My account is one of many. It's also an accompanying piece to my wife's previously posted story, so I implore you to give that a good read.
After a couple days of rejoice, riots, and redistribution, our city is at a height of anxiety and on the cusp of something great.
Saturday, May 30th, 2020 we saw a slew of squad cars smoldering in the sun, Starbucks set ablaze, a segregated city set asunder. It's a lot to process. Our last deed for the day was dragging plants out of the street, on Broad, at the Ritz Carlton. Plants shouldn't suffer our collective pain.
8am. Sunday, May 31, 2020, we were by ourselves cleaning up the broken glass of Jomici Apothecary and Guaricela's Shoe Repair. This made the most sense to us. What we didn't expect to hear hurled in our direction were the decries of โThese people are animals!โ and strange looks when we said we supported the protests while sweeping the sills. We made the least sense to them.
Late at night we were watching the local news, showing more of the same. 8am Monday morning we stroll under the El to โGround Zero of the Heroin Epidemicโ to help restore those businesses that were ransacked. A plain clothes cop is on the corner where we are sweeping up glass and needles in front of a pharmacy. Other than my initial โHello, Good Morningโ. No words were spoken. We cross paths with many blown up ATMs on the way back home.
Monday, June 1, 2020 we joined the protest in front of the Round House. A couple hundred people slowly turned into thousands as we made our way down Market St. eventually making our way onto Ben Franklin Parkway. (Side note: You all know what we're protesting for by this point, right!? Seems pointless to express the reasons for the protests. You'd either have to go out of your way not to know or you're so morally corrupt that you just don't care to educate yourself). A protest like any other; chants, cheers, and solidarity in a just cause with random quiet moments on a beautiful day.
A piece of fence is missing near 676. It's unclear of what the police want us to do. Once we hit 676 we hear the car horns cheering us on. The energy is fresh and vital. Applause and kind spirits echo through the overpass. The off-ramp isn't that far away so we can easily exit and head back to City Hall and be home before curfew. A pause. โCAR!โ Panic. We jump on the median to escape the unknown. No car. I hear pops like paint guns going off and see a young black female crying running towards us barely able to hold onto her bike. I run to help hold her bike and hear a โpingโ and feel a rubber bullet graze off a meaty part of my hand.
Pause. I see a line of black clad riot gear officers near the off-ramp ready to attack. More pops and somehow we are near the front after the crowd initial retreat. A young white kid is down on the ground, possibly hit in the face, possibly pepper sprayed, certainly in pain. I make my way over to help and shield the others already giving him assistance from the police still attacking him with their rounds on the ground. We attempt to pull him to safety. Finally, I notice the unidentifiable officers on the median, hands in pocket, casually spraying my siblings on their knees with their hands up. My anger for what I am witnessing is deep. For a brief moment I think about charging them. Anyone could have easily knocked them off their concrete pedestal. I don't want to hurt another human, but they are unequivocally indifferent. At this point pepper spray and tear gas have been deployed. I saw a line of cops firing to the right of me, a 40 ft concrete wall behind me, and a line of cops firing to the left of me. Only one place to go... into the firing kettle. Later on, I was told there was an aircraft above tossing tear gas on us. How apropos since I was wearing my โWelcome to Philadelphiaโ MOVE shirt (that has a graphic of the time police bombed it's own citizens on May 13, 1985).
By now you've seen the videos, heard the cries, screams, pleas for help. I'd like to say, โthis is going to be hard for me to forget.โ At the same time, I never want to forget. I never want YOU to forget. Thinking you might die by the hands of the police is a hell of a thing. A terrorizing thing. Something that POC might have in the back of their heads every day as a possibility and event was all done with โnon-lethal weaponsโ. I implore you to imagine.
With no warning the police come out of nowhere, unprovoked and attacked us. Our police commissioner and mayor have stood behind the lie that we were aggressors. We listened as they slowly changed their narrative to dig the lie in even deeper.
This is America. I'm not here to give you a history lesson, but this has always been in America. I call on YOU, my siblings to make a NEW America. Don't stay silent to everything happening. We need ALL of us to cry out for change, because if someone like my wife can get shot in the back fleeing in fear for her life, so can YOU.
