Two police helicopters hovered so low I could hear their propellers cutting the air even over the screams and chants of the crowd. We stopped and knelt before a line of twenty officers, chanting and raising our hands in surrender and defiance.
"Hands Up / Don't Shoot"
A weathered-faced, elderly Black man moved forward to speak directly to the cops and began to read out the names of over 150 unarmed men, women and children who have been killed by police.
"Being Black is not a Crime / Same story Every Time"
He read the ages of each victim after their names: Aiyana Jones, 7 years old; Rekia Boyd, 22; Yvette Smith, 47 and mother of two... He read the circumstances of each killing: Some were children sleeping. Others were men walking with their girlfriend. And still more were just impoverished women, mistaken for criminals. The list of victim's names seemed endless.
"We Charge Genocide / We Charge Genocide / We Charge Genocide"
Periodically, the old man would stop and ask if anyone on the police force could answer for these deaths. He would ask if anyone has been held accountable for a single one. We were only a few steps from the police precinct door.
"Who do you Protect? / Who do you Serve?"
Voices started to crack with emotion, fatigue and pain. A girl buried her face in her hands to hide her tears. I realized that this is the first funeral I have ever attended.
"NYPD, KKK / How many Kids have you Killed Today?"
Higher ranking officers in crisp, white uniforms emerged. I struggled to write my sign clearly with shaky, frigid fingers--Police Can Commit Crimes--all in caps. We rose from our knees and began to chant again. I showed my sign to every cop I passed, looking them straight in the eye. Police can commit crimes.
"Hey Hey, Ho Ho / These Racist Cops have Got to Go"
The cops began to encircle us in the street and outnumbered the protesters 3 to 1. A school bus painted blue and white with barred windows pulled up and parked a couple feet in front of us. More officers dismounted motorcycles and we started to move, walking quickly down a side street straight through oncoming traffic.
"Shut it Down, Shut it Down / Eric Garner, Michael Brown"
Most of the time during the protests I was either filled with rage or fear. Then we started to scream "I Can't Breathe", echoing the last words of Eric Garner. And after each time we said it, we counted:
"I Can't Breathe / 1 / I Can't Breathe / 2 / I Can't Breathe / 3 / I Can't Breathe ...
Up to eleven. When we reached eleven I was, for the first time, filled with a deep, sorrowful, mourning sadness. Eric Garner begged to live 11 times. The officers choked the life out of him and will not be punished. 11 times. He begged to live. And now we beg for justice.
1 comment:
Thanks Angie! Great post! the emotion and energy of the protest was so overwhelming. I was proud to represent for our cause.
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