I woke up early and drove down to DC. I was there so early that I practically broke the nightly curfew that is intended to control unruly protests in the wee hours. Holding my little cardboard rectangle that said BLM, I walked (marched?) through the quiet, nearly empty streets from the Mall to the White House by myself, greeting the construction workers, security guards, and joggers who were out as the sun rose.
As I approached the White House, I encountered some boarded up stores and hotels. The plywood was tidy, though. One hotel had carefully placed Black Lives Matter placards in the center of each plywood slab.
Graffiti marred the Treasury Building.
BLACK LIVES MATTER
We Are UNARMED!
FUCK the system
I CAN'T BREATH
The English teacher in me wanted to correct that last one, but I hadn't brought my own paint.
The office buildings downtown are usually so pristine that the tagging stands out especially starkly. Given the number and size of the protests that have taken place recently, the area was remarkably free of trash. I came across a worker who was picking up the few empty bottles and refuse. I thanked him.
I stood before St. John's, the beautiful yellow church. I posed for a selfie in front of the church with my sign, near the spot where Trump had brandished a Bible earlier in the week after police had cleared out the park using tear gas against peaceful protesters.
Lafayette Park across from the White House is completely barricaded off with high black fencing. It looks like a cage, but the atmosphere was definitely not threatening. A few bored and tired looking officers were slumped on a bench in the park, their riot shields off to the side. There was no particular police presence at 7am, which makes sense because only two protesters remained from the previous night, a couple of punk white kids leaning against a shopping cart packed with supplies--granola bars and moon pies--with a little sign reading "Black Lives Matter." I sat down 6 feet away from them and talked to them. They had been up all night and were glad to see me. "Are you the next shift?" After we chatted a few minutes, the exhausted girl croaked out "Hands up!" I answered quietly, "Don't shoot."
Just a few feet further down the road were two blissed-out evangelical Christians dancing in trances to some crackling godly music. The biggest crowd was the journalists who were setting up their live shots for the day with lots of heavy camera equipment. Someone from Univision took a shot of me sitting there on the ground with the White House behind me. A young woman walked around with a box of Krispy Kremes and came over to me and the punks. She offered the doughnuts around, and inside the box was written YOU MATTER. "They're fresh," she said. I didn't think I had earned one.
I walked on back to my car and drove home.
I don't think I did much to end systemic racism, but I bore witness. I feel as though I participated a little. I showed up in some capacity. I exercised my right to speak out.
No comments:
Post a Comment