Downtown D.C. has been one of the epicenters of demonstrations occurring over the past couple of weeks after the killing of George Floyd (a black man) by police officers in Minneapolis. I’ve gone down into the city twice and decided to jot down some notes on some of my thoughts and observances.
Sheer numbers. The last time I remember being a part of any gathering as large as these was the first inauguration of Barack Obama.
Covid-19. There were face masks on pretty much everyone in close proximity to me—but given the amount of people flooding the streets, social distancing was non-existent. This factored into my decision to refrain from spending any more than a few hours in the throng—and to steer way clear of my wife at home before taking a very thorough shower.
Diversity. This is not a black crowd. From my current vantage point, I’m not even sure I can say that African Americans comprise a majority. At least at this point in time, the cause is still focused on the black community, but its advocates now cross all ethnic lines. Neither does it appear to be age specific—although the majority of people are young (with a particular large number of teenagers and college-aged individuals), there is still a large representation of older participants (like me). There are families here with children. There are senior adults.
We can no longer access Lafayette Park. Tall black steel fences have been erected that keep the demonstrations further away from the White House. The common sentiment in the crowd is that the fences are not just for further fortification of the White House. The noise factor is just as important. The further away you push the demonstrators, the less their chants and cries can be heard from the White House.
There does seem to be more of a sense of organization in today’s gathering, although (as has been the case all week) there is still no central body or authority serving as an organizer or guide. I am told that there are speakers over at the Lincoln Memorial (about two or three blocks from where I am), but I’m not really interested in fighting my way through the crowds to get over there. Social media sights continue to be the chief means through which everyone receives information and guidance.
There is still a military and police presence, but some sort of understanding (albeit tentative) seems to have developed. While I’ve seen nothing demonstrative (like police kneeling in solidarity with demonstrators), there is a weird sort of acceptance of each group’s presence. I even observed one example of casual dialogue—police were asking a group of demonstrators where they were from, how long their drive had been, and pointing out where they could get water. (By mid-afternoon, it had grown very hot in D.C.)
With only one exception, everyone I talked to was a non-D.C. resident. This is not at all unusual for D.C.—historically, demonstrations are rarely generated by people who live in the District; they are almost always organized by individuals and/or organizations who travel in from all over the country (and sometimes the world). On the question of outside agitators, I found a surprising difference of opinion amongst those I talked with. Non-black demonstrators were angered over the violence and looting, and many seemed to believe that radical groups on both the right and the left were attempting to purposefully sabotage the movement. What surprised me, though, was the mostly ambivalent reaction among African Americans. They didn’t really care who was looting and setting fires, and neither were they much interested in defending or condemning it.
I received a lot of comments concerning the shirt I was wearing—a black t-shirt acquired some twenty-five years ago in Atlanta with “LOVE SEE NO COLOR” emblazoned in large white letters. I don’t wear it that much anymore, as the sentiment no longer expresses where I’m at on the issue of race. I’m more inclined to not only see a person’s skin color, but to actually embrace and celebrate it. While I appreciate the old adage of there being no difference between me and a black man, the real truth is that there are huge differences—and that is not a bad thing. What is bad is when that black man is considered unequal to me in the rights he has and the treatment he receives.
The killing of George Floyd may have served as the catalyst for these demonstrations of the past several days, but he is only one individual on a long, long list of victims who have been targeted and treated unjustly and inhumanely. Without diminishing the problem of racial inequality and injustice in this country, the response to Floyd’s death may be more a matter of timing than circumstance. Most students still have no schools open to attend, record numbers of people are still unemployed, and after months of spending time in isolation the climate is ripe for this perfect storm to occur.
While I no longer harbor the confidence I once held as a young man that demonstrations of this size and magnitude really accomplish anything—prior to our invasion of Iraq, we saw world-wide demonstrations larger than any recorded before, and they did nothing to change the hearts and minds of our governments leaders of that era—I have found myself moved by the spirit of these gatherings. There seems to be a ‘60s vibe to them—a recall to the days when the power of mass gatherings of people could generate change.
It is understandable that many who are here today carry intense rage directed toward police and law enforcement agencies. You won’t hear me universally condemning police. I know too many good police officers from the local levels all the way up to the federal levels of law enforcement. But for any of us who would try to deny the existence of systemic racism in our law enforcement agencies, in our political parties, in some of our educational institutions, in all walks of this life we live here in America, at best we’re kidding ourselves and at worst we’re out and out lying to our children and all generations who will come after us. Systemic racism is still very much a part of who and what we are as a people.
Finally—I did very little talking today. I did an awful lot of listening. And in dealing with my own pockets of prejudice and racism, that seems to be the path for personal change. To shut my mouth and actually hear what my brothers and sisters are trying to say to me.
