It’s been six weeks since I dipped my toe into the new protest movement centered around Black Lives Matter and long-standing abuses of police power. Nightly protests erupted around the country in the wake of George Floyd’s death via a nearly 9-minute chokehold—an image that went around the world—and people took to the streets to protest. I was both surprised and excited by this—surprised that the protests didn’t go the way of previous protests against police violence: a few nights of localized protest followed by promises of better police training and then silence. This time the protests didn’t stop, and the reporting of them included investigations of just why it’s so difficult for truth and justice to emerge.
Widespread use of cell phone cameras had given lie to police reports of civilian deaths at officers’ hands, and examinations of police unions and court decisions showed just how deep and systemic the problem was. Hence the excitement—we are at the beginning of a new movement, much like the Civil Rights Movement of the 60s, a movement that will really change things—though exactly how is still unknown.
What stopped me from joining the Denver protests earlier was the pandemic. As an old person, I'm in a high risk group, and that fact ruled out joining large groups of people, many if not most without masks or ability to keep social distance. But by Sunday, June 6, an opportunity arose. Students in the Denver Public School system had organized a march for themselves, parents and staff from the downtown Civic Center to the Martin Luther King statue in City Park. The Facebook event notice requested social distancing and masks.
As I live across the street from City Park, I reasoned that I could join safely. I left home with water, my mask, sun hat--and the retro T-shirt I wore: a souvenir of a 1980 march against violence against women. I felt the image was appropriate--and the message, while not contemporary, was certainly relevant. No one commented on my shirt--not surprising, as I didn't communicate with too many of my fellow protesters, but it was also strange to realize that more than half of the crowd had not been born when that event took place.
My plan was this: I would stand near the entrance to the park, and if it felt safe to join, I would do so for the final part of the march. That was exactly what happened. I joined in, waiting for a fairly large gap in the line. Following are two photos and my memories from that event.
Approaching City Park from The Esplanade
Waiting for the march to enter the Esplanade from Colfax Avenue, I stood in the shade. A mom and her kids were some distance away, and I asked permission to take their picture. There were so many others like them in the crowd that day, and I hoped these very young children would carry a memory and history of participation into their own young adulthood at least a decade away.
Once in the park, we gathered at the statue. We began with 8 minutes and 46 seconds of silence, kneeling on one knee on the park grass. I had not realized just how long that period of time felt, and I thought of George Floyd, how frightened and hurting he must have felt. We stood up, as speakers for the rally organized for speeches. I walked away, wishing to minimize my time in a crowd, even though I was masked the whole time. For awhile I sat on the grass, watching the rally and other participants as they sat or walked toward the park exit. One thing I noted was the complexion of the crowd. Nearly everyone was white or light-skinned--unlike the more diverse nighttime crowds I had seen in the media. That observation puzzled and also pleased me: white folks were making this movement part of their lives, and that meant they were taking racism seriously.
Since that afternoon, there have been many kinds of protests across the country and in other countries—in memory of George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery (shot while jogging in Georgia), Breonna Taylor, (shot when Louisville KY police mistakenly force-entered her home) Elijah McClain (a young unarmed man who died at police hands in Aurora CO ). Mostly they have been peaceful, though some have not been; social media posts have shown police more than protesters acting without restraint. As I write this, the most troubling confrontations are on the streets of Portland, where federal troops ordered by Trump to” restore law and order “have alarmed the nation and actually galvanized protesters to unite and respond. Most moving for me was the Wall of Moms, a group of mothers who have appeared for a few evenings now, with linked arms and chants for peace and an end to federal occupation. More on the Wall of Moms here.
Most encouraging also has been legislative follow-up. Leslie Herod, Colorado State Representative in my district, sponsored the successful Law Enforcement Integrity Act shortly after protests began. The law, among other things, abolishes chokeholds, mandates police body cameras, has provisions for decertifying bad police, and calls for officers to intervene is one is using inappropriate force. Herod says it couldn’t have happened without protests creating the momentum for political changes. Though this movement is different in many ways from the social movements I participated in earlier in life (civil rights, Vietnam, feminism), they have one thing in common: protests and legislative change go hand in hand.
