Taking a walk in a once-familiar place is like reading one of those layered books showing changes over time. That’s what I felt yesterday morning when I made a rare visit to what was once the center of Denver, the “overgrown cow-town”, as some called it when I arrived here in 1976. There was no 16th Street Mall then, just a busy downtown street with department stores, restaurants and offices, and sidewalks filled with people. The long-gone May D&F department store created a large ice rink in the winter, and the street looked like an auto parade route on Saturday nights.I worked for a time in the Petroleum Club Building near Broadway and Colfax, a short walk from the small central library and an art museum that looked like a castle. I stayed for a decade and more as changes came and visited during my Japan years. Following the construction of the mall, skyscrapers came to dot the town, and the library and museum grew new additions.
And so I remembered these things when I went downtown yesterday, a warm December morning—three tasks in mind. I walked from the Cultural Center parking garage adjoining the library down to a pharmacy on the 16th Street mall, blocks away. And during that walk I saw and felt the changes of recent years. A microcosm of the US, as the year rolls to an end. A familiar sight in many cities, only with different names.
As I walked along the perimeter of Civic Center Park, sandwiched between the Courthouse and the Capitol Building, I immediately saw the fencing keeping everyone out, put up in September to evict homeless campers and control trash and drug activity. One path leading to a small cluster of tents, the Christkindl market, looked like a mirage in an urban desert. I walked on. The library was fenced off too—a construction project no doubt timed by pandemic closures.
I continued, crossing into a street bordering the mall, and came across a bunched sleeping bag on the street, wheelchair by the side of the person who was probably inside. I paused, uncertain, but decided not to disturb. As I walked further, it took me a few moments to start seeing what wasn’t there on the streets—crowds of shoppers, tourists or workers heading to their offices, days before Christmas. There was very little traffic as well, and it was easy to cross against the light. Just a few pedestrians on their way to somewhere, workers hosing down outdoor tables on the 16th Street Mall, and a solitary waiter wiping tables on the patio of the Hard Rock Cafe. But there were signs of manufactured cheer, like this merry-go-round, no kids in sight.
Walking along the mall, I saw the empty storefronts, a few covered with murals promoting a Denver that once existed—snow-capped mountains in the distance, packed restaurants, city attractions.
Department stores were few, and the open businesses tended to be franchises, a few fast food places, and the two pharmacies I was headed for. I was in search of a rapid covid test kit, and an online listing led me to believe that the downtown CVC had them in stock. In reality, no luck and no need to enter the store. Leaving the pharmacy, I encountered a woman in a wheelchair, asking for a dollar. I gave her the cookies in my bag and she seemed pleased. As I continued my return journey down 16th Street, I passed several other apparently homeless people, seeking donations. I sometimes carry protein bars to hand out when I think I might encounter those in need, and I regretted not having done that on this trip.
I turned around and headed toward my next destination. Approaching Broadway, I saw well-kept thriving institutions—the real success stories of these past two years—banks and lending institutions. Starbuck’s was also open and well-tended. I passed by, aiming for the RTD office where I bought a packet of discount bus tickets. I haven’t been on a bus since pre-lockdown days, but I expect to hop on when necessary this coming year. Then my major destination of the morning appeared—a rally on the West steps of the Capitol.
It was a rally for justice on behalf of Rogel Aguilera-Mederos , a 26-year-old truck driver who was recently sentenced to 110 years in prison for a 2019 crash on I-70, that led to the deaths of four people. You can read about it here—about the mountain-inexperienced driver whose brakes failed and who missed the runaway ramps. The result was a crash that killed four people, caused by a man who was not reckless or impaired, a man with no criminal record or intent to harm, an immigrant from Cuba. Just about everyone agrees the sentence was wildly unfair, the judge included, but apparently required under the state’s mandatory sentencing laws.
When I arrived, the rally had already started, a bilingual one, aimed at organizing people to understand what mandatory sentencing laws have created. Originally designed to eliminate racial disparities in sentencing, they have instead led to more injustice, in the opinion of rally speakers, particularly former State Rep Joe Salazar. Salazar gave a fiery speech, lambasting the misuse of power by prosecutors who often use the law to browbeat accused criminals into a plea bargain. Rogel’s mother, who spoke in Spanish wept through most of her speech, her pain so obvious that words were unnecessary. The crowd broke into chants of Justice Now, justicia ahora!. The crowd was small, perhaps 100, and there were several TV cameras.
In just a few days this has become a high profile case. More than 5 million people, including me, signed a petition asking Gov. Polis to grant clemency to Rogel—either setting him free or reducing his sentence. Attendees were encouraged to call Gov. Polis’ office to request clemency, and there are legal moves underway to reduce Rogel’s sentence. Gov. Polis’s legal team is considering this as I write, and a decision is expected soon.
I returned to the parking garage, walking past History Colorado and the Denver Art Museum, both of which appear to be thriving. claimed my car, and returned home. And I thought of how easy it is to let the what counts as legal reform in one decade—in this case mandatory sentencing—lead to a whole new set of abuses unless underlying causes are addressed. I had the feeling as I listened that this was a kind of George Floyd moment—an individual case that was so horrendously unjust that it might take us closer to creating a more just law enforcement system. A year past the Rallies for Black Lives Matter, we see that change can happen, but it’s often limited or non-existent in places, and will remain that way unless the patient work of nurturing change continues, both inside and outside the system.
