A word spoken...
Oscar Grant. Murdered by a Bart Police Officer on New Years Day.
One of the most tragic events that went down while living in Oakland.
Choppers still circling around our neighborhood since 5 pm.
It's 10:30 pm.
Protesters and angry people smashing windows and lighting trash cans and dumpsters on fire.
This is how angry the people are.
People chanting, "We are Oscar Grant" lying in the middle of the intersection just the way Oscar had layed face down right before the cold iron pumped into his lung.
How did this happen? How did the officer mistake his gun for a tazer?
I went to the Fruitvale Bart Station at 4:20 pm to pay my respects and to stand in solidarity for all the innocent victims killed and abused by the police.
I stood watching seeing familiar faces of activists worn out by the endless amount of injustice that pours into the city of Oakland.
Young students of color holding banners of their artistic cry to stop police brutality:
"PIGS WILL PAY! PIGS WILL PAY!"
The old gather hugging each other to hold on to the last comfort they can afford as they've witnessed and experienced a hundred injustices in their lives.
"Hello my brother. How are you doing?"
I wish I could've stayed longer. But my fear of getting ticketed after being parked for more than 12 minutes on the green curb pulled me away from a crowd that stood in confusion and disbelief.
As I hear the last words of a woman speaker about the reality of there being more black men in prisons than there are in college, I break away and walk toward my car.
"Is there a ticket on my window? Oh God, thank God there isn't... Wait, should I feel guilty for moving on so quickly?"
I drive.
I presume my grocery shopping, scavenging for the best deals. I come home
"What in the world?"
Five helicopters perched above and near my neighborhood.
Blue and red flashing beyond a distance.
I rush upstairs passing neighbors who are looking up and just as confused.
I turn on the t.v.
"We are witnessing a group of protesters marching down the Oakland streets from the Fruitvale Bart station..."
"Damn! I should've stayed!"
Five minutes later, live on screen I watch as protesters start furiously shaking the parked police car. A dumpster rolls near with a huge fire inside.
"Maybe it was a safe idea to come home."
Cops bust out all their reinforcement to shield themselves from the truth about institutional injustices that started this mess. This mess that began long before Oscar Grant was murdered.
I saw glued to the tv and hating myself for being safe.
Safe from the physical danger of being beat with a baton by police officers or being intoxicated by the tear gases that was shot at the people who are advocating for truth and justice.
Did my green curb really save me from danger though?
I can't help but wonder what will come of me if I continue to choose a safe path only to protect myself like the police officers who sustain institutions like the
prison industrial complex.
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