Take it Away

There is a small little yellow house, on the southwest corner of Grant Park.  Right behind the zoo.  But it's not a house, it is a police precinct.  It's a few minutes walking distance from my home.  I jog past it all the time.  Probably for the last twenty-odd years, even before we bought our home.  They are Zone 3 police.  I remember when I first started living around here the Zone 3 police were in the newspaper all the time for extorting money from drug houses for protection.  Then, though Zone 3 is housed in my community, we are policed by Zone 6.  Zone 3 continues to nearly kill anyone in their path when they tear up the street in front of my house, only to turn their lights off the minute they see food. The police that killed Rayshard Brooks are stationed there.

I'm disgusted that murderers drove down my streets and through my neighborhood, everyday.  That I jogged past them.  And then, when protestors engulfed their precinct they came out like in a way that shocked me.

"The helicopters are really loud tonight...."  Alec and I mentioned to each other, last Saturday, the 13th.  We weren't budging, we were only less than a week from being exposed to large crowds.
I looked at the photos and videos of what had happened mere minutes from my home Sunday morning.  The most terrifying parts were when rows of police stood in full riot gear, calmly, only to charge at our residents on cue, swinging clubs and throwing tear gas.  All because people, residents, decided that those police didn't belong here.

Papí and I walked down there the following night, with our masks.  Dozens and dozens of police cars blocked the road between our house and there's, they just sat there, parked.  At least forty cops in riot gear stood in front of the cars.  We cut through the back streets to the other side of the park.  A tank-like military vehicle was parked at the corner of the park, flanked by at least fifty-more cops in riot gear.  Atlanta avenue glowed with unmarked cars, all the way up to Boulevard.  The Atlanta ATV guys, the ones that tear through traffic en masse came.  I could hear their engines coming closer and then, I saw dozens of them at the top of the hill, looking down at the almost military like force of police.  In formation, they backed up and road away.

The police stared at us.  And stood around, joking with each other.  If anyone got too close, they shined flash lights in their eyes and yelled "Get back!"
They were really comfortable and it infuriated me.  This is my neighborhood.  None of these cops belonged here.  I have more right to this ground and they were the ones that needed to leave.  And they were all here to defend the murderers that they housed in that little yellow house.

I've heard that most of those guys, I don't use the word 'pigs' because pigs are dignified creatures worthy of respect, got a case of the blue flu the last few days.  I'm glad they are gone.  I jogged past the area where the park and it was nearly devoid of their personal vehicles as well as their po-cars.  But I burn again in my stomach when think of what would happen if I, as a public school teacher, sat in the parking lot and refused to to teach.  I don't understand this power, or this relationship with the community.

I can't imagine saying that I won't work unless I get to kill people.  And, that it would be rewarded.