Philadelphia Black Lives Matter Protest

On my bike ride back from the protest earlier in downtown Philadelphia, I took a brief pause at the intersection of Spring Garden and 2nd street where four national guard members were posted up next to a Humvee.

Still carrying my sign in one hand, “Knowledge is more dangerous than guns”, I said yeo. One of them asked me how I was doing; not a nonchalant, “hey how you doing”, but more like a nervous, I'm the only outcast kid on the playground, please be my friend, “hey, how you doing”. I told him it’s been a long day, but that the protest was peaceful and purposeful and that I just got done listening to Malcolm Jenkins make a speech on systematic racism and inequality. They nodded and said they understood that’s what this is about.

Then I asked how they were feeling. The main guy talking said he was tired too, just had his shift extended three more days and said he’s missing home (somewhere around Eerie) and that it’s in his job description to be here. I told him the protests don’t look like they're stopping anytime soon. I told him that until the city wises up with legislation and funding, that their pockets are going to continue hurting from paying police and outside help to stand around all day, everyday. He acknowledged my point, and before I rode away he said, “Thanks for talking to us. Everybody else just flips us the middle finger and calls us baby killers”. I told him, no worries, and rode off.

Quick backdrop. Two days earlier I rode past the same post and took my phone out to record the men standing there and exclaimed, “THIS IS NOT A DRILL”....I am by no means a saint, but I do try and learn. So what did I learn from my conversation today? That the national guard isn’t here to solely terrorize us, however much myself or anyone else gets the feeling they are. The bigger question is, where does that feeling come from?

Well, there’s no doubt militarization can be intimidating, but I also believe it’s from decades of a dysfunctional policing system where the hierarchy of protections have gone in this order: Property->Laws->People. We NEED to reverse that order. We NEED to end racial profiling and excessive force. It’s also going to include an overhaul of trainings that include bolstered mental health components. Servicemen and women are humans, just like every one of us, so they need the tools to interact and assess accordingly. Maybe most importantly, what we need in this country is accountability. Effective review boards and increased supervision is a disciplinary must. Funding also needs to be re-evaluated, no doubt. That’s what proper police reform will look like.

I’m a big believer that open dialogues are the only way through all this, and that the only way to change the system is to change ourselves in tandem. So, before you start saying all cops are bastards, channel that energy into understanding our system, and continue to march for the cause of changing that, because the “bad cops” are just a symptom of a larger issue.

On The Run

Every few weeks I've been using my spare time at the laundry mat to go on a run. Tonight I decided Id take a literal exercise in perspective to see how far I could carve a way through hell, aka Kensington ave; ground zero to the population I work with and the only horror movie you don't need a netflix account to see.

On these nights I'm typically wearing a beanie, track pants and tonight, my hurling sweatshirt from Ireland. I'm not the most intimidating looking fellow, but I've found in this life when your intentions are strong and pointed, people ether move toward you or away from you based on those intentions.

See exhibit A: about five blocks from the ave. I'm halfway up a block when I sense a group of hispanic homies immediately lock eyes on me, one steps towards the middle of the sidewalk and tilts his chin up. He takes one look at me and steps back. As I stride by one of them mutters, "Oh, hes like a fighter or something." I smile, damn right in my head, and continue to hurdle over what seem like an endless stream of stray cats. Interestingly enough most of them are black. I haven't seen a black cat in a while.

"Pow pow, nugs and nicks" "YO. he said he didn't want the bars" a chorus of soul wrecking invitations all cross my earshot, some of them directed at me. Once I get to the avenue, nobody has enough effort to even notice my existence, except for the police on the corner, probably wondering if my dynamic hamstring stretch on the light post is some kind of secret look out signal.

Forgive, Grow. Kensington Ave. Credit: Tishara Grayson (Tishara Grayson)

As I make my way back down the avenue I start to feel an overwhelming sense of death, transmitted through the nodded out, unconscious users sprawled out on stoops. Some of them have needles in their arms, others are screaming at nothing, and everything. The smell of rotten meat and piss is the only unpleasant sensory experience I find it difficult to block out. When I turn back down the block for the laundry mat I realize the depth of the grid I just added to my mental rolodex, all in just under thirty minutes.

The sad part is, Philadelphia isn't the only city this movie is airing, its happening anywhere people turn a blind eye to the suffering happening all around them, starting with those closest to us. What I've learned in my few short years practicing therapy is that this is a disease of disconnection; a disconnection from spirit, a disconnection from others and a disconnection from self. It doesn't discriminate and it doesn't play favorites.

If you have never struggled with or been addicted to substances, sex, money or food, then you most likely know someone or loved someone who has. I've been upside down before, and the only thing that saved me were the supports I had and my own decision to seek out a greater purpose and meaning from it all.

If you've made it this far, I hope you too are doing something for your personal healing, growth or self care. Share it with the world, you don't know how far it can go.