Tale of a Beautiful People: A Complete Spectrum
Today is December 19, 2015, and it is currently 1:41pm. Who cares what time it is one may ask. The answer is, me! There has never been a time more important than now to be politically, economically, and spiritually active. This country has seen many revolutions over the course of it’s history, but the Chicago Communal Revolution is one of epic importance. Why do I chase protests on a day such as today; seeking to find a peripheral to utilize all of the energy I have held captive inside of me? Actually, it was yesterday (December 18, 2015), but I haven’t slept so it doesn’t count. I do it because I’ve been searching my whole life for a place I can find a giant bath tub of love.
Freedom is love. Freedom, to me, is the absence of oppression; be it external or internal. When looking from an individual perspective, my bad habits, cognitive processes, biases, and lack of knowledge all hold me down. Taming them is truly a man’s defining accomplishment. Well, today, none of those negative qualities mattered. I was a freedom fighter, I was an outcast, and I was a rebel! That didn’t make it a loving atmosphere; that was done by the hundreds of other people who showed up to support African people here in America, and internationally.
There were at least one hundred white people who stood, and marched, and fought, and cried, and screamed with us. It filled me with a joyful spirit that gave me moments of flight; as if God himself was carrying me across the city. I’m not talking about one event either, because I was up early this morning at midway airport blocking traffic to the country’s 25th largest airport. That event was an appetizer though. It was amazing, and invigorating. It was powerful, well organized, strategic, and effective, but indeed it left me thirsty for more.
I walked across the street contemplating the evening’s revolt. I stopped in Dunkin Donuts for my usual medium coffee, 1 cream, and 1 sugar, and a white woman paid for my coffee. She walked out as I looked at the cashier, hot tears teetering on the lids of my eyes. My body was given strength, as if God knew I would need more love to fight the evil that was laying before me. As I boarded the CTA orange line train towards the loop from Midway, I saw a beautiful young black sister that I had seen several times during the demonstration. She smiled at me, with the secretive insiders smile. The smile that says, we aren’t robots, and society hasn’t been programmed to interpret it.
We spoke for a short time, but I was very captivated by this woman. It felt as if I had met her before. Not just that, she is my Black sister feeling either. But anyway, I asked her how she found out about the airport demonstration. She explained that she had met the organizer at the Black Friday Protests last month. We ended up talking for a nice moment, and somehow she mentioned that she was a civil rights attorney. I was shocked, only because she looked so young. She asked me about how long I’ve been writing, and I told her going on five years, but I took a hiatus. It was a very intriguing conversation, but even more, it reminded me of the progress that Black people have made. I spent the next 15 minutes on the train in silence, gazing blankly out the window; for once I was allowed to soak up the feeling of success.
I got off the orange line at Roosevelt, and rode back south into the city. I had lost my headphones at the demonstration, so I couldn’t drown the world out with music like I usually do. That was actually a blessing, and allow me to explain why. Had I been wearing them, I would’ve never spoke to that woman on the train, and I would’ve never heard God when he spoke. I found myself on the last car of the train soliciting information to patrons about the coming protest, and explaining my love and good wishes for them. I spoke to them about my sheer hatred for Black on Black violence in my neighborhoods. I explained that I’d sacrifice my life in defense of any of our children. When I finished with each car of the train, I told them how much I loved them, and to keep us in their prayers if they couldn’t make it to the protest. One old lady was sitting down, and she stopped me after my speech with her soft, beautiful, and experienced voice. She removed her tan wool glove from over her beautifully aged caramel black hands, and spoke to me, “I want to shake your hand baby, thank you”. I instantly rebutted, while reaching out my hand, “no, I am shaking your hand, I remember the Chicago School Movement; I’m just picking up where you left off Queen.” She smiled, and I shook her hand, and walked away quickly before tears began to flow from my eyes. Yes, I am very emotional for some odd reason.
I stopped at the house for no particular reason at all. I flopped onto the futon for 10 minutes then, got up to leave for the next protest. I got downtown and stood in front of the place for 30 minutes until it was about to start. I then started to ask questions. Well, comes to find out, I’ve been standing in the wrong darn spot for all this time, and missed the very beginning of the protest. There was at least 100 people there when I got there. By mid-demonstration, that number would grow to at least 600-700 people.
The crowd listened on as the event organizer, Ja’Mal, and a few other important revolutionaries addressed the public. They began to get the crowd pumped through the use of energetic, catchy, and exciting chants. Maybe 1 hour into the revolt, and I looked around, and there were every type of happy, enthusiastic, angry, disgusted, and united people there is on this planet. I mean people of all races, social class, and cultures. Hell, there was even a woman there from Ferguson. I ran, at least countless amounts of times, from the frontline to the rear ranks to both spread information, and to talk to these people. I got a chance to help white people, brown people, red people, and yellow people. See, that’s the thing about revolutions; they unite people! Which leads me to know that a revolution is the removal of the veil of hatred, prejudice, envy, jealousy, and self-loathing.
The protest lasted at least five hours. I’d hate to be the blogger dishing out inaccurate information, so I’ll leave that to someone else to publish. They key of this blog is to tell you that there is no better feeling than the freedom that love provides. Love is protection, caring, sacrifice, compromise, gentleness and sometimes firmness. All of these things were laid on the line today to call for the unity of all Chicagoans, to demand justice for Laquan McDonald, and to remove Rahm Emmanuel and Anita Alvarez from their current positions. What do I want you to take from this? Get up and fight, or lay down and be brutalized. Either way the whips will crack; my wounds will be on my face, as opposed to my back. Signing off, but never offline.
Written By: Eugene ‘Geno’ Stanley