Not to the Swift

Chapter 15

"Why are we here?" Bishop Simms hollered into a megaphone that carried a metallic voice across the several dozen protestors outside New Hope. "We are here to say 'No more!'

"Just like young Chris, we are automatic 'suspects' based on nothing more than the color of our skin." Bishop Simms paused for the crowd's furious response. "And the aim of those in power is to do to us what was done to Chris, what the murderous officer-so-called reported to his superiors right after he shot down an unarmed teen in cold blood.

"They want us to be neutralized, too."

The crowd erupted with anger, the terms used over police communications fresh in their minds. Signs waved and fists shot into the air, their owners chanting or even screaming out slogans against Stapleton and general police brutality.

Simms let their fury simmer a moment before continuing. "Neutralized, marginalized, penalized—kept down and forced to conform to the unjust and unfair status quo. But we are here to say 'No more!' Can I get an amen?"

On the outskirts of the crowd, police cruisers flashed their lights and forced the passersby to move away, regardless of their stated intent.

"We are going to make our stance known to the powers that be," Simms declared. "When the officers and the captain of Precinct One Twelve look out their windows, they will not see an intimidated bunch of 'suspects' huddling in the shadows, scared of those who claim to 'protect and serve.' They'll see a strong community standing up as one. Who's with me?"

The crowd cheered, and Simms pointed the way. "Forward!" They spread across the closed road and snaked their way south two blocks. Simms made some last minute meeting arrangements by text message with other protest leaders, then took a place in the back half of the procession.

The flashing lights moved behind the crowd. Two police cruisers rolled slowly at a respectful distance, monitoring the peaceful demonstration for any sign of escalating violence. Simms looked over his shoulder and watched them. You want to follow along with your flashing lights calling more attention to our message, that's fine with me.

Bishop Simms grinned wide. "The message is going out loud and clear," he called to the gathering. "A message for all America to hear, from coast to coast, cities far and near: We will not be chained up by fear!"

Some of the New Hope Tabernacle choir members began a spiritual at the front of the procession. The bishop checked his phone and smiled. "People all across the inner city are getting together right now, marching in support of Chris Washington and racial justice."

The flashing red and blue hues mixed in the soft yellow streetlights, creating dancing shadows on the brown brick homes and asphalt streets. Simms thought back to his teens, listening to radio broadcasts reporting the true heroes, those civil rights giants who braved so much more difficulty and resistance to get their message out.

I always wanted to march on some southern capital, to ditch class and take my place on the streets fighting for my people. To stare down the fire hoses and police dogs, to spend a night in jail with a bunch of fellow students, dreaming of what it was going to be like once we won.

A frown formed on the bishop's face. Things hadn't turned out the way he'd dreamed they would so many years ago. Victory was declared, legislation got passed, and we won the war for our freedom. Practically had a "Mission Accomplished" moment on the aircraft carrier of race relations in America. And then we found out the hardest part was winning the peace.

Simms raised his voice and turned on the megaphone, unconcerned if anyone was listening. "Listen up, suburbia! Listen up, White America! We're not going to be branded and labeled like terrorists any more. We're not accepting Third World living conditions any more. We won't be treated like insurgents, and you won't turn our homes and communities into war zones. We are Americans too, and we're pursuing our happiness. Deal with it!"