Last night like many cities across America, the streets of Boston were filled with protesters making their voices heard after a New York grand jury ruled that no charges would be filed in the Eric Garner case. Two members of our own #KillerCrew, Olivia Slaughter and Yasmine Julmisse were right in the heart of things and share their personal experiences and insights on the protests. Images shot by Olivia Slaughter.
Hearts pounding in our chests, I assembled with other college students and people of all races and nationalities to take part in the modern day revolution. By the thousands we gathered with our voices strong, and our messages clear. Starting at The State House and screaming through the fireworks and performances of the annual Tree Lighting, surrounded by cops mocking the crowds, the people’s voice was finally the loudest of all. Black Lives Matter echoed through the financial district. Protests blocked off Lincoln and Essex’s for at least two hours. At one point the protesters infuriated people so much that a white woman got out of her car to call me, in particular a nigger. I watched as a car stuck in traffic hit 6-8 civilians, the cops ran over to stop civilians instead of stopping the car to charge them with a hit and run. Tensions are high, but work is getting done. As I was leaving I heard some one mutter that ,” Okay, well I am glad this is done.” Little do they know that this is far from over, they have awoken the sleeping giant and we will not rest until justice is served.
Olivia Slaughter
Walking against winds that were whipping my face, in air that reached temperatures low enough to freeze tears, I listened to the sounds that the winds carried. Though I hadn’t reached my destination, I heard chants, cries, and proclamations that I knew represented the hundreds of voices I would be amongst.
It was a sweet, but sad song.
As I got closer, and the song grew louder, my eyes fell on a sea of neon green high lighted vests, with the words BOSTON POLICE embedded on them. Besides a handful of them, most of the beings in these vests were silent, onlooking what was before them. I focused in on what was past them, what made this sea of men and woman ( I only saw one) speak no words.
The first protestor I saw had bright headlights illuminating her whole body. I studied her; she was white, and laying face up on the asphalt of the street, not saying a word, yet looking comfortable in the physical position she was in. The headlights from the cars less then 7 feet away from her continued to cast a glare on her, and the other protesters,who yanked my eyes off of her.
I saw black faces, yellow faces, white faces – all with painted with despair. Their bodies kneeled down holding signs, or just holding their hands up in a “don’t shoot” position, blockading 3 rows of cars filling the street, from their commute.
I watched as protestors covered each side of one the busiest intersections in Downtown Boston. At a 90 degree angle to the kneeling protestors, stood more citizens blocking traffic coming in their direction. My body moved me towards them, and sang their song just as loud. I reached for the hand to the left of me, and snapped out of my daze within the protest to notice we were both dumb enough not to be wearing gloves. I glanced at her face and saw a hopeful smile of a Hispanic 20-something year old meet mine. She was happy I grabbed her hand. She was happy to be apart of the fight.
A body filled the space to my right and grabbed my hand too, as the words “no justice, no peace, no racist police” rang through the air. I could not see the faces in the cars further back, because of the headlights of the cars right in front of us. The faces in those cars we were having a direct stand off with showed every possible emotion. One man parked his car, and got out. He approached us saying that this demonstration was “fucking ridiculous” because he need to get home to his daughter who was sick. It was then that I realized I walked into a traffic standstill that had started way before my arrival. A car about 9 feet away from the protestors to the left of me in our chain, beeped his horn for about a minute straight. It conflicted with our song, but we kept singing. I saw a black woman emerge from the lines of cars, clapping her hands walking towards us. I couldn’t hear her cries, but by the look in her eyes I felt what she was saying.
A white woman, who wasn’t a day younger than 65, held a sign that read “They don’t shoot white women like me.”
One woman walked past me and one walked up to me, both of them with cough drops in their hands and offering them to our peers.
About 45 minutes deep into our protest, I looked at one side of the intersection and saw a crowd walking towards us, on the side walk and in between the still cars. Though the headlights made them shadows in my vision, I heard “no justice, no peace” as they marched up our way. And when they finally reached us..
I saw even more diversity, even more passion, even more distress. Our voices joined as we yelled “Eric Garner, Michael Brown, shut this racist system down” I saw Asians, I saw Middle Easterners, I saw Blacks, I saw Whites. During our chant, a red headed white man to the left of me looked up towards the stars, and let out a mournful cry. I felt the pain in his outburst and immediately squeezed my eyes shut.
With my eyes closed, I let the power from this chant of our choir engulf me..
Walking back to my car I witnessed two necessary things.
On my right, I saw two young black men, facing off with a line of police officers, passionately stating their piece. My body brought me towards them so I could hear what was being said. These police officers had black material over their mouths, due to the cold, so you could only see their eyes. One black man on the left was saying “If I choked one of you out on camera, what would happen?” as the one on the right kept crying “Y’all let him die. Y’all let him die.” From the rest of the conversation, I found out one of the cops asked them “What about black on black crimes?” to which the one on the left answered “You’re trying to equate normal civilians to cops, you have a badge. You have authority and power in the US”
The next thing I witnessed was a protest underground.
In trying to escape the cold, I decided to walk through the train stations to get to my car. As I walked up the stairs to the green line platform at the Park Street station, for the first time ever, I saw hundreds of people on that platform standing still. No fast-paced walking to reach a destination. No running to catch a departing train. Just people standing and shouting, demanding justice.When I reached the top of the stairs and a full view of the station became visible, I saw people also standing on benches and on the actual train tracks. Hundreds. They were banging on columns and posts that showed train directions. I saw train employees shouting with the people. Then my eyes were diverted to two policemen who stood there, mouths shut, as the chants continued to fill the air.
After my involvement with their train protest, I took the stairs to exit the station, and continue on to my car. As the voices became more faint, my heart grew heavier at the realization of the war that had just (I use the term “just” loosely) begun.
Yasmine L. Julmisse