And Another One Goes Down
His name was Alton Sterling.
He was my age—37 years old.
He was out hustling. Selling CDs. Like the guys I used to see when I was walking out of the subway back home in New York City were selling videotapes and books (and eventually DVDs).
He had a gun that was in his pocket because of friend of his had gotten mugged not that long ago. But Louisiana is a state where you can carry if you're over 17 years of age.
He was standing outside of a minimart after midnight early Tuesday in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.
Someone called the cops on him. The cops showed up.
They threw him up against a car.
They restrained him. Immobilized him.
And shot him in the body several times.
You can watch the video here, if you're inclined.
I'm not inclined to watch it again.
I'm tired. Exhausted, really.
Because I don't expect anything to happen.
Because both officers' body cameras happened to come loose and fail at the same time.
Because he did have a weapon on him.
Because his record (and he did have a somewhat extensive one) will be viewed in some quarters as justification for his being restrained and plugged in the chest and back repeatedly. So I expect his mugshot to be plastered from coast to coast—assuming that the major cable networks can pry themselves away from covering the latest insane rambling from a demagogic megalomaniac, the electronic chicanery from the other presidential candidate, and the complete and utter inaction of an elected legislative branch that will continue to probe into the meaningless while doing their best to avoid any actual fucking work.
Because Eric Garner was put into a fucking chokehold on video...and nothing happened.
Because Freddie Gray apparently, somehow, managed to break his own neck in the back of a van.
Because this story has happened before. I know how its going to end even before the next chapter has been written.
Because we've become numb.
Or at least, I know I have.
He was my age—37 years old.
He was out hustling. Selling CDs. Like the guys I used to see when I was walking out of the subway back home in New York City were selling videotapes and books (and eventually DVDs).
He had a gun that was in his pocket because of friend of his had gotten mugged not that long ago. But Louisiana is a state where you can carry if you're over 17 years of age.
He was standing outside of a minimart after midnight early Tuesday in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.
Someone called the cops on him. The cops showed up.
They threw him up against a car.
They restrained him. Immobilized him.
And shot him in the body several times.
You can watch the video here, if you're inclined.
I'm not inclined to watch it again.
I'm tired. Exhausted, really.
Because I don't expect anything to happen.
Because both officers' body cameras happened to come loose and fail at the same time.
Because he did have a weapon on him.
Because his record (and he did have a somewhat extensive one) will be viewed in some quarters as justification for his being restrained and plugged in the chest and back repeatedly. So I expect his mugshot to be plastered from coast to coast—assuming that the major cable networks can pry themselves away from covering the latest insane rambling from a demagogic megalomaniac, the electronic chicanery from the other presidential candidate, and the complete and utter inaction of an elected legislative branch that will continue to probe into the meaningless while doing their best to avoid any actual fucking work.
Because Eric Garner was put into a fucking chokehold on video...and nothing happened.
Because Freddie Gray apparently, somehow, managed to break his own neck in the back of a van.
Because this story has happened before. I know how its going to end even before the next chapter has been written.
Because we've become numb.
Or at least, I know I have.
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