We gathered in the park – people of so many different faiths, so many different ages, so many different skin colors. We came to gather and to pray and to say collectively this isn’t okay. It shouldn’t be like this. One of our own should still be here today, one of our brothers shouldn’t be gone. A mentally ill person shouldn’t be backed into a corner with guns drawn; a 5150 call shouldn’t be responded to by officers on the offensive. Alfred’s life matters.
And then we then marched. I didn’t feel unsafe, I didn’t feel uncomfortable – I felt a bit unsettled. It was peaceful, it was legal – but I didn’t really plan on it, if I’m being honest. I didn’t really expect it. I didn’t wake up that morning thinking I’d be walking in the streets, stopping traffic, waving signs with Alfred’s picture. We were walking by the El Cajon police station – 300 or so strong – and I looked up at the officers staring down at us from their second floor parking garage. We were chanting (“What do we want?”) JUSTICE (“When do we want it?”) NOW and I have to admit it felt a little eerie, staring up at the officers. I wanted to yell “This isn’t against you. We aren’t against you.”
We’re against injustice. I think everyone should be. Read More