It's Time

What a remarkable time we live in—first the pandemic, now the marches. The looting by opportunists (and other bad elements trying to exploit the situation politically) has been distracting, but I am glad to see many of the news reports noting that most of the marches are peaceful and that the message is getting across. Let's hope it results in meaningful change — and spurs people to vote in November. Changes at the top would be a good first step.

I was discussing with my daughter what was going on. As she already understood, I mentioned that even though I/we are people of color (and I am the child of immigrants), I know I haven’t experienced the kind of institutional racism that black Americans go through during most of their lives—to be on guard and reminded of their race nearly every day without the luxury of just being themselves and being able to go wherever they like without fear of being profiled or harassed, let alone not being able to enjoy the same opportunities for advancement and social mobility as other people “privileged” by the color of their skin.

My wife occasionally reminds me (especially at times like these) that she was born in L.A. during the Watts Uprising in the 1960s. I was not in L.A. yet, but we did together witness the 1992 Rodney King Riots—that year, like this past weekend, I watched on live TV via helicopter shots the looting of a local business I was familiar with. Back in ‘92, it was a now-defunct Federated Department store, just 2 miles from me (which today is a Target store, though there are actually now two other Targets even closer to me). Yesterday, it was the looting of an REI sporting goods store in Santa Monica that I’ve been to several times; I’m also familiar with the shopping area looted in Long Beach, across from the Long Beach Convention Center.

In ‘92, I recall how jarring it was to see the National Guard at my local grocery store—I didn’t find anything really threatening about their presence other than the fact that it was jarring to see armed military personnel in my neighborhood, like a police state. (The day after the King riots, in an attempt at some normalcy, we went to Santa Monica for brunch with another couple—though it did feel a bit surreal to be having a pleasant lunch on the patio while we could see columns of smoke in the distance.)

So here we are again—I’m not sure I ever thought I’d never see anything like this again, but of course, given what’s been going on in this country—especially over the last four years—it shouldn’t be a surprise. Especially with a leadership in Washington that has no understanding they are supposed to represent the interests of all Americans while regularly demonizing people of color and immigrants, and pandering to a small extremist base.

Rather than linger on all that though, I’d like to talk about the moments of hope I saw amidst all the chaos:

Like watching local news report that most demonstrators were peaceful except for those looters whose actions only served to overshadow and co-opt the message of the protests.

Seeing residents and others in the areas affected coming out to reach out to the storeowners and help clean up—one person remarked in a news interview, “These looters have only made more victims.”

Watching a young female protester—holding a sign that said “Stop All Violence”—courageously stand in front of the front doors of the REI Store to prevent looters from breaking in despite some looters trying to pull her away, and being joined by an African-American male, before someone threw a smoke bomb to make her disperse. (The store, of course, was later ransacked.)

Seeing a looter return to the scene of the crime and return what he had stolen the night before to the store owner, explaining he was homeless but felt badly about what he had done.

Seeing scattered reports of police officers expressing support for the protesters and condemning the murder of George Floyd by another police officer.

I know I’m generally an optimist, but it’s moments like these that give me hope.