When you are young you see the world through a naive, unknowing looking glass. I was born on February 18, 1999, the year of the rabbit. In Chinese culture, the rabbit symbolizes hope for long time, it is loving and it is kind. Unbeknownst to me years to come I’d lose faith in one of the qualities. 14 days before my birth an event creating an unofficial American tradition transpired. February 4, 1999 in the Bronx, New York and unarmed West African Immigrant was shot at 41 times by four white police officers. Amadou Diallo was killed in front of his building after he came back to his home which he shared with roommates who were unaware that Diallo had even left the apartment.
More than a dozen stray bullets hit different points of the building. It took the medical examiner more than 10 hours to examine and figure out how many out of the 41 bullets hit Diallo. The officers who were responsible of the murder of Amadou Diallo were not tried until February of 2000. It took the jury of Albany all of two days to deliberate and conclude that the officers should be acquitted. Amadou Diallo’s family filed a 61 million dollar lawsuit for the wrongful death of their son, $20 million plus $1 million for each shot fired at their son. Eventually they accepted a much smaller $3 million dollar settlement. The life-after for the officers weren’t much different than expected. They returned to their regular lives whilst a young man’s did not get the same luxury. Amadou Diallo was robbed of his life at the hands of those who are expected to serve and protect.
You hear things on T.V. and things on the radio when you are younger you never pay it much mind, because what 11 year old is that consciously and socially aware? Police brutality is something you hear of on television and read about in your history books but not something you see in front of your own eyes. A long-time family friend, someone who I thought to be something along the lines of a brother to me was robbed. Not of jewelry, money, not a materialistic yet replaceable item, but of his life. If my memory of this doomsday was any clearer I’d be reliving it. It was a regular sunday on Hoffman Street, tranquil. Compared to the rest of South Philly our block was calm, we were all like family, always there for each other. We all had some sort of relationship with each other but some were stronger than others. My brothers were really tight with “H”; he looked out for my youngest brother Myles which made our older brother Darren respect him. May of 2010 was scorching.
I distinctly remember the 2nd of May 2010, my mom sat on the steps with her friends and watched me play with my friends on the block. We were all friends, all our parents knew each other and trusted each other. At the other end of the block my brother and his friends brought out five or six water guns and started filling up water balloons. It was wholesome, good wholesome fun like we always had. But suddenly there was a shift in the vibe, something was off, something wasn’t right. It felt like a twilight zone, all I could hear was the shots ringing out. I felt my brother scoop me up off the pavement and rush me into the house. I was dazed, I lived in the hood so gun shots weren’t a foreign thing to me but it’s never been so close to home. Before Myles could run out the door my mom grabbed him by the shirt and said “Have you lost your damn mind? Didn’t you hear them shots, Myles?”, all Myles could say was “Rudolph shot Howard, he shot all of them mom, in my face”. Howard? He couldn’t be talking about our Howard, he couldn’t be serious. Rudolph Gary, a Philadelphia police officer, shot and killed Howard “H” Williams. Howard’s death left us all so numb that the block was a desert the entire summer. No one felt safe anymore, the family we all took so much pride in was now tainted. That’s when I lost my faith and hope in law enforcement. My brother watched someone he grew up with die at the hands of someone he trusted, a police officer, all over water guns.
I still think of Howard and how his death changed me. Howard is the reason why I stand up and I speak my truth. I will not let his death or others whose lives have been taken at the hands of law enforcement be in vain. If I have to stand alone and shout out until I take my last breath to bring an end this undying cycle I will. Howard’s blood stained our streets so how are we supposed to move on? My brothers trauma is still imbedded into him so how can we forget? I thought I had the world in my hand, I used to see the world through a fogged looking glass, but now they have me and my people in their hand, and that once fogged looking glass is clear as day.