Curfew, Protests, Change?

I was a junior in High School when the riots began, April 25th, 1992. My memory of that night is dim, but there are parts that stand out. My parents and my brother were out, not sure of where, and I parked myself in front of the television, in complete shock and awe of watching fires take over Los Angeles. I was completely immersed in the news coverage. I watched until I was tired, and went to sleep.

There are significant videos emblazoned in the brain. The act of the police on Rodney King; The verdict being read, and reaction outside the courthouse; Reginald Denny being pulled from his truck. The blazes scorching building after building which fire trucks drove through the city.

Late last week, I had a conversation with a person younger than myself, who was witness to her first protests, riots and looting. I told her what it was like as a teen to see these images in real-time, for the very first time in my life. She was going through those same feelings. So. Many. Feelings. We conversed at-length, she asked questions. Certainly, when I was watching in 1992, I must have asked my parents of the Watts riots, and other events of the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s. Now it was my turn to be the elder statesman and go back in time while pointing out what it was that caused us to live in these times, through these protests, riots and looting.

So. Many. Emotions. It is impossible not to be overcome. The technology and reach has increased, the acts certainly remain the same. I wonder what in the past would have to have been accomplished to avoid where we are. How many leaders tried, how many failed, how many succeeded just to keep from where we are happening earlier in our lives.

Sadly, no matter what the past has done, it obviously failed as a whole. We have not forged ahead to a place where we treat everyone on an equal plain, and we are certainly taking many steps backwards in order to move forward with the right chemistry of smarts, strength, brawn and brains to create opportunity for everyone.

This evening, as I write while under curfew, I feel discouraged. We’re under curfew. I believe, when I was a junior in High School, I was under curfew. I wasn’t allowed out too late, I had to be home at a certain time. 28 years later, I am home, where I will stay until the new day, under a law that restricts my leaving these premises.

We are now multiple nights into these protests, and with each new sunset brings more pent up emotion and energy as to what will happen when the sun is down, and the bodies move along the streets.

Some stories written do not have a clean ending. They are ongoing, and we are left to see where they take us. This one is no different. I may write of hope, but I am writing of what is unknown, where we will go, what progress will be made, what cleanup will be done tomorrow.

There seems to be a pattern. Destroy. Rebuild. What comes after the rebuild is up to those who both declare change will come, and those who are satisfied with the change coming.