1991-1992 (5 of 5)

by Kevin Minh Allen
posted 7/14/06

However, when I first saw that struggling figure on the ground and the two policemen wailing on his chest and legs mercilessly an unknown bottled-up rage was released inside of me and it took hold of my emotions. On a primal, defensive level, I wanted to reach through the screen and block those body blows being dealt to this guy who was obviously frightened, disoriented and trying to muster as much energy as possible to escape the nightsticks and tasers. This was just another instance when objective reality did not mesh with the official message taught to us as impressionable kids, that law and order and justice in our society are being soberly meted out in order to maintain public order and to serve the common good. Contrary to what those apparatchik organ grinders said, though, the video camera captured a brutal act of authority against an unarmed civilian. This was definitive evidence of a cruel method to subdue and control another human being, which exposed a customary pattern of physical assault against suspects and harassment of ordinary people based on profiles and ingrained racial prejudice. To say the least, it was unnerving to feel a large chunk of innocence fall away from my faith in humanity.

Even after the prosecution rested its case and clarity was provided as to what exactly happened on that fateful night, it enraged me, as well as other Americans, that the policemen who committed this egregious crime were acquitted, absolved of any guilt. My conscience was screaming at me to count myself among the thousands of others who demanded true justice for a fellow citizen who was obviously wronged. My parents were worried about me when they saw me punching the air after the verdict came in across the TV screen. The words of Malcolm X rang loud and clear to me, and I knew I could never go back to the somnolence of suburban stability. His point of view became my point of view; his anger became my anger; his search for justice became my search. The riots that erupted in LA and touched off conflagrations in other cities around the country lit a fire inside me. The constant struggle for dignity of those from whom it had been consistently denied is a lesson that I will never want to forget. Malcolm Xfs face came more into focus and I understood more clearly than ever the courageous message he was stridently trying to impart to his fellow human beings: it is better to live free than to die a slave.

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