Saturday’s Demonstration #BlackLivesMatter Was Really Something

Nothing profound to say here. I was feeling fluish, but would have been embarrassed not to at least take a peek, seeing as I was already downtown for an AM movie. Had a bowl of mushroom dumpling soup on Second Avenue, and wandered over to Washington Square a little before 2, expecting to see a fun but ragtag group scattering in. Nope. The park was packed.

I forged into the thick of it, and then out along the edge, and back in, hoping to run into a familiar face. But the crowd was already in the thousands, and luck wasn’t with me. It started to move. Waves of chants flowed. Signs were everywhere – homemade, and distributed on the spot.

We shuffled forward, unevenly. Marching was out of the question. But the voices were powerful. Here and there small groups fell back, or surged forward, all being carried in the broad Fifth Avenue river.

As we slowly advanced, I checked my phone. Twitter wasn’t accepting posts, and my connection was bad for Facebook. I noticed others glancing into their palms as well. Video cameras darted around us. On corners, at lightpoles, boys and girls took pictures from their perches. I thought about finding a pole of my own. But I let the crowd carry me forward.

I tried to see ahead of me. I don’t know if I could have seen the front, even if I were taller. I tried to look back. That was more difficult. I was surrounded by a flowing stream of Black and white, mostly young, but some old, some chanting “Hands Up, Don’t Shoot,” others with their hands up. The energy and power were intense. I thought it might carry me to the end.

At Herald Square we turned, and I saw the Manhattan Mall. Bathroom. Across the street I saw Duane Reade. Sudafed. And back across the street I saw the D train. Home.