I hop on my bike, head north to Williamsburg, where nightly 7 p.m. vigils in McCarren Park for #BlackLivesMatter have become routine. Temperatures are a bit chillier, in the low 60s; I throw a jacket in my backpack.
City parks have been open throughout the quarantine, though since April 1 playgrounds and other park facilities have been closed. The Parks Department this week said solo exercise is okay but team sports (basketball, football, softball, soccer) remain prohibited. “Please maintain at least 6 feet of distance between yourself and others when outside, and avoid congregating in groups.”
I ride northeast on Lynch Street, through a Hasidic neighborhood; as I cross Lee Avenue I see Middleton Playground is open, packed with 100 or more children on slides, swings, other gear. My nearby playgrounds have been locked; I wonder if locals have cut the bolts. (Later, I read that in fact the city tried to weld shut the Middleton Playground gates, to no avail. Apparently bolt cutters also are working in Midwood and Borough Park.)
I’ve often noticed children under 10 playing in Williamsburg without supervision; Hasidic families feel safe in certain blocks. Now sidewalks are filled with kids on bikes, scooters; no one is wearing masks, keeping distance.
I turn north on Union Avenue to McCarren Park, which is divided into four large sections: a large public pool (temporarily closed); tennis courts (reopened this week); an oval running track surrounding playing fields; and large open sections of grass.
I ride around the track section, where perhaps 400 or 500 people, 95 percent white, are running, lifting kettle bells, stretching, playing soccer. Maybe one in 10 has any sort of mask; most wearers have them around their necks. Physical distancing isn’t possible at this density. Soccer players are packed on a pint-sized field with pint-sized portable goals. I’ve never been here at the height of a late spring evening; I can’t say if this is less or more crowded than usual. But it’s as if Covid-19 never existed.
I cross Driggs Avenue, see the vigil, hop off my bike. More than 1,000 people sit silently, spread across three large swaths of grass separated by walking paths; on the central path stand a portable sound system, a few event organizers. Demonstrators sit in separate clusters, all physically distanced. Some hold signs: Say Their Names: George Floyd. Breonna Taylor. Ahmaud Arbery. Tony McDade. David McAtee. #BLM. No Justice No Peace. Everyone I see is masked. In most Brooklyn protests I’ve attended, at least three of five demonstrators have been white; here in gentrified Williamsburg I’d say it’s at least four of five.
Around 7:30 p.m. a young Black man takes the mic, plays acoustic guitar, sings Dylan’s “Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door.” Though he encourages us to sing the choruses, his aggressive, snarl-singing of the harmony part discourages participation.
Another man — he might be South Asian or Black, I can’t tell at this distance — takes the mic, speaks for 10 minutes. He says most of the victims of police violence we hear and read about are Black males; what about mothers, boys, girls? He says New York City’s child welfare agency, the Administration for Children’s Services, has in the past month taken 252 children from their families “because they are Black, Hispanic, immigrant, or poor.”
The speaker asks everyone to take out phones, watch a video of a URL that he reads slowly, repeats; someone holds a sign with the web address. The synchronous video playing fails (I’m not sure why), so he describes the video: police taking a screaming child from the arms of a screaming Black mother who’d sat on the floor, tired, while waiting in line to apply for food stamps, then declined to move. He asks everyone to stand, to commit to defunding ACS; most people dutifully stand.
It’s the first time in three weeks of protests I’ve heard a demonstration message deviate from direct criticism of police. I wonder if that’s a new tactic.
The energy of the vigil feels more dispersed, less joyous than marches or bike rides I’ve witnessed, walked, or ridden in. Another young Black man starts to speak, says how nervous he is. I’ve got a 45-minute ride to The Girlfriend’s, decide to move on.
The next day I venture into another social media morass — I should probably heed The Girlfriend’s advice and stop doing this. A high school classmate says she doesn’t see color; George Floyd did not deserve to die; but “the last thing America needs is to lose police protection in this seemingly Godless country. This also is horrifying.”
Classmate #2 writes, “BLM donations go to the Democratic National Committee. … it’s all about money and power ... they will never lift a person of color out of the ghetto, only a good economy can do that…. President Trump is the best chance they have and that is exactly why we have racial tensions ... Democrats need division.”
Classmate #1: “I concur.”
Without further comment, I drop in a post by FactCheck-dot-org, which explains in detail that in fact #BLM donations are collected using an online fundraising platform used by many lefty groups, ActBlue Charities. (The GOP has a similar platform.) Donations in fact go to the Black Lives Matter Global Network Foundation.
Classmate #1: “Who funds FactCheck-dot-org?”
Classmate #2: “Go to the site to Donate.... they aren't hiding it .... it's all about politics .... Democrats always have been the party of the KKK, ignorant voters is the goal.”
Me: “If you'd like to understand the funding connection, read the FactCheck article. If you'd like to understand the history of the KKK and its connection to party politics, notably the 1964 Civil Rights Act, signed by Democrat Lyndon Johnson, you could do worse than start here.”
Classmate #2: “Lol you are so easily manipulated by which articles you choose to read while ignoring actual History. Here is an actual ad by the Democrat party.”
He posts to a meme with an image from the late 19th or early 20th century that says, “The Democratic Platform is for the white man.”
Me: “I understand the history of the 19th and early 20th C. connections between the KKK & Democratic Party. I'm not erasing it. Nor is the article I cite above. Again, if you'd like to consider the history of how the Deep South states changed from Democratic to Republican over the course of our lifetimes, you could read 1,000 articles and books; the one I linked to above is a decent starting place.”
Classmate #2: “it was the Republicans voting to give blacks a right to vote it was Republicans electing black leadership in the south ... Democrats have nothing but a bunch of race-baiting politicians keeping people ignorant for votes... perhaps you should spend some time listening to conservative black Men instead of race-baiting liberals... Conservatives are much more intelligent ... Democrats had to hang up the hood and figure another way to control the negro... If you wanna keep the black man in the ghetto vote Democrat if you want to give him opportunity vote Republican. President Trump 4 more years !!!”
He adds a meme showing Robert C. Byrd, the late West Virginia senator who in mid-career disavowed his youthful Klan membership, kissing Hillary Clinton.
I let it alone.
Later, I eschew comment on another thread, in which my missionary acquaintance links to Vice President Pence’s Wall Street Journal opinion piece that says the media is overblowing threats of Covid-19, touts the administration’s work to date. (He fails to cite national deaths: 120,000 and counting).
A few respondents take issue. One writes, “Remember there were approximately 58,000 deaths in Vietnam in about 10 years, and look at the national impact that created.”
Missionary: “Vietnam deaths were young healthy men. Often with young wives and children. The character of the pandemic toll is very different. Heck, it could even be a solution to Social Security insolvency.”
Me: “Yes! Let’s take out grandmothers, like my 89-year-old mother, and diabetics, like my 30-something nephew! They’re a burden on society! Let’s keep spreading the virus in poorer neighborhoods, since they’re contributing too little to our tax rolls! Let’s use Covid-19 to balance the budget!”
I delete it.
Me: “You call yourself a Christian?”
I delete that, too, sigh, close my laptop.
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