Day 240: No Justice. No Peace.

On June 16, 2020, a group of a few hundred people marched through downtown Detroit for the 19th day in a row. The motto is “No Justice. No Peace.” They have seen that their peaceful protests have made a difference in the city of Detroit and around the world. From local legislature of using facial recognition software to Nascar banning the Confederate Flag during their events. Statues are coming down and awareness is rising. Change is happening. But the feet will not stop marching until justice for George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and a long list of black men and women killed from police have witnessed justice.

It is hard to describe the overall tone of the protest. They began the night with speeches in the small Michigan Third Street Park across from the closed MGM Casino building. The speakers spoke of hope and heartbreak, perseverance and perspective. The words, “I can’t get the image out of my head of the life leaving that man’s body as the police officer still kneeled on that man’s NECK!” echoed throughout the downtown corner and rattled our spines. The weight of what we marched for sunk into our bones as we stood up with signs in hand.

The words were held high and onlookers honked their horns with their fists raised out their windows:

“Silence is acceptance”

“Say their names”

“No Racist Police”

“Black Lives Matter”

“If you are fighting for justice today, fight every day”

Chants rang out for every moment and every footstep as drummers drove the beat and the leaders on microphones shouted out into the streets:

“Say his name! George Floyd! Say her name! Breonna Taylor!”

“Hands up! Don’t shoot!”

“No justice, no peace! Fuck these racist ass police!”

“We marchin’! For justice! For our sisters! For our sisters! And our brothers! And our brothers!”

“When black lives are under attack, what’d we do? Stand up, fight back!”

“Show me what democracy looks like! This is what democracy looks like!”

“Black! Lives! Matter!”

As we passed by citizens standing outside their homes or walking on the sidewalk, the chant would shift to “March with us! March with us!” A couple of women standing outside a coffee shop joined the march. A group of young men left their homes to show their support. When families stood with their children, the men with the microphone would remind the crowd that we were marching for them. We were taking action so that the children could have a better and safer life as they grew up.

Blocks turned into miles. 7.5 miles to be exact. Random people handed out water bottles and bags of chips to the marchers for free. One man even carried around a tray of tacos for anyone that was hungry. It was Tuesday, after all. The humid sun beat down on the concrete. Sweat accumulated on backs. Legs were tired and throats were dry. But no one stopped marching. The crowd only grew, spreading out to fill every space of the four lanes roads.

“Who's streets? Our streets! Who’s city? Our city!”

There were no cops. There were no helicopters. There were no barricades. No tear gas, rubber bullets, or mace. No one and no vehicle attempted to stifle the constitutional right of the group of American citizens. There were black people. There were white people. There were people from Asian, Indian, and Mexican descent. But heritage did not matter. We were all there marching for one thing: justice.

For 19 days straight, groups of hundreds to thousands have marched on the streets of Detroit in protest of police brutality, and they will not stop marching until they see justice served for the men and women that should be alive today.