Dale Garrett

March 7, 2015 at 2:05pm





At 12:20 on May 11, 2011, I saw a plainclothes policeman shoot and kill a man on the streetcorner outside my studio window. I heard no yelled warning, no "Stop! Police!" - just someone yelled, I turned to look, and one guy in streetclothes killed another guy in streetclothes. In broad daylight.
Today, a group of my neighbors staged a die-in here, with a prayer for Dale Garrett at 12:20, the same time he was shot.

They were marching to protest the militarization of our police forces, while our police forces protected their ability to do so. Armed policemen blocked traffic while statistics were written with chalk in the crosswalk, detailing how many unarmed citizens have been killed by police and how many officers have been charged.






The speaker of the group, the one with the megaphone, was eloquent and succinct, addressing the military hardware coming back from two wars, and the military tactics that have come with them. Questioning the PTSD symptoms that such tactics suggest. Talking about Dale and Africa, two of the many black men killed by police in Los Angeles. I was moved to tears, and prayed with them, then joined them and walked with them a bit.

There was respect all around. Respect for the law by those openly questioning those whom we pay to enforce it. Respect from the enforcers, treating it like any parade or funeral where they're called upon to create a path through the chaos. It is such a gut-wrenching problem, and here it is like a play on a stage in front of me.

You file with the city for a permit to allow you to lie down in the street and protest police activity, while police watchfully keep you from getting run over.
We live in strange times.