A Walk in Oakland on Ferguson Night

My neighborhood is in one of the safer parts of Oakland, and walking around tonight feels like it usually does, though with some noticeable differences. There is a police car making a looping patrol of the main storefront area, presumably trying to justify his presence here rather than in the hectic areas downtown. That's unusual. Overhead, the sound of helicopters is present, which is also unusual.

There are people strolling around, and quite a few of them look cheerful. There are still plenty of restaurants and coffee shops open, here, doing decent after-work business. I do see one guy, wearing faded pink pants and a light blue top, walking down the street with both hands up in "Don't shoot!" style. At one point he lowers one hand to pull out a smartphone and mess with it a bit. Then he tucks it away and puts his hand back up again, still wandering down the street. He goes past an elderly couple, who notice him and don't seem to mind.

I walk past the area with the restaurants, and go down by the shops, which are pretty much all closed. Big lovely windows are untouched here, and I'm glad. There is a shop that opened not long ago because of a successful kickstarter, that just sells unusual sizes of bra. All closed, all safe. There aren't a lot of people here, just a few who are going in and out of a bar on the other side of the street.

Except this one lady over on my side of the road, who has just started to get out of her car. I make eye contact, which is a habit of mine for better or for worse. She is reasonably well attired, and black, and looks anxious. I do not blame her. She stares back at me with what seems to be distress, and she does not blink. I have written about my friendly facial hair and hat before, but tonight my ensemble is not remotely inviting because I am not in the mood. I look away and just walk on.

I cannot see any helicopters from this part of the street, but I can tell they are up there. I can hear at least two, maybe three. They sound like distant and very large lawn mowers, which they are after a fashion.

There are the dark corners and alleys where one generally does not go or look too closely. This is my neighborhood, though, and so I do, quietly and respectfully. The two people I see there do not notice me. The one in the dark corner behind the barrier at the closed bagel shop is covered in a large ratty blanket. The other, huddled in the stoop by the dark part of the church yard, is facing away from me. It occurs to me that in a world without beds, let alone television or internet, "Michael Brown" is probably just another name.

Coming back around by the coffee shop, I notice that the newspaper vending machine has had one of its doors torn off, and been emptied. The little door is still sitting next to some of the outdoor tables, which are themselves unoccupied. I have not seen that cop car for a while now, and wonder if he got called to somewhere else.

I keep going, past the froyo place, the Chinese restaurant, and the bubble tea shop. I go all the way up to where the street dead ends into the cemetery, gates closed. Here, a woman is sitting in a parked Honda Civic, one arm extended out the open window and holding a cigarette. The arm does not move. She is black, but does not seem to be anxious or moving at all. She does not look up as I approach and I wonder if she is asleep. Walking by, I glance in and see that in her other hand she is holding a smartphone, and is staring with great intensity at what appears to be a game of scrabble.

On my way back down from the cemetery, I pass by a place with a clear view of the southern sky. Off to the east, a cluster of stars is clearly visible and makes the sign of Orion. In the west, a cluster of helicopters is also clearly visible, and makes a very different kind of sign. There are at least four of them. One of the helicopters is closer than the others, lower, and it makes an audibly different sound: higher pitch, louder, different engine. Something is happening.

Passing by the sushi shop on my way home, I see that one of the chefs at the sushi bar is staring up and to his right. He is staring at a television mounted to the wall, and there on TV is I-580 as seen from a helicopter, packed with unmoving cars and protesters on foot. That's maybe a mile away. I could drive down and check it out, but would risk being trapped, really actually trapped, along with everybody else. I could also just walk there, which is what I really want to do. The internet confirms that arrests are already happening, though, which puts an end to that plan. As I walk home, that one song by REM goes through my head, with the video where people get out of their cars and start walking down the freeway, called "Everybody Hurts."