Fighting the Power in NYC
With the help of Angela Davis
Everything changed after he read “To Kill a Mockingbird”.
Nobody understood the drastic change, nobody could explain it. One thing was sure. It was radical.
He started going to the local library daily and reading about his country, the USA, pre-civil war, and during its aftermath.
It had a profound impact on him and his outlook on life. He became a lot more thoughtful and reflective.
He would ask questions that were difficult to answer during that time, the Seventies.
Ol’ Pete would also do chores and endeavors that he’s never done before. For no visible gain, except for the benefit of others. He had a few black friends from his job at the car factory. He would ask them questions too.
He was on a mission of discovery.
Then, one day, he decided to take matters into his own hands.
He came up with a plan to help the needy and destitute wherever that might be. And of whatever color.
At first, it didn’t look like there’d be any trouble with the newly adopted behavior, but as soon as he entered the ghetto, trouble found him.
It was a forbidden zone for whites.
But he wasn’t fazed by it. He loaded his van with food and toys and he didn’t look back.
After a while, the people not only recognized the van from afar, they quickly spread the word that “he’s here!”. They sympathetically gave him the nickname “White Pops”.
That became the highlight of his day.
And theirs.
But resentment was brewing among the blacks who didn’t want him there, who didn’t trust him. The embedded racism born out of hatred and bitterness.
His most ardent fans were the children.
It didn’t matter the weather, as soon as he showed up, they’d surround his van like in the Wild West with the wagons.
Mothers started to come around, expressing their gratitude. It was a beautiful sight to see.
But it didn’t last long. Not only were some locals opposed to his actions, the Farrakhan Nation of Islam people started blocking access to him and his van.
He tried to explain he was only helping with non-perishables and toys.
They knew all that. They knew he didn’t ask for anything in return.
They could see the man was doing the right thing, and most folks in that impoverished neighborhood were down on their luck.
It didn’t matter. He was white and that’s all they saw.
They would punch 2 tires at a time. They would graffiti-paint his van with Nazi symbols and satanic stars.
Yet, he’d come back the next day.
Right when tempers were reaching dangerous levels, the mothers came out with their own weapons. Pots and pans, hair spray containers, and brooms. To make matters worse for the Farrakhan people, they also brilliantly brought out the paintball guns.
Mothers, 1 — Nation of Islam, 0.
TKO. No rematch.
For quite a while, events in the ghetto were normal. There was peace and communion. Folks were grateful that the ugly times came to pass. He was fed delicious homemade cooking from “the mothers” who also gave him banana bread and fresh guava to take back home to his own family. And fish with potatoes. And Mom’s Marmalade; a crowd favorite.
But, as life turns out, good things never last too long.
Suddenly one day, he encountered a surprise note stuck to his windshield that read: “Cease and disease (sic) what your (sic) doing or you WILL regret it, nigger lover”
— The KKK
That one struck him to his core. It put him in a state between repulsion and anger. Between desolation and despair.
He somewhat regained his composure when one of the mothers, noticing his distressful mood, wisely told him that it could have been a prank from one person. That he should “pay it no mind”.
But it wasn’t to be. Soon, cops from different precincts started harassing him daily for no reason at all.
They would break a taillight and give him a ticket. They would follow him home and harass him on the telephone.
They would block his driveway and even put yellow tape across his yard.
In no time, the situation became unsustainable. Unfortunately for him, the mothers couldn’t help him right now.
He was living in Babylon. All on his own.
His wife and children weren’t spared either. They had many supporters, but quantity-wise, more racists against them. Way more.
The situation was getting dire and reaching a boiling point.
Bricks were thrown against their windows. More threatening notes, more scaring tactics. There was no police to call. Even if some of them were against all that abuse, they still followed their code. “We were all brothers. We’re together. All for one and one for all.”
She walked with an inimitable swag that people recognized at a distance.
When she spoke, people listened.
Her presence alone was a sign of authority.
Everybody knew who she was. She was as fearless as she was powerful.
Her name was Angela Davis.
And she stepped into this scene without a care in the world.
She had a huge army of supporters ready for anything. Some said she was the most dangerous woman in America.
Most believed it. On many occasions, she proved that she was, and more.
She made it her cause to help Ol’ Pete. And she took matters as she always did, very seriously.
Wearing black camouflage for intimidation, she visited every precinct in NYC. With her troops not far behind her. And more standing guard outside.
The top cops could no longer enter their own houses, never mind their precincts.
The entire lot of the police dept of the city of New York was completely paralyzed.
Capitulation didn’t take long. The desperate police brass took orders and followed them with precision from a civilian.
From a woman, and from the first time in the history of America.
And all because a simple man wanted to feed the needy and give the little children a toy.
Beautiful, powerful, honest and simple, thank you 🙏🏻