Off the Beaten Path
Bog Spring Branch and McGee Creek
McGee Creek Natural Scenic Recreation Area, Atoka, OK
Kite Trail and the Forty Foot Hole
Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge
Indiahoma, OK
Once you get past all the forest and plains, your eyes are laser drawn to a rock landscape that seems almost alien for the area. Much of what I understood Oklahoma to be was flat and drab, but since my path has led me here for the unforeseeable future, I've been put into a position of seeking the state's hidden gems or suffer creative fatigue.
Not much of a short drive, rather one that would require an entire day of planning coming from where I currently reside, but well worth the journey, ours beginning in Durant. Three and a half hours and a speeding ticket later, and we finally made it to Indiahoma and the gorgeous Wichitas. Originally, we had planned to hike a trail in Charon's Garden, which shares a name with its namesake. Unfortunately, not arriving soon enough, we were forced to turn away, but not before a quick chat with a park ranger who filled us in on some other notable points within the refuge, thus leading us to the Kite Trail.
The Kite Trail is quite easy and offers many vistas that are worthwhile, but to really experience the wonder of this area, one must venture off the beaten path. As long as you stay along the canyon river's path, all is well. Travel far enough, and you will find yourself surrounded on all sides by rock faces. Inadvertently, and only upon examination of the map in hindsight, we had trekked across the Forty Foot Hole, which wasn't so much of a hole, but just a deep point in the canyon. Many photos from this day, but MUCH more video content, which I will share when the project is completed. Until then, enjoy some of these images I captured.
This trip was very much so a "scout" but I was still able to gather quite a bit of usable content. Love it when things just work out like that.
Bog Spring Branch and Little Bugaboo
McGee Creek Natural Scenic Recreation Area
Atoka, OK
The new work week has begun, and this one has a bittersweet feeling that is unusual for me. Typically, I dwell on passed weekends while yearning for the future, and though those feelings still remain, I am oddly present at this very moment; happy where life is and not worried about what will become. A lot of this has to do with the fact that I am able to find time to frequently explore the beautiful ruggedness that Oklahoma has to offer, and of all these places I have searched, McGee Creek has offered some of the most stunning beauty, quiet seclusion, as well as ease of accessibility by comparison to some other locations I have been. I am not saying that trekking through these woods isn't difficult, but all one needs is a little patience, some spatial awareness, and quick reflexes if they are to travel through safely, and of course a compass and plenty of water. I say that last part with great emphasis, for nature has reclaimed a vital trail of the park, vanishing among tall gras and fallen trees from the region's latest storm, which left me no choice but to forge my own path in the general direction of the old trail by staying along the creek bed, For I knew by the map that by doing so I would eventually come upon another trail.
A person can take this information in many different ways, such as myself, at first upset I could not easily navigate, let alone find the trail, but joyed when I saw that the recent rains had filled up the creek the most I had ever seen it filled. To top it off, the water was blue, relatively clear, and and actually running. No stagnation. A truly beautiful sight to behold. And the silence. All-consuming. so silent, in fact, that even among the trickling sound of water and swaying trees, I could hear a crawdad rustling away in some dead leaves some twenty or more feet away. Venturing off-trail can be quite dangerous, and most do not recommend doing so, but I have an adventurous spirit that cannon be tamed and possess somewhat of an eidetic memory when it comes to my surroundings. Plus, going off-trail offers a person a view of the world that many may not have experienced, and repels those less-spirited in doing so. In that moment, when you have gone rather deep, when you are all-alone, you feel you are the only person in the world and that nothing else matters except for that very instance. Some say this is a sign of happiness: to not think of the past, future, or present, but rather simply be in the moment.
My whole purpose for frequenting McGee Creek is for two reasons: first of all, I am seeking a landmark known as Cabbage Head Rock, a geological phenomenon that seems to defy the physical world but is actually quite common, wherein one will come across a mushroomed rock feature balancing upon itself, seemingly teetering upon a pinnacle, just waiting for the next powerful wind to topple it over but never succeeding. This milestone is important for myself, for it will be the furthest I've traveled into the area alone, and rests on the far southwestern edge of the park. Getting here will give me a good lay of the land at the south of the park, which leads me to my second reason. I am completely committed and determined to learn this park as if it were the back of my hand, intent on exploring the entire length of trails, and them some, wherein I plan to cut through much of the park to access some of the park's unchartered territories.
Becoming familiar with this land has become quite a tasking passion project, one that may border upon the line of obsession, but I cannot bring myself to stop. My "obsession," however, has allowed me to be placed in a position I had not expected to find myself: I am capturing more footage and photos than I can readily keep up with publishing. This is a good but again bittersweet feeling, for I love having so much content to choose from than I know what to do with, but I am less than thrilled to know how difficult it is to share it all. With that being said, I will look at this little problem as a true gift, for there are many creatives out there that I know feel restricted, coming upon a creative block that is brought on by lack of inspiration externally and within. I know this because I was this way before. It takes a lot of patience and introspection to get passed this hurdle, but once you do, you feel you could take off so fast that you could fly away. All it really takes to get there is to get moving.
Just keep moving.
THE CITY AT NIGHT
May 15, 2021
Day 4; "Kaleidoscope Eyes" : I-30, Chisolm Trail, and The Trinity River, Fort Worth, TX
Pure shame, I must admit, that it has taken nearly a year for me to return to write anything here, but sometimes life cruelly keeps us away from the things that define us. I am sure I am not alone in feeling a part of a lost generation in a moment of much needed revival, jaded by the things we have been told about life but have found to be untrue, and I can't help but feel beaten down yet optimistic. A pandemic took away my livelihood and family members, and made me realize the superficiality of a lot of my supposed friendships, yet I still stand, as well as many others, despite mounting pressure to give up and accept failure. We are told that if we work hard and do the things we are supposed to, that everything will be ok, but time-and-time again the generations before have misled the generations hereafter. How was hard-work ever supposed to prepare us for something so unpredictable? Actually, it was never unpredictable; rather, those we entrusted to lead us dropped a serious ball on this one, or most likely were flippant, and the cost was a few bucks for them and the lives of others. Couple the unrest all were feeling from being forced to be locked up like animals to curtail the result of a turbulent government's ineffective ability to do anything expected of them, along with the horrible act of social injustice in George Floyd's murder in broad daylight by an officer of the law, and the world exploded. In the middle of a global pandemic, all united in a call to fight against racism, social injustice, and police brutality, sending clear messages to the elites that give us the illusion of deciding on how they may use the power we allow them to wield.
Despite being in the midst of this biological disaster and these social tragedies that gripped our lands, I was lucky enough to be moved from one shit-show to another, landing contract work as a digital content producer and social media coordinator for a public adjusting firm. Suddenly, I was paying for a home I was no longer living in, moved into a run-down trailer in an area of Louisiana heavily hit by Hurricane Laura in the Summer of 2020, and in hindsight, after my contract was cut short without notice and found myself without work once more, I was severely underpaid by comparison of others that did far less than I had for this job in particular. Considering this, along with the horrendous living conditions and a severely hostile work environment, as well as the loud neighbors yelling gritos into the night and committing acts of drunken machete wielding gang violence, this contract proved to be quite difficult and unpleasant, regardless of how great of content I was able to produce, but that is a story that I may tell at another time, years down the road.
My intention of this passage is not as an update on my life or world events, so I will cut such short and get to the point, but I may revisit these events in retrospect at another time, however, I feel that covering such briefly was imperative for clarifying my state of mind at the moment of taking these photos and writing this passage. The photos in this blog post were actually taken through the course of a few different sessions, all a result of a mind that never stops and nothing else to do, and, well, you know what they say about idle hands. I recently bought a video camera tripod by Manfrotto, and I am determined to get my money out of it, for it was not cheap, although there are other tripods on the market MUCH more expensive (mine cost $200+, but I've shot on some that can cost as much as a car). Glad to say that it does not disappoint. The swivel head glides smoothly, and drag can be adjusted easily for pan and tilt; only downside is that it is a VIDEO tripod, so unless you have an attachment of some sort, you can only shoot in landscape. Lot's of pointless information, but I will probably get more technical in this blog post as it is more of a therapeutic process for me rather than entertainment for you, so deal with it. Anyhow, I digress. Back to the subject matter.
On the first couple of days with my new tripod, I decided I would focus on getting some simple long exposure shots at night, and since I live six minutes from Downtown Fort Worth, and just a short walk from an overpass that crosses I-30, I was sure there would be plenty of places for me to shoot in the bustling city. First place I hit, I encountered after I decided to go a different way on one of my runs I tend to do. I passed underneath a bridge and saw there we a spot where one could run up and find themselves in the medium with cars zipping by ferociously at speeds that were definitely well above the speed limit, because we all know how people in Texas drive. I went back to this spot the next day with my gear and began getting as many shots as I could.
Day 1; Untitled long exposure photo Series : Looking eastbound, I-30, Fort Worth, TX
Now, I understand that these photos all look quite similar and are kind of 'meh,' but it was my first day with the gear, and I found there weren't many vantage points where the tripod could be properly set up that were somewhat safe. I mean, I could have just gone onto the shoulder of the highway and shot from behind the railing, but I was more concerned about possibly being harassed by cops rather than putting myself at harm, for I feel like getting the shot is ALWAYS worth it, but only sometimes are they worth nearly going to jail for, which is ANOTHER story for another time (I feel like I am going to end up using that phrase a lot). I got as far as being able to get part of the camera set up onto the highway. Didn't get a ton of great shots, but I ended up being proud of the shots that I was able to use.
On the second day, I decided I would head to the overpass that I had mentioned was a mere walking distance from my doorstep. Nothing crazy to tell here, so I'll be brief. Simple long exposure shots looking each direction of I-30. These were captured right at sunset with a bit of overcast, so I had the pleasure of utilizing some natural light, although this means I had to close the aperture a bit (f29), and use a LOOONG shutter speed of around 20 to 25 sec in order to compensate for all that extra light. I unfortunately do not possess an ND filter, which is why I have to use these settings. I suppose I could have bumped the ISO just a bit, for I had it set to 100, but I like to keep it as low as possible to avoid any occurrence of grain. Again, lots of technical information, but I generally don't like to shoot with an ISO any higher than 800 while taking photos, and I will occasionally push it to 2500 while doing video. If I find I can't get enough light, I deal with it, or if I am able to, add more light sources. Sometimes, you just need the damn shot though, which sucks, but there is something serene about when you have all the perfect conditions to get that shot right.
Day 2; Untitled Long Exposure Photography Series : Looking east and west down I-30, Fort Worth, TX
Now, the third day was a bit more strenuous, as I hit two locations in one night and had to do quite a bit of walking to get to each, and I had done some shooting earlier that day that required just as much walking, if not more, in the heat, I might add, which will unfortunately not be featured in this blog post because they don't fit the theme, but there is always next time.
Day 3; "A View of Downtown" : eastbound I-30, Fort Worth, TX
Again, nothing special here, but I suppose I could mention that since the skyline and traffic provided enough light, I was able to use a quicker shutter speed of 10 sec, which I feel provides a cleaner light trail and less exaggeration of streetlights. Very proud of this photo, and probably will be for time to come. However, this was only my first stop, and I still had time before the Water Garden in Downtown shut off it's fountains, so I quickly went on my way, which had me feeling a lot like the rabbit from Alice in Wonderland.
When I arrived, I headed straight for the waterfall which the Water Gardens are known for and perched myself from several different vantage points, snapping away everywhere I positioned myself until I found the best little stoop to perch myself upon that was large enough to set my camera and myself on while my legs hung off the ledge, my pants and shoes getting wet from the water rushing beneath my seat. Again, at this location, I focused mainly on long exposure photography, which may have become somewhat of an obsession, but there is a fine line between obsession and passion, I believe.
Day 3; Untitled, Water Gardens : Fort Worth, TX
The fourth day, admittedly, was a bitter disappointment, as my long exposures ended up not turning out the way I had hoped....
DAy 4; Untitled : University Dr., Fort Worth, TX
but due to my lack of excitement taking the photos above, I decided I would experiment a bit by utilizing a technique that I had read about in National Geographic, wherein you set the shutter to a long enough speed, in my case around 8-10 sec, snap the photo with the camera facing one direction, allow that light to hit the sensor a couple of seconds, cover up the lens, reposition real quick, then uncover and let the open shutter capture the rest of the light. This is what we call in the photography world a double exposure, and it's simply a long exposure taken of two different perspectives and/or compositions. Of course, being the first time ever doing this, it was all just a bunch of experimentation, albeit a great learning process, as are many things in life. Now, even though these photos did not come out the way I had hoped when I first snapped them, upon reexamining them, I was able to find areas of the photos that I found appealing, as well as cropping out unnecessary space or objects, and now I have begun to realize what they mean when they say you have to see the good things in the bad. Before, I went home frustrated, partly because the second best lens in my arsenal stopped working, which pissed me off severely, considering the first best lens crapped out a couple of days before; but now, I feel that these photos are a stepping stone on to another new path of artistic achievement for myself.
Day 4; "Intergalactic" : University and I-30, Fort Worth, TX
Day 4; "Kaleidoscope Eyes" & "Night Trails" : Near University Dr. and Trinity River, Fort Worth, TX
Day 4; "Glitch" : Fort Worth, TX
On the fifth and final day of this photo series, I decided I would dedicate the whole session to capturing video and "getting weird" with it. I was beginning to feel comfortable with capturing low-light images, thanks to my stellar tripod, and of course, a phenomenal camera (I use a Canon 90d, in case you were wondering), so I headed out to one of my favorite spots in the entire city, if not my ABSOLUTE favorite, Scat Jazz Lounge, which is tucked away in an alley near Sundance Square, a giant neon sign blazing away at an elevator that leads to an establishment underground that was once a speakeasy during the Prohibition Era. Very cool spot. If you ever find yourself in Downtown Fort Worth, you have to check it out. I promise you won't be disappointed. But, alas, this is not a review, so back at it again.
Day 5; "the Scat" : Scat Jazz Lounge, Fort Worth, TX
Now, I understand that one of these photos is NOT a double exposure, but I feel it fits the theme of the series and should be included for the following reasons: 1) I like it, 2) it's cool, 3) I wanted to show the difference between a typical photo vs. a double exposures of the same location and subject, 4) it uses a slow enough shutter speed that justifies the use use of a tripod as to eliminate as much camera shake as possible, 4) it has a heavy emphasis on lighting, 5) it's a shot of the city, and 6) it's my blog, so I can do whatever I want.
For the regular shot, as I mentioned, I used my tripod, but I feel I should just mention that I also put the timer on the shutter so there would be nothing effecting the camera in the way of shake once that shutter opened. I had the shutter slowed down to half a second and cranked the ISO to 800, which I mentioned was the highest I like to go in photography, so that sensor would read as much light as it could without distorting in any way.
This is also the location where I captured some video content, which I then threw together in a short two minute video. There is no back story, no real action, but rather a focus on cinematography: composition, movement, exposure, and editing, which includes cuts, color grading, and audio edits. Overall, I came away quite satisfied with my trip to one of my favorite spots, as I was able to create a neat video and got a lot of great shots that I am extremely proud of. However, my night did not end here, as I headed back out into Sundance Square.
Untitled Cinematography : Scat Jazz Lounge, Fort Worth, TX
The final stop of what would be the final day of my photo series "City at Night" was across Sundance Square from Scat Lounge. The vibe here was much different. My presence was quite known by patrolling security, who were seriously up my butt and about to get on my last nerve, not to mention my complete annoyance at the fact that every person I ran into that night proceeded to have conversations with me when it was clear I had no desire to communicate, but rather was there for a purpose. Again, there is another photo that is NOT a double exposure, but all that I said before about the other photo pertain to this one as well.
Anyways, I once again went home completely satisfied with how these photos turned out. Even though it was a Sunday and there was barely a soul in sight, I was lucky enough to set up as cars were passing by, truly making my double exposure photos long exposures as well. I appreciate all who have read my blog and looked at my photos or watched my videos at any time present or past. I wish you all well, and I hope you all enjoyed this photography series as much as I enjoyed participating and reflecting upon my work.
Day 5; "City at Night" : Sundance Square, fort Worth, TX
Hot, Heavy, and High on Hate
JUNE 2, 2020
I, Pedro De La Cruz Martinez, hereby solemnly swear the following to be a true firsthand account, free of fabrication and bias, of the events that unfolded in Fort Worth, Texas on the night of June 1st in the year of 2020:
Down with the system was the sentiment that prevailed in our great city that night; citizens protesting the blatant murder of an unarmed black man, George Floyd, by Derek Chauvin, a Minneapolis police officer with a long history of racial injustice against the citizens he had sworn to protect, express their frustration towards a system that has continually failed them. A system that was set up long ago that disenfranchises an entire group of people for the sole benefit of a small elite class with ties to our country’s history of slavery and segregation. His death is just the latest in a string of cases of police brutality towards people of color that have plagued our nation. Just months before, Ahmaud Arbery was murdered while on a jog, a victim of racial profiling, by Gregory McMichael, a former member of the police department there in Glynn County, Georgia, where it also appeared that the police department attempted to cover for him, and would likely have been successful, if not for an investigation being opened by outside agencies, and then only because of nationwide outrage in regard. And these are just two examples of many that have left this nation heavily divided. On one side, you have the power, and the other, the struggle. But the situation is not as, dare I say, black and white as the media makes all of this out to be. To truly understand the nature of these protests that have been popping up all over our great nation, some turning incredibly violent, one must look at the situation from within, not the outside looking in, for biased judgements come about when one is not actually present for events that unfold. And so, to help garner a better understanding, I will recount the events that night to the best of my recollection and attempt to keep the rhetoric from swaying in either direction, but rather act as an impartial observer free of a subjective agenda. So, therefore, I will start from the beginning, where my involvement of the events herein took place and are as follows:
The day was hot, and although that comes to be expected from a spring’s day in Texas, the heat was not one felt by temperature but rather a mood. Tensions have remained high for several days after the unlawful murder of yet another African American citizen, and it has become apparently clear that the people of this nation have had enough. The feeling is one that infers from the implication of events that our American right to due process is being completely ignored by those in power, and such means our lives, freedom, and liberty are greatly on the line. Just the night before, a protest on West 7th Street Bridge turned into an act of retaliation that resulted in the use of tear gas and the arrest of several civil rights activists. Those events sparked outrage among citizens and compelled Mayor Betsy Price to implement a strict curfew for all peoples beginning at 8pm the following day, which is the day I am recounting to you now.
I arrived on scene with my camera, along with three close friends, at approximately 6pm on the other side of town and walked towards the courthouse located downtown on Main St., where an assembly of peaceful protesters were congregating. Overhead, police helicopters circled around constantly, and several unmarked sprinter vans that were filled with officers, as one could see through their windshields, left us feeling that things that night may get heavy. Regardless, we walked on to join, for the message of the group was far more important than any problems we may come across as individuals.
By the time we arrived, a march had already ensued through the city, and we stood by until they would come across the courthouse steps once more. When they arrived, chants of protest echoing “say his name” and “I can’t breathe,” as well as many others I cannot recall at this time, rang loudly throughout downtown. But the scene was not all solidarity among the citizens as one would expect. Organizers were constantly at odds with citizens who wished to use the protest and the cameras present as a platform to air their own personal grievances toward the police department at expense of the cause of The People. Both groups there had their own bullhorns, one preaching rhetoric that would akin back to Martin Luther King, Jr., and the other’s rhetoric seemingly reaching back to the early days of Malcolm X. It was during this vying for power and the spotlight that it became clear which group was more educated on the issues and had a legitimate plan to bring change to the city, whereas the other was only spouting hate with no chance at a dialogue that would promote change, and the distinction in behaviors between these two groups became starkly apparent the longer the night went on. However, this group remained together and marched on once more through the city, echoing their chants of protest for all to hear, with passersby acknowledgement of their message. Yet, despite the collective word they were spreading, upon closer look, one could see and hear that the in-fighting continued. After some time, it became clear that many African American people would not listen to the words of any non-black person, regardless of whether they were speaking in solidarity or out of concern for the well-being of the group and preservation of the protest. I recall one instance at the very front of the march where a white man got into a verbal argument with a black man over their leading the march down an undesignated route laid out by organizers, saying that it is “exactly what the police want” and he’d “seen it happen before,” but because of his skin color, his words fell upon deaf ears. I remember heeding the words of this man where others ignored him as I stared down an officer on a bike for nearly two blocks, my camera on him as our eyes met, his hand on his weapon the entire time, ready to pull it at the first instance necessary, no matter the danger that may actually be posed to his life.
When the march made it back to the courthouse steps, the same struggle between conflicting rhetoric continued, wherein the legitimate organizers compelled people to not be swayed by messages of hate, but rather logic and peace to promote their message of change. This is where the biggest conflict between the two groups became apparent: whether to cede to the mandatory curfew for the city signed into action by the mayor. Whereas organizers and civil rights activists attempted to persuade people to go home before curfew took effect, so that the protest may not turn violent and be done in vain, belligerent outliers made claims that any protestor that would do so was “weak” and “giving power to the white man.” After much back and forth, one activist, who had been jailed the night before on West 7th and released that morning, made claim that if protesters wished to continue past curfew and were arrested, that their bails would be paid.
By this point, I had lost two of the three friends I had arrived with among a constantly moving crowd, and upon calling their phone, discovered that she was not in possession of it at the time, and I had failed to attain the number of the other we had come with. A great misstep on my part, and one I will surely learn from for the future, but we had designated a meeting point on the other side of town where we would find each other before curfew took effect and leave with no harm to ourselves. When we arrived, the friend I was able to keep by my side the entire time and I parted ways while I waited back for my friends. As time went on, I began to worry, as curfew was now officially in effect, and my friends were fifteen minutes late from the time we said we would meet. I saw a police helicopter hovering in one spot and pointing the direction of the protest, and I began to contemplate whether I should go back. Torn between not wanting to be arrested and checking on the safety of my friends, I decided I would drive up and down the streets of the city in hope that I may come across them walking back to our designated meeting point. After a bit of driving and unsuccessfully searching, I came to the conclusion that they must still be back at the courthouse, and so I drove back to the protest, parked my vehicle, grabbed my camera and went back out to capture more footage and search for my friends.
When I had arrived, the scene had changed dramatically. Note how I stated on one side there is power and the other struggle? Well this played out literally, police on one side and protesters on the other, down on their knees with raised fists and hands chanting “don’t shoot” and “take a knee,” facing off, ready to confront the other whenever the time came. The tension was palpable, but with a camera in hand, I felt I could justifiably get as close to the situation without much repercussion, and so I did. As I inched closer to the officers, I could see that I got too close for comfort, and they moved their line up closer, protesters reciprocating by getting dangerously close, facing off with bike police and two officers clad in riot gear in a truck bed with a riot control weapon that I had understood to explode out hundreds of rubber projectiles. It appeared that the situation would take a turn for the worse, but in the heat of the moment, an officer in charge called out to his brothers sworn to protect to take a knee in solidarity with the protesters, and although you could see that some officers did not wish to cede, all did so, which resulted in a uproar that could only be described as a jubilee of pandemonium. I must admit, I found it all so strange. Just moments ago, it appeared that there would be a clash, but as that officer showed, sometimes all it takes is one person to do something and lead by example for others to follow suit. Before, these two groups had looked upon each other as enemies, but now they embraced and shook hands, and spoke to each other like they were human beings, like they were people worthy of having their voice heard.
A Protester embraces a police officer moments after a knee was taken in solidarity among all in attendance.
But as with all good things, they come to an end, and the end of this compelling moment came when a loud bang could be heard, which dispersed the crowd instantly. I looked back in the direction of the sound and saw a cloud of smoke with a battalion of riot police ready to take control of the situation, and I could only assume that the sound was from that of a tear gas grenade. It was at this point I noticed protesters throwing unopened bottles of water at the riot police, and so I was left unsure of which incident provoked the other. All I could confirm was that things were about to get heavy like I had anticipated. This is when it became clear to me the biggest problem with these protests: that these people wanted to be heard but did not know how to form a meaningful message that would be understood by both sides. Many young people, not yet educated in the ways of formal rhetoric and debate, spoke of mostly personal stories that only really affected them, and were in no way contributing to the cause. So much of this happened that the older protesters had to approach and persuade the young ones to choose their words more wisely and draw them away from the lines of riot police. Just then, a white woman who I can safely assume was a hippie, began acting belligerently and yelling things that didn’t make much sense to anyone except herself, which made the protesters as a group look like ridiculous fools that only wanted to lash out. In fact, this same woman charged at riot police and fell to the ground, claiming that “they aren’t letting us leave,” which after confirming with a police officer on scene, I found this to be wholly untrue. We were completely within our right to leave on our own volition, and the only reason she was pushed to the ground was because she had charged aggressively at police, and despite this foolish act, she was not detained and free to return back to the crowd. With my camera on her, she further exacerbated the scene by yelling at me to “not record” her, but rather “record them,” and I had assumed that she had become immediately embarrassed by her behavior.
Riot Police Prepare for a possible face off with Protesters outside Tarrant County Courthouse in downtown Fort Worth, TX.
Much of this same type of nonsense prevailed throughout, with younger black males that were clearly only there to provoke police and not for the message of The People, began taunting the riot police to come attack them, making vague threats about what they would do to them if the police approached. Marijuana smoke filled the air, but none paid any mind, as maintaining control and preventing a violent mob from rising was of the utmost concern of all police on the scene. During all these embarrassing displays of chaos I recognized one of the riot police as a man that I had attended high school with, to which I pulled down my mask and called out to him, stating that “you know me” and that “I am a peaceful protester.” He acknowledged me with a head shake and looked away. Just then, my camera’s battery died, but I still had my phone, and so I began recording on that device immediately. It was around that time that I decided to veer away from being merely an observer and rather become a participant, and called out for all to hear the following (paraphrased):
"We are not here against you, but against a system that promotes and protects aggressors of police brutality against people of color. George Floyd was unnecessarily murdered by one of your own brothers. While in handcuffs, already detained, an officer pressed his knee into his neck until he died of suffocation. The worst part, however, is that in the video, another officer on the scene could be seen standing by with his arms crossed while another officer blatantly committed an act of murder upon an unarmed civilian who was no longer resisting, and who no longer presented a threat to the safety of the officers in question. This is wrong, and you should not stand for this. Which officer will you choose to be? The one that commits an injustice, the one that stands by while injustice is committed, or will you decided to be the one that fights—"
Just then, a whiny sounding woman in a hijab yelled out behind me, “shut the f*ck up” and “who is that guy?,” as if who I was really mattered anyways, for I was an American citizen practicing my First Amendment right, and I stated this to her, although, I must admit, I let me temper get the best of me whenever I responded, and she was left with nothing to say in response and dissolved back into the crowd. I found myself getting into many of these little altercations with people on the scene. For example, another young woman approached the riot police and began shouting out that they were all racist, to which I responded she was wrong, rather it is the entire system that was created with the purpose of promoting legally justified institutional discrimination, and not individual officers, that is to blame for all the violence and injustice that takes place and is never resolved, but this once again fell on deaf ears.
A Young African American Male approaches bike Police with some choice words.
I will describe another moment later, but first I must lay some groundwork for more understanding. While people continued to act in an unorganized and angry fashion, I decided to remain with the crowd but pulled myself aside so I may identify myself as one of the more levelheaded protesters educated on social issues. I took this moment to speak with one of the officers, who was the same one who had informed me that we could leave on our own free will. The dialogue is as follows, and although it may not be exact, it is to the best of my recollection:
Pedro De La Cruz Martinez: Don’t take this all too personally, officer. These people are angry and just don’t know how to express their frustrations.
Officer: I understand, but I just don’t get why they are still mad. The officer who killed Mr. Floyd is in state custody.
PDLCM: I know.
O: And the other cops involved have all been fired.
PDLCM: That is correct.
O: So, I just don’t understand. What else do they expect us to be able to do?
PDLCM: It’s not a matter of whether you can do anything, but a matter of making sure that there are changes to our flawed legal system that lets these cops walk free.
O: I get that, but the legal system is working right now to ensure that the officer who murdered Mr. Floyd gets what he deserves, and that justice may be served. So, I just don’t know what else can be done.
PDLCM: I don’t think it’s a matter of what else can be done. Justice may rightfully be had, but that doesn’t mean that it will prevent the unlawful killing of citizens at the hands of police. That is what concerns people. They think that once all this goes away, they will just end up right back where they started.
This trend I just described in this dialogue with the officer, wherein police are able to commit egregious acts without any consequence for their abhorrent actions, is known as “qualified immunity,” which, according to The Economist, protects police and other government officials from lawsuits against actions undertaken in the course of their duties. After this exchange, I could tell that it left an impression upon the officer, for I was not just some hot head, and I left him to return to the protest, but we will come back to him in a moment.
Just then, two officers approached and readily stood out, for they were not in bike police uniforms or riot gear, but rather the traditional police blues that are worn by police forces across the nation, and it was at this moment that I recognized them to be Fort Worth’s Chief of Police Ed Kraus and Assistant Chief Julie Swearingin. They had arrived on scene to attempt to ease tensions and deescalate the situation at hand, but this proved to be no easy task, no matter how willing they were to have an open dialogue with protesters. While Chief Kraus spoke to the crowd, I was able to have a brief moment to converse with Assistant Chief Swearingin, and I informed her that I have family that are police officers, and that “not everyone here hates cops, but just want change.” She told me she understood, and that her and the Police Chief were there to hear out The People and stand with them in solidarity during these trying times in our nations. In fact, these two officers took a knee, protesters that surrounded them following suit, and joined in a prayer. Shortly after this display, nearly every bike officer and riot policeman joined in this moment of solidarity and took a knee once again, although this sentiment was not shared amongst them entirely, with the more sour-faced cops looking on in disgust. Despite this display of unity, shouts from protesters could still be heard, stating “they are only doing this because they want us to leave” and “where was Jesus whenever unarmed black men were being killed by police?”
Now, I will return to that officer that I mentioned before. While taking a knee, a young black woman approached the police, camera phone on them and yelling through her mask about how her people’s voices are unheard and that cops don’t want to listen. Just then, the officer attempted to get her to approach him, so that they may have a chance to talk and he can hear her out, but rather than take this moment to express her frustrations, much in a way she had claimed been denied, she rather responded by stating “no, I don’t want to talk to you b*tches.” I couldn’t understand the point of that. Here she was complaining about being unheard, and an officer states he wants to hear her voice, and yet she backtracks away from the chance. Utterly ridiculous behavior that does absolutely nothing, in my opinion, but with my desire to remain impartial, I will not expand further on those remarks. It became starkly clear to me by that point that it did not matter what the officers did, that people were going to lash out at them regardless, and so was apparent when two more young black women joined her in yelling at this officer, to which he responded by, and I assume he wishes he had better judgement at the time, waving the women away as if he was no longer willing to listen to them, to which they responded by saying “wow, you’re childish.” That was when I had enough, and I told these young women that if they didn’t have any constructive and logical rhetoric that fosters an open dialogue between people, then it was best that they just walk away. Of course, this comment caused me to receive quite a bit of hate directed toward me from them, getting in my face and shouting obscenities, stating that I had no right to tell them how to express themselves, and although I can look back on this and agree with them, at the moment I told them that the way they were going about with things does absolutely nothing for promoting change, peace, or understanding, and that if they felt they were being violated by the law then they should get a copy of the Constitution and brush up on their rights so that they may act as truly free and informed citizens, to which the officer said, “he is correct. You should listen to him.”
By this point, things began to deescalate, and the crowd began to thin. I had even received word via text from my friends I had lost that stated they were fine, safe, and had a ride on its way to come take them home. Once the prayer was said among the Chief of Police and peaceful protesters, all rose to their feet and began embracing each other once more, as the night had been a successful nonviolent protest with no arrests. I remember being in the crowd and coming upon Assistant Chief Swearingin, to which she held her arms out and we fell in an embrace, her saying to me, “thank you for being so understanding.” And so was the conclusion to the events that happened that hot and heavy night in Fort Worth, as protesters began to go home, and police began to fall back and return to wherever it is that police officers come from, and you could plainly conclude that everyone in attendance was feeling its effect. You could see in everyone’s eyes, officer and citizen, that it wasn’t just frustration they felt, but pure exhaustion. Exhausted of having their brothers and sisters killed, of being away from their families in the face of danger, of receiving all the blame and none of the praise. And that sentiment goes both ways. The black community within our nation have contributed many great aspects to the culture of modern American life, but in many regards, they feel they are only admired for their ability rather than just being. And officers everyday put their lives on the line to protect, but the actions of a few bad apples tarnish the image of departments across the nation, and rightfully so, as much is not done to correct these injustices. Over two centuries after our great nation was formed, racial injustice still prevails, and though many are working to make this fact a thing of the past, some still hold on to those feelings of division, as they feel nothing will change. And it is here where you have the conflict: how can change be had whenever there are people within that aren’t willing to have an open dialogue but would rather spout hateful rhetoric that does nothing but ensure that the status quo remains the same, keeping alive the belief that “all cops are bastards” and that all African-Americans will continue to be killed and incarcerated unlawfully at an alarming rate? I leave you with this thought as this essay comes to a conclusion: it is better to speak in a logical manner that beckons the ears and hearts of others, whereas speaking purely of emotion ensures that such will fall on deaf ears, for one cannot expect everyone they speak to be an idealist with an empathetic mind.
Everyone Are Assholes
June 12, 2020
The following is intended to be a first-hand observational account of the events that transpired on the evening of June 12th in the year of 2020 in Fort Worth, TX, as well as second-hand accounts of the events that took place on the following evening of June 13th in the same year and within the same city. However, I will not claim that this essay will be free of bias, as I am merely recounting the events that took place from the perspective of my own visual memory, as well as through conversation with protesters, video evidence, text messages and multimedia messages from those in attendance, and notes taken during the protests by myself. The events are as follows:
I am writing this essay nearly two weeks after the first protest in Fort Worth had taken place on West 7th St Bridge, and as protests in other parts of the country have gone on for a little longer. There are many naysayers who have felt that the protests across this great nation are merely a fad, the next social media trend for attention that will surely be overcome by the next and dissolve out of existence. Yet, The People have not let up. In all honesty, I am completely surprised by this, not for the fact that I don’t feel people are dedicated enough to the cause, but simply because I myself have been found to be completely exhausted, and such has had an effect on my own dedication towards the movement. Sad, I known, but I am only being truthful. However, despite my exhaustion, loss of voice, and rapidly dwindling supply of cash getting the best of me, almost to the point where I almost made the decision to not attend the protest that surprisingly cool spring night, I found myself compelled after I posted on social media in regard, an Insta story that was viewed first by Cory L. Hughes, an activist that has proven to be a pivotal figure for this movement, and an intelligent and all-around good guy. Not wanting to disappoint, I decided that despite being without my voice, I could set an example for others by still attending the protest to show my support for The People, and I could always capture footage, snap photos, and take notes. At the beginning, I only intended to stay for an hour at each of the events happening that evening (one a protest followed by a march, the other a vigil), for I still had a lot of content to work on from other nights, as well as writing about all the protests that I have experienced thus far, but as things played out that night, I ended up staying in one location, for things ended up getting real juicy.
When I first arrived on the scene at the Old Tarrant County Courthouse on Weatherford and Main in Downtown Fort Worth, I hate to admit that I was sorely disappointed by what I saw: The crowd was absolutely lackluster, and I was sadly under the impression that the movement was dying just as soon as it had begun, much like many observing from the outside looking in had negatively expressed to me would happen. The crowd was the smallest I had seen, but I still held onto hope that it would grow throughout the evening, as I found myself to be early for the first time during any of the protests that had taken place thus far. But hope is a foolish thing for one to hold onto, I thought as the pessimist within me wrangled control over my mind.
The protest started off quite intimate, with one organizer from the group Enough Is Enough, a young man who looked to be either of Hispanic or Middle Eastern descent, who I later found out goes by the name of Roy, announcing on the bullhorn the plans for the march that was to take place that evening, as well as encouraging any persons within the crowd to come upon the courthouse steps where he stood and speak to the crowd about either a moment in their life where they found themselves to be a victim of racial discrimination, or a moment that one found to be important for themselves as a participant of the movement, and share it for all to hear. I remember being one of the first to raise their hand for a chance to speak, but I was overlooked to give a chance to two African American men that had moments to share. I do not recall both of their stories, but I do recall one of the men telling of a moment that had occurred in his life wherein he and a friend had been pulled over simply because they fit the description of “black male,” and although I cannot remember what exactly it was he said that he ended up being charged with, I remember him saying how the police completely fabricated the story and that the repercussions of that night were still being resolved to this day. Stories like this, as it doesn’t take a genius to figure out, are a common occurrence within the American justice system. After the two men had spoken, I was given an opportunity to have my voice heard upon the courthouse steps. I remember first giving my name, and then talked about how I had been coming to the protests every other day and that in doing so I was completely drained of any energy that I had. Yet, I was still there. And so were they. In fact, I had mentioned how I had seen many familiar faces on each of the days that I had attended protests, and that such had given me hope as to where this movement may go, for there were people in the crowd that were truly dedicated to the cause and showed that they would be in attendance as often as they could. I spoke further about how the movement affected me by mentioning what I felt to be the most compelling moment of all the protests thus far: the nine minute sit-in moment of silence that took place after our crossing of Seventh Street Bridge on the day of June 8th. Even as I mentioned it, I could still remember how long that nine minutes felt. I said a little more, but nothing really noteworthy, just that I was proud of the progress The People were making in their fight for justice, but I had to remind them that we still had a long way to go and that I hoped to see them all keep fighting.
After I was done speaking, I walked away to stand at the side atop of the steps leading up to the entrance of the Old Tarrant County Courthouse, when a man sitting nearby clad in all black, a Lonestar Beer bandana, and ski goggles grabbed my attention by calling out to me by asking if I had gone to UNT. I had told him yes, and then he had asked if my name was Pedro. I found this odd, for I did not know who he was with that disguise on, but when he had removed his bandana I had recognized him as (withheld), but as to respect his anonymity per his request, he shall henceforth be referred to as “Anonymous.” Anonymous and I had lived in the same dormitory at the University of North Texas and had hung within somewhat the same social circle during my freshman year, then drifted our own ways the following. He had been someone that was very aware and honest with himself, whereas I, and I hate to admit this, was a douchey tool who was still trying to figure out who he was, and thus resulted in us not having seen each other since then. Nevertheless, we had recognized each other, and such gave me a bit of hope, for though the crowd was small, there were familiar faces, and some of those faces were of people that I was sure were good at heart. We didn’t really do much “catching up,” rather we spoke mostly about the protests, wherein I had found out that he had been going nearly every day and was volunteering his time as a member of the security crew. I asked him what the game plan for the evening’s march was, to which he replied he was unsure, but just then, Roy announced on the bullhorn that they would disclose details about the march path shortly. I turned back to Anonymous and mentioned how nearly all the protests/marches that I had attended thus far had either started at or made their way down to West 7th Street. He responded by telling me that the march the previous evening had stayed within Downtown, for it was believed that more money flowed through the area and would have a more profound effect upon the city’s economics. Of course, this made sense to me, but for different reasons than I had understood before our having this conversation. I was under the impression that the reasoning behind disturbing the peace of all of these establishments was that it would compel patrons to either not enter or leave all-together, thus disrupting the flow of money that these restaurants and bars would potentially make, which would then lead to proprietors coming before the city council to try and persuade them to formally hear us out, so that things may return to a bit of normalcy. After my discussion with Anonymous, I found that although my belief could be one reason, there was actually another, more plausible reason: fighting the CCPD (Crime Control and Prevention District) tax.
Now there are resources at your disposal if you have any questions regarding this tax, one of which can be located on the Fort Worth Police Department’s website, but to save you the trouble, I will give you the gist. The CCPD fund was formulated in 1995 as a response to high crime rates that surged in the late 1980s. The way in which the fund receives its revenue is through a ½ -cent sales tax, which goes directly towards initiatives aimed at, you guessed it, preventing crime. Now, I understand a ½-cent sales tax doesn’t seem like a whole lot, but to give a little perspective, this fund generated over $78 million in the 2019 fiscal year alone. That’s a whole lotta cheddar. But where is all that money going? Well, according to the Fort Worth Police Department, this money helped with the following: “290-plus positions, partnerships with six school districts and 14 nonprofit organizations, ‘neighborhood’ police officers, school ‘resource’ officers,” and yadda-yadda-yadda (please don’t sue me Seinfeld). Y’all are adults, you can see it all on their website yourself. Now, although all these of which I have stated sound like overwhelming positives, one should consider that things today are much different than they were in the late 80s and early 90s. For instance, the city of Fort Worth’s population has grown by a whopping 93% since those days, yet crime “per 100,000 citizens has gone down by 63%.” So, if crime seriously has dropped that much, why is there still a need for such a fund? And that is the issue, however, it is not regarding the fact that there is a fund at all, but more as to how those funds are being allocated. I will say there are instances where one would feel that the tax is of great use, such as preventing crime in schools, which given the circumstances of our nation’s alarming rate of mass-school shootings, it only seems logical and is not something that one should take lightly, but there also comes negatives with such entrenchment of law enforcement within our school systems, which I will highlight at a later time, but is not crucial to this essay in particular. One of the main calls to not continue the district for another ten years is most obviously regarding how it funds enhanced enforcement. This means expanding SWAT, more mounted patrols, criminal ‘tracking’ units (don’t even get me started on this), as well as putting cops in schools, at special events, etc. Of course, this also means a ramping up of tactical gear and training of officers, or as we all know it, militarizing the police force, yet it does not have any clear outline as to how they will expand oversight and accountability for inappropriate use of force. Now, defunding the police is clearly a means of demilitarizing the police, which much of this movement is advocating for, but for the sake of pushing on with this story, I will end it by clarifying that all these things I just stated are funded by a sales tax on citizens that happens in concurrence with the property taxes already paid to the city, as well as the General Fund Sales Tax. In other words, the CCPD is just another money grab by an elite class that wishes to continue enforcing their draconian laws upon The People, and we will leave it at that.
As Anonymous and I were having our conversation, Roy came about atop of the steps once more and announced that someone had some words that they would like to share with all in attendance. This person was an African American man by the name of Jason Williams, who identified himself as a local stand-up. Now his being there had two parts, one with him telling about his own experience of racial discrimination, and although I hate to admit it, I can’t recall for it sounded much like something that could have happened to any number of African American men across the country every day. The other part, however, could not escape memory, as he recited a poem he had said come to him so naturally in light of all the tragedy that had taken place as a result of George Floyd’s state sanctioned murder, and although I was not quick enough to ready my camera from the start of his first words, I was able to have a chat with him afterwards and snap a picture, as well as ask for his blessing that I may publish his poem upon my website, to which he humbly agreed. The poem is as follows:
“Get your knee off my neck.
Can you please get your knee off my neck?
Oh wait, that’s right,
I’m not dead yet!
Officer,
Officer,
Please.
I can’t breathe!
Tell me, tell me, what did I do?
Wait, Wait, I know.
I’m just a criminal
And you’re wearing blue!
I did everything you asked,
I got on my knees,
But I know what you want:
You want me to bleed!
Officer,
Officer,
Please.
I can’t breathe!
I know to you I’m not human.
You have more respect for a rat.
To you my life is nothing more
Than a dirty door mat!
Please Mr. Officer,
My mother is around the corner.
I don’t want her to have to
Identify me at the coroner!
Officer,
Officer,
Please.
I can’t breathe!
I know I’m a strong black man,
And I know I should fight,
But I’m only one and there’s four of you.
This shit ain’t right!
Well, I’m fading away now,
Why can’t you see?
Oh wait, there’s my mother.
Mom, can this really be?
Momma, momma,
Can this really be?
Am I really dead?
Oh my God momma, please come hold me!
Here, here, my dear boy.
Yes, it is true.
You’re dead and I’m here for you.
Come give momma a hug, baby boy… I’ve got you!
I’m dead now.
Look what you’ve done.
Now how does my family tell
My only son?
You murdered my dreams
And my right to die old,
But you don’t care because in your eyes
I should still be sold!”
Jason Williams poses for a photo upon the Old Tarrant County Courthouse steps after reciting a poem before a crowd of protesters.
As I replicate these words before you as a form of solace, I had to stop several times as I was moved to tears, which says a lot, considering that the written work of others seldom evokes such emotions within me, but I could feel the passion behind it with every tap of the keyboard, and I can only imagine how emotional it must have been for him to write those words himself. I must also admit that while reading through it, I wasn’t just sad, I was furious. And once again, I am reminded of why we, The People, are in the street demanding justice not just for today, but for days to come. But for some, like George Floyd, as well as an endless list of other names, that day will never come. And for his little girl Gianna, our fight to ensure that her father not die in vain will still not bring him back to her. As to quote Mr. Williams in his own poem, “this shit ain’t right!”
The response to Mr. Williams’ poem was resounding, as it should have been, and it was followed by claps, snaps, and plans for the march route and start time, which was to follow shortly. I stood by Anonymous as he drew my attention toward two white men in white t-shirts and Wrangler type jeans sitting in a pick-up truck with a camper with the tailgate down, just sitting and watching the protesters from across the street. I had noticed them before, but I wanted to stay focused on getting content of the protest, but he did help me realize how suspicious they looked, which I honestly had thought myself beforehand. He asked if I could possibly zoom my lens in far enough to get a picture of them and their license plate, and though I could do so effectively from my position at that time, I felt it would be best to get closer not only for a clearer shot, but also so the men may be aware of the fact that we all knew they were there, and that we ALL felt they looked a little suspicious. As I was snapping away, the men rented two bicycles and rode away onto the other side of the street, away from the protesters, just watching.
Then, one of the protest organizers, who I can’t recall but I believe was most likely Lucid, came up to the top of the courthouse steps to announce that the Fort Worth Police Department had stated that our group was to not use any vulgar language, not to enter any establishments, walk in the street, or block entrances onto sidewalks and crosswalks, lest we be arrested on site. Oh, and we were no longer going to be issued a police escort of any kind. It became clear that they were trying to intimidate us into not marching at all, but if they made any bets on that outcome, they would all surely come up losers. To further make all these statements by the police seem even more ridiculous, Donnell Ballard, organizer for the group United My Justice, marched IN the street in front of us, SHOUTING from a bullhorn, all with a full police escort, almost as if he was trying to prove a point with his small group of maybe a dozen or so followers. The tension between these two groups, the old and the young, was palpable, and thus was further put on view with this arrogant display that only promoted division for the sake of press prowess at the expense of the unity necessary to rally the people behind an effective movement. I hadn’t known him well, but from this point, I almost lost all respect for the man. He would have none left from me if it weren’t for the fact that he was still fighting for justice, albeit in his own way and direction as he marched away in front of us.
After this display of, I guess you could say, showmanship, our march began, and the crowd made its way down the city streets, and I couldn’t help but notice that it had grown bigger than it was merely an hour or so ago. Not only that, but the longer we marched on, it seemed that the crowd was growing more and more with each step and chant. Lucid led the way, all of us following behind, shouting out in response to all his calls to us. After the past several days of protests every night, sporadic chants had taken the form of organized calls for justice, repeated constantly and as loudly as we could so that all would be forced to listen. As we marched along, we came upon our first official stop of the evening, situating ourselves in front of the Cheesecake Factory right across from Bass Hall. We did not truly plan to stop here, but there were many seemingly affluent people standing around outside waiting for their turn to be seated within the establishment, so we decided we would take the opportunity to spread our message before them. After we approached, Lucid made his way between us and the patrons-in-waiting and started talking about some of the stances the movement firmly stood behind, some of the propositions that were upon the upcoming ballot, and asked if anyone before us knew why we were having these marches in the first place. Few could respond in any sense of affirmation, so he decided to enlighten them, telling us all to take a knee behind him as he explained some of the issues regarding the cause, at one time speaking directly into a woman’s ear and apologizing immediately after in case such caused her any pain or discomfort. He told the patrons about two petitions that were being circulated, one regarding defunding/demilitarizing the police and the other taking police out of the school systems, and though there were some who were unsure what these things meant, he assured them that we would be at the courthouse everyday and had people who were willing to speak with them and educate them on the issues, for we were not trying to get them to conform to our belief, but rather help them understand so that they may come to a realization on their own. Many looked on with faces that exhibited a sense of wanting to understand our being there, but of course, there were some who stood in firm opposition of us simply because of who they choose to be, not because they had any firmly held beliefs themselves. For instance, there was one gentleman, and I only say that because I myself am a nice person, who began shouting at us ignorantly about how our peaceful protest was promoting violence, and whence confronted, he gave a stupid little grin while smoking a cheap cigarette and exclaimed that he “didn’t f*cking care” and that he was “just a troll, dude.” His confidence was tested as soon as I put my camera directly in front of his face, me asking what his name was, to which he replied Zyrian Kobani and stated that he lived at an address that I cannot make out in the video, and this brings me much shame. I asked him to spell out his name, and he did, then followed it by stating that it was Kurdish and that it was what he goes by on Facebook, which I found to be hilarious, considering he had just told me moments ago that he wasn’t on social media. After this man’s embarrassing display, which can all be seen on camera, the young man standing next to him, who I can only assume was his friend, looked on in a gaze of disappointment and detachment, and I pointed this out to Mr. Zyrian Kobani by telling him that his friend did not look to proud of him. Just moments later a young white woman shouted something at one of the women in the crowd along the lines of “why are you people even here?” which caused a lot of rowdiness to ensue. After seeing this incident unfold, I immediately brought my camera over to focus on her as she walked back to her podium where she worked as a valet, and I made sure that I was able to get the name on her tag, which read India Parris. The organizers, Lucid and one woman I do not know and would not recognize again, signaled that we were done with proving our point at this location and were ready to press on, when just then, India Parris shouted “f*ck you” to some of the African American women in the crowd. It was of course too late by this point, but she started to cover and remove her name tag before anyone else could record her name on video, someone asking whether anyone had caught it, and I assured them that I had it in my footage. Realizing she had already been made out, she arrogantly displayed her name tag clearly for me to capture once more, along with a middle finger. India and Zyrian’s behavior are typical examples of the anti-protest sentiments that run amok amongst people posing as decent citizens, and some have even gone as far as to say that they are examples of, and I don’t know if I agree completely, “closet racists.” I don’t think that term is appropriate when describing these types of people, in all honesty, for I feel that “*ssh*le” is a far better description that accurately illustrates the point.
Lucid Attempts to speaks with Patrons of Cheesecake Factory while hecklers troll.
Seeing that our presence was clearly starting to cause a rift among all in observance, our group decided to continue with our march, chanting together in unison once again until we came upon our next stop, a popular bar known as Flying Saucer, which again I don’t think was planned but was only done because there was a large number of patrons outside enjoying their food and drinks. The response to our arrival here, however, was much different, as we were met by some cheers and applause, as well as some patrons coming closer as Lucid and other organizers spoke before them. However, as with anywhere that our group happened to be, there was surely a few who could care less about the plight of colored people. For instance, as these peaceful organizers gave their speeches, one man wearing a beige hat with an American flag emblem couldn’t even offer the courtesy of his attention, as he stared off in one direction opposite of us the entire time, completely aware of our presence, but not giving one damn about what a person of color had to say, and you can say I’m only assuming that’s why he could care less, but I would respectfully, and I use that term loosely, disagree.
After all was said at Flying Saucer, we moved on to the establishment next door, which also had a patio with an elderly crowd of patrons eating and drinking. Now, after going through footage, I am sad to say that the file from this moment somehow became corrupted, so I am not able to offer due credit for any of the gestures of respect given by the patrons of this restaurant. However, after talking with one of the protesters when this night was said and done, as well as a bit of research myself, I believe the establishment to be Waters, and the Executive Chef is a man that goes by the name of Jon Bonnell. As we were outside, speaking into the bullhorn in a respectful manner, we began having exchanges with these patrons and asking them what they thought of our protests and marches, to which many replied that they supported the movement and that they believed we were “doing the right thing.” This back and forth went on for a bit before Mr. Bonnell decided to come out and observe the situation, clearly to see if it was causing any trouble for his guests so that he may try to de-escalate any severity that might ensue. He identified himself immediately and came up face-to-face with a few of the organizers and spoke loud enough for all of us in the crowd to hear. He stated that he was “with us” and that he understood our struggle. He also stated that since the pandemic shut everything down, it was difficult for everybody at the moment as they tried to get back into the action of what their everyday lives used to be. He kept saying things like this, always coming back to how he totally supported the BLM movement, and after a little bit of encouragement from us, Mr. Bonnell put his fist up in the air as a salute to the power of The People, which left everyone feeling satisfied and cheerfully excited as some of the organizers shook hands or embraced him with thanks, and then we were on our way once more. Now, the only reason I even went through the trouble of clarifying the details of what happened at this moment is this: Mr. Jon Bonnell is not just your everyday fine cuisine chef; he is essentially a Fort Worth aristocrat with strong ties to the city’s mayor Betsy Price. It was believed by most of the organizers and protesters that if we could get Jon Bonnell on our side and show him that we were a nonviolent peaceful protest group, then he could convince Mrs. Price to hear us out formally about some of the concerns we had regarding excessive use of force and inappropriate use of tax payer dollars to fund a militarized police force.
So, for the sake of speeding up this story, I will fast forward a bit and only get to the parts that will ensure an avoidance of redundancy in storytelling. The group finally made its way back to the courthouse, energized up with some quick snacks and rehydrated as best we could before we headed back out to the streets to do it all over again. Somewhere along the way, I can’t recall which intersection, our group kneeled in the street once more. This is about the time that I noticed two white men in black t-shirts recording us, one middle aged and one old, but since I wasn’t sure whether they were with us or not, I chose to ignore them and go back to recording Lucid and other organizers work their magic, but that probably lasted about a good ten seconds before these two men started causing problems. Apparently one of these men, who I was able coax into identifying himself as Kyle Davis in the heat of all his stupid anger, started getting into arguments with everyone and claiming that our protest was a form of extortion. So clearly, he was an idiot that does not understand what that word even means, because for The People's actions to truly be extortion, one must use force or threats, which was in no way what our protest was doing. Yet, he still wanted to blabber on like a silly buffoon up until the point when a few young white women approached him and began saying that they got a strong sense of “little d*ck energy” from him. This made him even more angry to the point where police felt the need to intervene and told him to walk away and for us to stop confronting him. Then, not even a few minutes later on the other side of the street, another white man, this one an older gentleman wearing slacks and a pressed button-up, started arguing with a small group of protesters, and upon seeing the commotion, I scurried over to make sure I captured as much of this incident as I could. When I arrived, he clearly stated that “we were trying to be violent,” but when we asked how we were being violent, he could only respond by saying that we “reeked of dope,” to which many of them replied “so?” One protester even admitted to him, “yeah, we smoke marijuana, so what?” This man just stood in silence, and I took the opportunity to ask him, “why is pot illegal? It’s a billion-dollar industry for white people.” He had nothing to say to this, and when I asked him his name, he turned around and walked away immediately, clearly too cowardly to allow his name to be attached to his own ignorance for others to see. After this brief exchange, I saw a motorcycle cop posted up on the corner making sure nothing got to crazy, so I decided to approach him and ask if he thought we were acting violently in any manner? He looked at me a bit puzzled at first, but then he responded by saying, “no” and that he “didn’t believe so.” So, I’m not sure why either of these men we came across when kneeled in that intersection insinuated we were violent, but is has suddenly became clear to me that they probably wished we were violent so they could feel justified in their own hate towards us and our demands for justice. Regardless, we didn’t dwell on these moments, much like we hadn’t on any others before them, and marched on.
Fast forward again and we found ourselves in the middle of Sundance Square, where there were plenty of people around for us to show we mean business. The crowd approached the side where Bird Café is situated, shouting “F*ck your peace” over and over, while a group of young white women were having their pictures taken, their beaus standing by and waiting for them to be done. A few of the protesters approached these women, some acting a little belligerently, but then a calm African American woman intervened and asked whether they were having a nice evening and asked if it would be ok if they all took a picture together. Three of these four women concurred, but one of them immediately walked away angrily out of frame and stood by and locked arms with her date, who happened to be an African American man, which I found to be a bit ironic. On the patio at Bird Café, there were several groups eating and chatting, including a bachelorette party with several women, half of which were colored, including the bride-to-be. A lot of tension arose from this moment, and it took quite a bit of convincing to even get a single person on the patio to speak to us or show any solidarity. In fact, the first people who did express any gratitude for our attempts to educate people of the fact of rampant police brutality and systemic discrimination was the wait staff, a majority of which were either black or Hispanic. Eventually, a white member of the bachelorette party spoke out abrasively about how they were “just trying to have a good evening” with the soon-to-be-wed friend, to which one of the organizers replied that we “meant no harm,” but that “justice cannot wait at your convenience,” followed by shouts of “NO JUSTICE, NO PEACE!” from the protesters behind. I must add that while one of the white women of the bachelorette party was clearly annoyed and against the protesters, one of the other white women, along with a few of their colored friends, stated that they were happy with the fact that we were trying to spread awareness about the institutionalized discrimination problem in our country. During all this commotion, I was trying my hardest to get as close to the action, and in the process I bumped into a woman on the protest group's security group, a tatted-up African American woman who goes by the name of Nysse Nelson, who told me to “watch the f*ck out!” Honestly, I couldn’t believe this reaction, so I went up to her, and the following dialogue ensued:
Pedro De La Cruz Martinez: Hey, I’m on your side.
Nysse Nelson: Ok? Watch the f*ck out.
PDLCM: I must get as close as I can to capture footage so I can edit video that helps your movement.
NN: So that means you can’t watch the f*ck out?
PDLCM: Dude, what the hell is your problem, lady?
NN: What? You can’t be told no by a black person?
Then, immediately after, I was told to walk away by another one of the security members, and I did, but not without shutting off my camera and ending my contribution to their cause for the night, out of anger, which may have been bit of an overreaction, but not one that I can admit I regret. I mean, first, she never told me “no.” Second, here I am trying to help, and this woman wants to act like I can’t tolerate her behavior simply because she’s black whenever it was actually because she was being rude as all hell. How arrogant can someone truly be to think that their awful behavior won’t rub people the wrong way, and what kind of person acts like this towards a person who has continuously been by their side and has tried to help spread the awareness of the plight of their people? Now, I know this may come off as me blowing off steam and settling a personal vendetta by making her look bad in this essay, but it is not so. Rather, there is a clear reason as to why I mention this confrontation with Nysse, and it is as follows:
Just the night before, I received a text message from a friend with a Facebook link that directed me to a video that most would agree was quite disturbing. Before I even begin to describe, I must clarify that after she sent the link, she asked if “this is how the protests are becoming?” and that it “scared” her from ever wanting to attend another. Now, I don’t know what happened on the other end, so I can only assume that the man recording may have been snickering or laughing, but this may not be so, considering I have seen many instances wherein security for the protests have confronted people simply observing and told them that if they weren’t joining in the march, then they couldn’t watch us, which honestly makes no sense whatsoever. Anyhow, like I said, I don’t know what the man was doing to deserve the reaction he received, but on the video, which took place on Crockett Row on the west side of the city, Nysse Nelson rides into camera frame and begins shouting at the man angrily for seemingly no reason, stating that he “can’t be here” and to “go away,” to which the man replied that he lived in an apartment on that very street. The commotion she caused encouraged other protesters, who hadn’t even seen what caused her to lash out, to act in the same manner towards this man. Now, the reason I mention this is that the video of this incident circulated rapidly on social media, and at the time of my viewing, there was close to a thousand views and hundreds of comments, most stating that this moment proved we were all “violent thugs” and possibly “members of Antifa.” In other words, her actions at that time, no matter how brief, made every single peaceful protester look bad and caused more harm for the movement than help. There are people, Anonymous being one of them, who claim Nysse is a good person who does a lot for the community and youth organizations, and though she may be, you would not be able to tell if you saw the video. In fact, it is people that act in the way she had that paints the movement a certain way and turns others away without even giving a chance to hear us out. This is detrimental, and it will surely kill the movement sooner than it should. After we left Sundance Square and returned to the Old Tarrant County Courthouse, Nysse stood atop of the steps with the bullhorn in hand and began shouting her rhetoric. All she spoke of was out of anger with no real solutions, and this moment contributed nil to the cause, and though it happened, I didn’t record it, for I tend to ignore any person that acts the way a demagogue would and feel that doing so would actually cause more harm than good.
After Nysse’s speech, one of the older organizers grabbed the bullhorn and stated that due to the success of the protest and restraint from actually entering any establishments, word got out and that some of the organizers were being granted an audience before Mayor Betsy Price and the city council to officially begin talks about the issues of police reform, accountability, and defunding. Of course, cheers ensued after hearing this news, and then we were all told that the protest was over for the evening. That is when I saw the two suspicious-looking white men I mentioned at the beginning of my essay cross in front of me. I realized that we were all wrong about them, as they had been a part of our protest all along, and I called out to them and told them about how many of us thought they were suspicious in the beginning, to which they replied they got that impression. Turns out, the reason that they had kept their distance in the first place was because both men were extreme introverts and hated being in large crowds. Yet, despite their discomfort, they still marched with us because they felt it was the right thing to do, and I told them we were grateful for people like them, shook hands, then parted ways. The reason I mention this is to give a little perspective on the title “Everyone are *ssh*les,” because we are all so quick to judge without getting to know each other or understanding our struggles and can sometimes act in rude and irrational manners. I’m just as guilty, as I judged these two men before even meeting them. The same goes for the police for trying to intimidate us from practicing our freedom of assembly, as well as Donnell Ballard and his group’s behavior towards our own simply because our movement has gotten more attention from citizens, and our group towards his for having ties to the police and using the press to glorify themselves. Of course, there are also all the people we encounter on the street who only wish to see the movement die and attempt to spread their hate as much as they can and try to make us look bad. There are also people within our own movement who could stand to look in the mirror themselves and reflect on their own behavior, and I say that while keeping myself in mind.
This next part will be quick for I was not in attendance, but I believe it to be crucial to this essay, and the events that occurred can be backed up through video evidence and text messages, which I received after being placed in a group text by Anonymous after I informed him I would not be there on the day of June 13th but wished to know if anything noteworthy happened, which certainly was the case. I had been working on several videos, photos, as well as some essays about the movement, when I received a flurry of multimedia and text messages from a few numbers I had not recognized. After looking through them, the footage depicted Nysse Nelson being arrested by police that evening. The texts claim she was simply speaking to protesters and passerby citizens on the bullhorn, which was apparently in violation of a new noise ordinance that had been instituted that day to try and silence the protests. Now, I did not see what had happened beforehand, for the video shows Nysse just standing a few moments before she was put in handcuffs, so I cannot claim that the texts that I received didn't bend the truth in any way to fit their narrative. In all honesty, after seeing how she reacts towards observers, my own confrontation with her, as well as her rhetoric upon the courthouse steps the night before, I can assume that she was probably arrested for acting the way that she typically does, although I cannot agree in the slightest that someone’s behavior justifies any reason for them to be hauled off to jail. Shortly after I looked through these texts, I received an Instagram direct message from another man that I had met at the end of the previous night stating that Lucid had been arrested as well. I asked him why, and he replied that he was speaking “loudly into the bullhorn,” which violated the noise ordinance, and that was all the information he could tell me. Still, I couldn’t believe this. Despite the noise ordinance, there had not been a single instance wherein I saw Lucid speaking in a violent or hateful manner. Sure, he spoke with a fiery passion that could be heard from a mile away, but the way he spoke never appeared to be aggressive to myself. Upon hearing this news, I began to wonder if it was possible that Lucid and Nysse may have been targeted by the police before the march even began, and that they intended to arrest this duo regardless of what they would do, especially after I heard that they were out in full-force that evening. There was also a third organizer who was arrested that night, but I only heard about this recently, and I was unable to get any clarification as to why this individual was jailed.
There have been tensions between police, protesters, and non-participating citizens, but these two nights proved to be boiling points. Lucid had been released the next day after his bail was posted by an attorney who goes by the name of Michael Campbell, and he was in Dallas for protests the following evening. I believe Mr. Campbell was handling the cases of all three that were arrested that evening, but I have not received word about their release, and I have not seen Nysse at a protest since, although she may just have been going to others that were happening in other parts of the city or metroplex. And that is how this essay comes to and end. I wish I could say more about the events that had occurred these evenings, but I will leave with this: though the crowd that night started off alarmingly small, by the end it had grown to three times the size it had been, and despite all the tension that happened, The People kept their cool and proved that even though they may be berated constantly and opposed on nearly all sides, there is still a chance to act humanely and to act as decent citizens who wish to see an end to injustice. I'm glad to see them in the street fighting, I hope they never give up doing so, and I intend to be with them, marching and shouting at the top of my lungs, camera in hand, every single step of the way into a new and glorious future.
Update:
After two more nights of protests, I have gotten to see Nysse Nelson outside of the stressful elements that come about with protecting bodies during protests and I must say that her behavior before had to have been due to high amounts of stress from taking on a roll as protector of the group. In fact, she gave an incredibly compelling speech before a very important march that the protest group would take, which I will disclose in a later essay, and I have it all recorded, and I will do my best to ensure that she is given due credit where deserved, so long as I feel that her rhetoric can be of meaningful use for all to hear and learn from.
