Blown Away On A Back Street

The sky had dressed spread out its blanket of darkness. Droplets of rain accompanied a soft breeze that swirled candy papers and cigarettes across the broken sidewalks. I smelled something in the air. It was a familiar scent. I had smelled it in the worst, crime and drug ravaged ghettoes in New York City. I had smelled it in Oakland, California. And it singed the inner lining of my nose here in the Bayview-Hunters Point section of San Francisco. I smelled the putrid aroma of danger.

A thin black man of about thirty with a light beard approached me. "Say, Bruh," I said. "Can you show me where the young man lost his life?

He ignored me. Placing his head down between his shoulder blades and quickened his foot steps. I saw fear in his eyes. There is nothing threatening about me. I am a slow walking, middle aged man with an often seen smile. However, If I had started after him last night, I believe that he might have started running.

The area around Gilman and Paul Streets was dark and deserted. The only light seemed to come from a bank of candles down the block. No more need to ask for directions. Two minutes later, I was standing in front of the Mario Woods' shrine.

As a minister, I have been coming to scenes like this for years; to console friends and family who may be standing at the death scene weeping over the loss of a loved one, to pay respect to the fallen soul, to whisper prayers. No one was here tonight, though. Too dangerous, I surmised.

Video footage from the December 2nd encounter shows young Mario surrounded by a battlion of policemen each of them armed with pistols. He had knife. One of the officers blasted him saying that he posed a threat. The pictures don't show that. At least not to me. Will the officer stand trial for the murder? I'm not holding my breath. The police chief step down as the people are demanding? I would also consider that doubtful.

What is not in doubt is that the black community is at the cross roads of crisis. Between mass incarceration and homicide, we are engaged in our greatest struggle since the days of chattel slavery. Where do we go from here?

One of the things that has kept us shackled is that fact that we are waiting for another Moses. We are looking for the 21st century Martin Luther King, Jr. to leads toward us to daylight. It's not going to happen. Our community is too diverse and its needs too varied and great. We need hundreds perhaps thousands of leaders to make a stand. We need preachers and pastors who are courageous enough to get outside of the church buildings and into the streets to talk to our folks. We need mentors, foster parents and basketball coaches. We need writers and rappers who can communicate with clarity, passion and hope. We need school teachers who can inspire our children. We need some ride or die allies, like the Freedom Riders who once boarded bus to the deep south to challenge segregration laws.

Good bye, Mario. I pray that there will be justice. I pray that those who needlessly took your life would be forced to consider what they have done in the sanctity of a courtroom. More than that, I pray that your life would infuse our struggle for dignity and human rights with the fire to stand against the injustice that would destroy us all. Peace, my brother. Rest in peace.

Read the NY Daily News story.