Velando a Tookie

The bright lights from the news crews were blinding; the people packed around you, and you had to move according to their movements. We walked along the water, the houses across the street were stately and quiet, as if no one were home. With my sight obscured and the sound of the helicopters drowning out all other sound, it seemed my sense of smell was more acute. It smelled like Christmas. I looked around and saw there were pine trees, and people who had climbed in them to get a better view. Move forward a bit, just stuck in a bottleneck, try to keep your hair from being burned by candles. I heard someone say, "excuse me," and Sean Penn brushed by me.

No way to be tired; no sense of time, it was truly surreal. So many camera people and news people trying to get the perfect picture or score an interview with just the most interesting person. Some people there to be seen, but most there to wait and hear and help Tookie's spirit pass to the other side.

For the last hour, children and adults read Tookie's books in the microphone. We all grew a little restless by 12:15am... no word, no sign, no way of knowing what was going on inside the prison. I hope someone told him how many of us had come to support him in his last hour.

The ridiculous show of force... police lined up in the most inane places. Smirking, talking about traffic, some taking the opportunity to earn the city a little cash by writing parking tickets. We were making them nervous. They were making us angry and sad and frustrated. So much wasted energy. So much wasted in general.

Watching your country make justice = vengeance in your name has got to be the single most disgusting thing. Maybe it would be worse to see them mow down innocent people in the war, but this was here...twenty minutes from my house. It should be required of all citizens to watch, to contemplate the horror of murdering someone in the name of justice.

I'm sure there's more, but these are the images, thoughts, and feelings pressing on my chest right now.