They are banging on the windows…

At first, I can’t place the sound. Then I look up and I see arms waving from behind darkened windows. They must be standing on their beds straining to see us. I’m not sure why it didn’t occur to me that they might see or hear us outside. This is after all mainly why we are here.

Over 200 of us (or more) are standing outside of the Cook County Juvenile Temporary Detention Center (JTDC). We’ve walked over 2.5 miles from Paderewski Elementary, one of fifty schools that Rahm Emanuel closed last year. As we march, there are energetic chants, waving signs, a colorful banner, cars honking, neighbors looking out of their windows and others rushing over to ask what we are all about. It doesn’t feel somber though we’re here to resist the criminalization of young people. We are joining together to kick off the National Week of Action Against Incarcerating Youth.

Our group is an intergenerational one – from babies and toddlers to teenagers and college-age young people to those of us in middle-age and grandparents. We are black, white, latin@, asian and a mix of all of these. We are cis-gendered and trans*. We are able-bodied and differently-abled. It’s an incredibly diverse group and this matters if we are to build a mass movement to end prisons.

At Paderewski, before we marched, we heard speeches from young people who shared their experiences of attending the school (when it was still open) and we heard from young organizers who called us to action.

We heard powerful spoken word and poetry.

Together, we participated in a collective action of affixing padlocks to the gate of Paderewski symbolizing the thousands of young people who are pushed out of schools and into the prison pipeline.

Then we marched.

At the JTDC, we were moved by testimonials about the impact of youth incarceration. We listened to powerful words by young people who demanded justice for themselves and their peers.

We stood in circle and took turns in the center to call out the names of loved ones who couldn’t be present with us because of incarceration. Together we said: “We call your name.” Our voices rose together in unison. It was a prayer of sorts or maybe a tribute.

Through our presence, we hoped to shine a light on the ravages of incarceration.

Then we heard the pounding. We looked up and there were arms waving in the high windows of prison cells. Those remaining of the crowd waved back and made noise so that they knew we could see them. They seemed to be saying: “We’re here. Don’t forget us.” And we wanted them to know that we did see them and that they were not alone. So we wrote those words on a wall of the jail: “You Are Not Alone.”

And we reinforced the message of the action and the march…

Update:

Here’s a terrific article about the march and action along with a wonderful video: