I learned that there would be another protest yesterday for Roshad McIntosh, a 19 year old young black man, who was killed by a Chicago Police officer on August 24. Neighbors say that the young man had his hands up and was in the process of surrendering when he was shot and killed.

I had missed (because of illness) the previous protests demanding that the killer cop be named and that the police report be released to the public. I had, however, been closely following information about the incident on social media. Yesterday, I finally felt well enough to attend the latest protest. I grabbed a ride with my friends Sarah, Zach and Megan and we headed to North Lawndale for the 5 o’clock protest/march.

We marched from the site of Roshad’s killing to the 11th police district.

photo by Sarah Jane Rhee (Chicago, 9/1/14)

When we arrived at the police station, Roshad’s mother, Cynthia Lane, entered the building to ask for more information about her son’s killing.

photo by Minku Sharma (Chicago, 9/1/14)

She returned a short time later to say that the police didn’t tell her any more details about her son’s death. She vowed to come back every day until she got answers.

photo by Danielle Villarreal (Chicago, 9/1/14)

I’ve written before about the grief of black parents who lose their children to unspeakable violence:

“Black parenting is, in part, about managing daily precarity and about the pain of borrowed time. But it’s also more importantly, I think, about love: the fierce & abiding kind born out of the knowledge that tomorrow is not promised. It’s a love mingled with pain that allows for a celebration of blackness in a profoundly anti-black world. My parents raised me here to love being black, to bask in it even while they understood that the rest of the world denied its beauty. My family members and friends are doing the same for their children today. This is our legacy and our triumph.

Even as the dominant culture sees and treats us as unpersons, we know that this is in fact the greatest of lies. And it is this truth that instills hope and provides the ultimate answer to the question: what will we tell our children? It’s simple actually, we’ll continue to tell them how much we love them. We’ll let love have the final say as we keep fighting for more justice. Because as Audre reminds us: “There is a world in which we all wish to live. That world is not attained lightly. We call it future.”

I saw profound sadness, grief and so much love in Cynthia Lane’s face when I walked over to introduce myself to her at the start of the march. When she spoke outside of the police station to all of us who were assembled to thank us for caring about her son, I almost lost it.

photo by Sarah Jane Rhee (Chicago, 9/1/14)

It was a diverse crowd that participated in the protest. I was struck however by the number of young people and particularly young black men in the march. Many were Roshad’s friends and it was clear that they were angry about his death.

photo by Andy Thayer (Chicago, 9/1/14)

photo by Sarah Jane Rhee (Chicago, 9/1/14)

I was glad that these young people had a container for their grief and rage. And not for the first time, I wondered where the emotions of the thousands of other young black men without outlets for them land.

photo by Sarah Jane Rhee (Chicago, 9/1/14)

I’ve seen many a comment on social media over the past few weeks suggesting that marching and protest are futile and “useless.” Some have ridiculed protesters in Ferguson and across the country who are demanding an end to police violence. I feel sad for those people that they have lost their humanity. Being in North Lawndale yesterday and standing with others in protest and refusal was actually life-affirming and healing. Raising our voices together to demand accountability for the murder of a black teenager by the state is a reminder that all of us have value. It is a manifestation of love. Cynthia Lane certainly thought that our presence was important. Her tears and words were testaments. Love matters as a verb; as action.

photo by Sarah Jane Rhee (Chicago, 9/1/14)

As I was looking at the beautiful photos taken by my friend Sarah after I got home, I was riveted by one image in particular. It’s a photograph of a boy, probably no older than 10 years old, standing with a look on his face that I can’t quite decipher. I didn’t see him at the protest because there were so many people there. I thought of what I’d like to say to him about the importance of protest and refusal. So I turned to Dr. King as I often do:

“Power at its best is love implementing the demands of justice. Justice at its best is love correcting everything that stands against love.”

I hope this is an idea that the boy in the photo below comes to understand in his adulthood. And I hope that this understanding translates into a lifelong commitment to protest, refusal and most importantly to love as a verb.

photo by Sarah Jane Rhee (Chicago, 9/1/14)