'Privileged' Activist Urges Chicago To Stop Shouting, Take A Knee

CHICAGO — In America, a knee has become a powerful weapon. Kneeling during the National Anthem ended NFL quarterback Colin Kapernick's career. George Floyd died with a Minneapolis cop's knee on his neck. A notable Chicago activist says that same pose could help slay the worst of us — a tribalism that has divided and defined our "city of neighborhoods."

Decades of protests haven’t built trust in local law enforcement, erased invisible racial and economic divides that have plagued America’s most segregated city or broadened a collective understanding of what poor black Chicagoans are up against.

Recent mayhem and looting only brought more suffering to our most vulnerable neighborhoods.

It's as if we've been here before. When police misconduct inspires community backlash, city leaders urge peace alongside community activists until public outrage subsides. We've seen them offer slightly different versions of the same promise — equity, equality and an end to police brutality in neglected neighborhoods is coming, one day.

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On Facebook Live Wednesday, one of those men who stand up for African-Americans abused and brutalized by police shared a personal revelation that he hoped might help Chicago gain a new perspective on the recent manifestation of our city's cycle of civil unrest, and maybe even help us heal.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this out of my mouth,” activist Jedidiah Brown said to his supporters, "but I’m not even qualified to speak on the behalf of the pain of so many people who look like me.”

As Chicago descended into chaos following George Floyd’s death, Brown has been among a group of community activists who has worked to help focus the message of angry young black people that so many continue to dismiss as acts of vandalism and looting committed by "thugs."

Frustrated, speaking into a cell phone camera, Brown said, “This is what I want to say to all the people like me. ‘Cause even though I’m black. And even though I want the same thing at the end of the day. I realized how much of a privileged a black man I am. … I realized — listening the pain of those young people, looking in their eyes and looking at their conditions and having conversations with them — the reason why we can’t get a lot of what’s really going on is because we do not understand the level of their pain."

Brown grew up in a tough neighborhood, but he was not of “the streets.” He had a strong family, a good home. He had access to money and cars. He is well-spoken. He described himself as "street smart." Brown’s work as an activist has evolved into a business that extends beyond his hometown — employing people in Atlanta and New York City — doing work to strengthen black neighborhoods.

Tuesday's protest at the corner of 71st and Chappell — the same spot where he became a defendant in criminal court and plaintiff in a civil case alleging brutality by Chicago police — brought about a revelation.

“When you talk about a child who is outside yelling at authority because their momma was a prostitute. Or strung out on drugs. … Or a father that was absent. Or their clothes are dirty. They don’t have a home that is decent. And they don’t have transportation that is reliable. They don’t have resources to get adequate food. And nobody is speaking up for them or standing up for them. Then, I have to realize that I am a privileged black man,” Brown said.

Because of that experience, Brown said he has started to view the chorus of people, including fellow African Americans, chastising young black people for looting business in their own neighborhood with fresh eyes. For the first time, Brown saw those destructive acts as manifestations of a deep hopelessness that he talked about but because of his own experiences didn't truly understand.

“I am more aware that we have no idea how these kids are experiencing pain. And we are not qualified to speak for them,” he said. “And now we need to shut the f--- up and listen.”

But that isn't activism the Chicago Way. Brown said his years spent as a member of the city’s activist community has taught him City Hall always has favorite, go-to activists during a time of crisis. “Tokens,” he called them.

“Even myself, I’ve worked with administrations of three mayors in Chicago and I’ve become very notable. But they try to get me to tailor my message in exchange for opportunities. But because I wasn’t like that I was blocked out a lot of the time. You see the same advocate with them,” Brown told me.

“I don’t want to start saying no names because that can get messy. But those advocates, those pastors, they can only reach their particular groups. … speaking about the difference about two cities, but not the pain that’s experienced on the ground during this crisis without the ability to resolve anything.”

After Tuesday's protest in South Shore, Brown and seven others went to Chicago police headquarters. With officers lined up protecting the building, they kneeled in the street and prayed. There, Brown demanded an in-person meeting with Chicago’s new top cop. And the next day, he and about 20 activists and neighborhood folks gathered to talk with the Supt. David Brown.

“He tried to convince us that he understood our struggle. He said he came from the hood. He had relatives that lived in places like where we are fighting from. That he lost a son to police violence,” Jedidiah Brown said.

“I don’t know if that registered well because he still spoke about being the police for a long time. … So, I think he lost that moment. In our rebuttals, we told him that he’s paid to police the community, but we’re the ones that know the heartbeat of the community. In order for killings to stop, this chaos to stop, this crisis to stop, you’ve got to relent some of your perceived authority, and you’ve got to empower all of us to do what he will never be able to do. And I think he got it.”

Jedidiah Brown said the police superintendent admitted to the group “he didn’t know the city.”

“It was interesting to hear that someone who was hired to run the second largest police department in America wasn’t required to learn the layout of the city first. He was thrown into the fire. On the job training,” the activist said. “That gave him a level of grace from us because he acknowledged that, instead of acting like he knew it all. We spoke about the dynamics of how Chicago works.”

Together, Jedidiah Brown said, activists and community members in the room called on the superintendent to end the long-held practice of leaning on hand-picked community leaders to stand with them in news conferences, particularly during times of crisis, to give the appearance of unity and trust.

“We told him he’s got to break the mold which all of the leadership of Chicago does when they pick their favorite, and that becomes their go-to person or their token when those people can really only do so much,” Jedidiah Brown said.

“As a very large city different people have a voice in different parts. … We told him that as superintendent he has to create community policing opportunities that give a wide range of citizens to take part in public safety. … Employ the people you are trying to control and empower them. Policing can’t be an occupying force. It has to be a partnership. We beat that drum.”

I asked Brown what he's learned. He spoke of the power of a black quarterback's quiet, kneeling protest of police brutality on NFL sidelines.

“The reason we can’t figure out what’s next is because everybody is shouting. The police department has to listen. The activists have to listen. The mayor has to listen. All faiths and all colors, we need to listen, so we can recognize that even though we’re connected by the same desire for the future, we’re disconnected because we all feel this pain differently," he said.

"We all need to take a knee on all this shouting, and listen."

Do you understand?

Mark Konkol, recipient of the 2011 Pulitzer Prize for local reporting, wrote and produced the Peabody Award-winning series, "Time: The Kalief Browder Story." He was a producer, writer and narrator for the "Chicagoland" docu-series on CNN, and a consulting producer on the Showtime documentary, "16 Shots.

More from Mark Konkol:

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