We all felt the pain when through the window of our media, we watched a white policeman push his knee into George Floyd’s neck, for an eternity. And we realized we were witnessing a murder by the police.  Again.

I can’t breathe. The world held its breath with him and then started marching, city by city, state by state, country by country.  At Storycatchers, we were finalizing our radio play I Am Not Your Homie at the Illinois Youth Center—Chicago. It’s a radio play because, with Covid-19, we could not have a live production with guests in seats.  In the final song of that play, a young man honors the murder of a friend at the hand of a retired policeman, and the refrain goes:

“Nobody can kill a song; through this song our boy lives on.”

The lesson for that character Trillo is that to release pain, to share that release with others, and to create a memory that will last forever, is to write his friend’s legacy in song.  Immersed in our collective grief and rage, Tamara Drew, the Artistic Manager at IYC-Chicago, Denton Arnell, the composer/music director for that program, and I decided we would take that song hook and create an anthem for George Floyd and the thousands of others who have died at the hands of police.

 

A First Verse: To Persist

At home, Tamara wrote HUMANIZE BLACKNESS on a large poster board and stapled it to a tree. Along side it the many names of those victims of police murder.

She played a powerful protest anthem Hell You Talmbout by Janelle Monae on repeat.  She filled the sidewalk lawn with candles and began the ritual of banging drums and pots at 7 p.m. every night, which gradually attracted neighbors to join and bang their own pots for the over 8 minutes and 46 seconds Officer Chauvin had his knee on George Floyd’s neck.

The overwhelming number of names on Tamara’s trees and the pain of Storycatchers’ staff was recounted at every meeting we had after the murder. Sorrow, fear, and bottomless anger at the repeated dehumanization of black bodies, inspired our first verses and chorus:

AS WE GRIEVE
AND WE GRIEVE
AND WE GRIEVE
OUR HEARTS ARE BROKEN
WE. WILL. NOT. LEAVE.
SPEAKING NAME AFTER NAME
OF THE KILLINGS
THE NAMES THAT ARE SPOKEN
WHEN WILL THIS CEASE?

YOU CAN KILL MY BROTHER,
YOU CAN KILL MY SISTER,
YOU CAN KILL MY FATHER,
YOU CAN EVEN KILL MY MOTHER
BUT YOU CAN’T KILL THE BEAT OF OUR FEET
AS WE MARCH ON IN PROTEST
THE PULSE OF THE PEOPLE BEFORE US
OUR WORDS CALL OUT FOR JUSTICE
IN ONE GIANT CHORUS
YOU CAN’T KILL A SONG

 

A Second Verse: A Mother’s Nightmare

The second verse was inspired by the story of a mother of one of our participants who had the lead part of Miquan in I Am Not Your Homie.  He was early-released from IYC-Chicago because of Covid-19 but was picked up by police outside his home a week later and detained again.  His mother Brenda told me that she has 13 children – 8 of them boys.  The family lives on a block that feels like an open drug market. Brenda’s nightmare is that her sons will be shot by police.

MY EIGHT SONS
ALL OF THEM LIVING
WE. HAVE. BAD. DREAMS.
I AM SHOUTING THEIR NAMES
AFRAID THEY ARE DYING
BEING SHOT BY POLICE
WHEN WILL THIS CEASE?

 

A Third Verse: I Have the Same Feelings

The third set of verses was motivated by a black police sergeant who trains other police. He realized some police – when they look at black people, they do not see human beings. And he can’t train someone who cannot see you.

I AM HUMAN
THE SAME BLOOD AND BONES
THE. SAME. FEELINGS.
I LOOK IN THE GLASS
I SEE MY FACE
MY BLACK BEAUTY AND STRENGTH
THE ME YOU ERASE

It is art as protest and protest as art. We honor the names and experiences of those affected by police violence.  We carry on in memory of those untimely ripped from this life. We hope our anthem will move those who continue to march in protest.

Enough is Enough. 

 

Meade Palidofsky, Founder & Artistic Director