We had barely rolled up into East St. Louis
when we got news of a strike. I had never actually seen one before; it was one
of those things that I never really thought about, assuming it was left behind
in history. It seems like one of the most American things you can do:
protesting by refusing to do your job. I love the idea of it. What I don’t love
is how divisive this whole thing is. White workers were striking, and new black
residents of the city have been phased in to cover the work of the strikers. I
can’t blame them; they’re desperate for work. Hell, if I were them I’d take the
job too. I’m just afraid that they may be taken advantage of, and they
certainly aren’t making many friends with those whose jobs they’ve just taken.
The city is wrought with violence already, and the racial tensions are just
exaggerating it all to a really dangerous degree. I’ve heard rumors of white
citizens taking shots at black homes, and I’ve heard of black retaliation
resulting in the deaths of two officers. I’m concerned, but I don’t know if I
should really try to get involved.
It’s been three days since I’ve gotten
here, and two days since my last post. The violence has erupted into full blown
riots. The police have turned to militia style monitoring in order to keep the
peace, but they’re failing. 38 people of color and 8 white people were killed.
Hundreds of black Americans have been shot at, and thousands more driven from
their homes. It shatters my heart; so many of them have been fleeing far worse
situations further south, but they can get no respite. While some people have
begun examinations into the occurrences and have been seeking solutions to the
divisions, thousands more continue to harbor hatred for those unlike them in
pallor. As much as I would love to stay and help in whatever way I can, I have
to keep going. I have to keep moving.
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