These days have been harrowing, but a long time coming. Sunday, I attended a protest in Benton Harbor, Michigan to stand in solidarity with people I did not know, but have a connection to. Benton Harbor, where I grew up, has a population of 10,000 people, 89% of whom are black. The median household income is $17,301; 48% of the people live in poverty. When I was a teen, Benton Harbor was rated the worst small city in America for five consecutive years due to poverty and crime. The governor of Michigan would warn people to lock their car doors if they had to drive through.
Protest in Benton Harbor, MI on May 31, 2020
Benton Harbor is located on the southeastern shore of Lake Michigan and separated by a river from St. Joseph, which is 87% white and has a median household income of $55,975. The racial tension I grew up with was palpable and illuminated in the book “The Other Side of the River: A Story of Two Towns, a Death and America’s Dilemma” by Alex Kotlowitz, which chronicles the investigation of the death of Eric McGinnis, a black boy who drowned, or was drowned, in the river. This drowning occurred the same year I moved east.
Though I moved to New York City to pursue a career in dance, when I arrived, I immediately noticed a difference in the racial tension. To me it felt diffuse…like there was more room to breathe. I attributed this to the racial diversity of New York City, and that diversity is one of the reasons why I’ve remained a New Yorker. I didn’t feel that singular polar tension here like I did growing up.
Parts of downtown Benton Harbor are boarded up. It’s been this way since my family came here in 1977.
The Hinkley building on the right was built in 1898. When the current owners bought it in 1997 it was condemned and partially collapsed. The restored building now houses the Water Street Glassworks, a glassblowing facility that works with inner city youth. It is part of the downtown arts district which includes art galleries and dance and music studios as well as a few restaurants and cafes.
Through my years on this planet, I’ve come to understand what a privilege that feeling of having room to breathe is, and even just being able to breathe. I have also come to understand that no matter what I felt growing up, it is nothing like what my black and brown sisters and brothers have experienced daily in their lives. I do not have to worry that a police officer will attack or kill me because of the color of my skin.
I keep coming back the words sung so poignantly by Sam Cook and others that followed, “It’s been a long, a LONG time coming, but I know, a change is gonna come”. Police brutality must stop. White supremacy must stop. Black lives matter. Change takes people and the change we need here takes a lot of people, and it’s time to stand, walk, march and resist in solidarity.
In closing, I write the names of George Floyd, Darius Johnson, Amadou Diallo, Manuel Loggins Jr., Ronald Madison, Kendra James, Sean Bell, Eric Garner, Michael Brown, Alton Sterling, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, Tony McDade, and unfortunately, the list goes on.