OR: WTF is 3, 10, and 6?
After a pretty long day, I was heading up Market to catch the 61 bus home. On the 400 block of Market, I heard something; from about a block ahead, right in front of Independence Hall, I heard cheering, and people clapping. I was pretty confused. It was after 9pm, and it sounded like alot of people. The sound was similar to people rallying, like at a high school sporting event, and then it faded.
I slowly came to see huge crowds of people standing in the street, and realized something strange was going on. From as far away as I was, it sounded like people were calling out "3, 10, and 6!" But I doubted that this many people suddenly became this passionate about the Philadelphia area affiliates of the major TV broadcasting networks.
I started marching double-time to catch up and find out what was going on. And as I got closer to the interesection at 6th and Market, I realized that traffic had stopped, and there was well over a hundred people in the road. In the meantime the chant had switched to "No Justice, No Peace", and I had no opportunity to figure out what "3, 10 and 6" meant. But I wanted to know.
So I ran.
I ran about a block, to catch up to the middle of the crowd. They were filling the eastbound lanes of Market, and marching through red lights. At first I thought I sensed tension in the air, the sidewalks were, after all, filled with other people who were, in general, just as curious as I (but, looking back, probably less confused). I soon came to realize, the tension I was feeling was my own nervousness. Its not everyday you find hordes of people marching down Market Street.
I soon came to realize the atmosphere was pretty light-hearted. There were groups of people holding hands, and many with raised fists, some seemed angry, but many seemed happy. The crowd was predominantly black, but not entirely. Bicyclists blocked off intersections to ensure the crowds could cross safely. At this point, my curiousity had overtaken my shame for not knowing what had brought these people to the point that they felt they must interrupt traffic in Center City, so I asked someone what "this" was: "To free the Jena 6."
"Oh," I replied, approvingly. "Of course it was," I thought to myself, "THANK GOD I know what the Jenna 6 is." But more appropriately, I should be thanking
Mos Def.
I ran ahead and took some pictures, and followed the crowd back to City Hall, chatting along the way with a couple people, and yearning desperately, to conduct a couple proper interviews, and write down some notes and names. Like a real journalist would. I didn't.
The event, as far as I saw, went off without any trouble, and all in all, the marchers, drivers, and bicyclists seemed to be pretty courteous, patient, and respectful. As they crossed, 9th, 10th, 11th, and 12th. It was then that I first realized I had YET to see a single police officer. I have NEVER EVER been in Center City Philadelphia for longer than 3 minutes without seeing a cop on Market Street. Not at 1:30pm, 9:30pm or 3:30am. That was truly eerie.
I wondered, "Did the police know?"
How could they not? People were stopping traffic.
"They must know and not care."
Which is weird. We tend to think of police as people who want to be there, not only in case of trouble, but often to arouse it. On one hand, I am glad for the marchers sake, that the police weren't there harressing anyone. On the other, I wonder what would happen, if an argument broke out, and the police weren't around to witness it. It truly felt like there were no police in the city.
Anyway, things wound down once the crowd reached City Hall. I was talking to a couple girls from New Jersey who had come over to march. They weren't affiliated with any groups, they just felt it was an important cause. I didn't get their names.
As the chanting faded and the crowd gathered around at City Hall, marchers mixing with the guys on motorcycles who hang out at City Hall at night, I scrambled to get the last few shots on my cameraphone that would capture the crowd's size and atmosphere. I realized I had been shooting in a low resolution setting, more appropriate for text-messaging than for capturing atmosphere, and my phone reminded me for the 3rd or 4th time in 5 minutes that my batter was low. It was precisely at this time that I realized the shot I wanted, framing the crowd with the massive City Hall behind them. Something in my head forced me to spin around.
Broad Street lay stretched out before us all, as far as the eye could see. Low and worn, it was a very long road before us. I ran closer to City Hall and put my back against it, I lifted my camera to take a picture of the back of the crowd, all looking out at Broad Street like a part in the sea that is North Philadelphia. My battery died.
Oh well. I briefly walked next to a crowd full of people who believed so much in something, they marched for it. And I didn't even have the courage to ask anyone their name.
