Powerful vigil in Astoria Park marks fifth day of racial justice demonstrations
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Demonstrators lit candles during a protest and vigil against police violence and systemic racism against black and African Americans at Astoria Park Monday. Photos by Christina Santucci.
By Christina Santucci
The demonstrators came to Astoria Park by the hundreds Monday night, carrying candles and signs with messages like “Racism is a Pandemic,” “White Silence = Violence,” and “I Can’t Breathe.”
They gathered at the foot of the park, along the East River, to read poems, sing songs and speak out against systemic racism killing black and African Americans as they peacefully protested the death of George Floyd in Minneapolis.
Several hundred people attended the vigil to honor the memory of Floyd, who died after a police officer pressed his knee into Floyd’s neck for nearly nine minutes last month. Organizers said the vigil had been quickly arranged and planned to gather again Wednesday evening at Astoria Park.
Monday’s gathering began with the singing of the hymn “Blessed Assurance,” and finished with a sea of candles and mementos placed at the foot of the Astoria Park War Memorial on Shore Boulevard.
Photo by Christina Santucci
One woman spoke about the fear she feels for her three-year-old son, who is black, and another woman told the crowd about her husband, a lifelong activist who died last month from COVID-19. Several speakers talked about how they had not planned to speak or had never before attended a protest but felt the need to show their support Tuesday night.
Photo by Christina Santucci
Spoken word poet and author Joaquin Capehart read his poem, “American Funeral.”
“They see my hands as talons, my teeth as tusks, my breath beamed hellfire. My skin is seen as a black hole,” he read.
“I can not jog, I can not inspire, I can not give praise. I can not frolic on a playground. I can not survive a traffic stop. I can not sell CDs. I can not whistle. I didn’t whistle. I can’t wear a hoodie. I can’t reach for my cell phone. I can’t carry my legally owned firearm. I can’t be seen. I can’t raise my voice. I can’t organize. I can’t matter. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t breathe.”
