how sad.
His plea to rioting Californians was made into sort of a cliche, but it inspired me, even beyond what had been a pivotal moment in my own view of our nation's respect of my citizenship. I felt that, if these officers could get away with the beating, then there really wasn't any meaningful measure of my citizenship which I could hold on to. Mr. King's simple but eloquent plea was a supreme moment of selflessness; delivered as most of us were obsessing on our own antipathies.
On Rodney King Day, we were to gather and protest, but I had to work that day. I heard that it would be enough to wear a black ribbon, so I made an effort to get one and wore it proudly to work. Upon seeing my ribbon, my Ronald Reagan-loving boss hit the roof of the store and ordered me to take it off. I did, but I also called our human resources dept. to inquire about my rights. I was told by a polite woman that I was definitely not allowed to wear the ribbon. I informed her of what I had heard through the grapevine -- that managers in our urban stores were actually handing ribbons out to workers there. She paused and put me on hold. After a few minutes, she came back on and, just as sharply, told me that I was, indeed, allowed to wear the ribbon; for that day, only. She asked to speak with my store manager and informed him. That man took me back in the produce cooler and just unloaded on me. After a few minutes of this, he cooled down. Why do you always have to oppose me, he asked, exasperated and defeated, at last. I apologized. I told him it wasn't personal. It's just the way I am, I said.
I still have my black ribbon in my scrapbook, beside a newspaper clipping with his quote. Thanks, Rodney King, for making such a tragic incident into a redeeming one. Rest in peace, man.
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