When I was wandering in the early 1980s across the USA from New York to San Francisco and back, I wish to stop in Dallas.
I was still in elementary school when the principal came in during class and said President Kennedy had been shot. Then we watched footage of the assassination on TV and we didn’t have any more classes that day.
Years later, I walked around Dealey Plaza, Dallas and relived those moments. It’s that wooden picket fence against the parking and railroad, that’s that Triple Underpass, that’s the grassy knoll, that’s Elm Street, that’s that book depository…
The history lesson I experienced.
I went to Burger King at noon. Not because I wanted junk food, but because I was short on money and time. So I sit at the table and chew on that hamburger. One black man sits at the next table, another African-American man stands by the jukebox in the corner and sways to the rhythm of the music.
Seen from a temporal distance, the events followed each other in this sequence. Another black man enters the bar, looks around and sits opposite the first one. He hands him a small package under the table. In the next moment, two policemen enter. They run towards the black man in the corner. A scene like in the movies, one cop a step ahead, the other right behind him. They grabbed the man, who had already raised his hands in fear. They spread his legs apart and cuff his hands behind his back. Meanwhile, the third black man says provocatively, what’s going on, man. The policemen ignore him and drag their prisoner away. Holding his hands, they forced him to almost pushed his chin on the floor.
After a few minutes, the first man returns the package under the table to the third one.
At that moment, it struck me that the two cops had arrested the wrong one. And that it was probably about drugs. I stared blankly at the table and continued munching on my burger. And thought what would happen if I shouted, you have the wrong one…