Less than four weeks ago, Emadi Okwuosa wondered where he was going to get his master’s degree. But then the University of South Florida graduate saw video of George Floyd, a 46-year-old Black man, being killed underneath the knee of a white Minneapolis police officer. The 22-year-old joined his local protest to call for serious police reform and an end to the racial violence that’s been a stain on American history since slaves were brought to these shores centuries ago.
On June 4, Okwuosa—a jock who played football and basketball at Connecticut’s North Haven High School—got arrested after Tampa police deployed pepper spray following what officers describe as an incident where a 17-year-old protester slashed an umbrella at a cop.
After releasing their own video of the incident, a police spokesperson told Creative Loafing Tampa Bay that, “she really poked one of our officers with the end of that tip, could have caused serious damage. She was thrashing the umbrella at them. When she used it in the manner she did, it became a weapon.”
Okwuosa disagrees with the police’s version of the incident. He says a bike officer started the scuffle by trying to grab the umbrella. As he led protesters away from the chaos, through a parking lot and back towards Curtis Hixon Waterfront Park, Okwuosa thinks TPD singled him out for arrest. His friend, 21-year-old Stephanie Sanchez was also arrested; she sent video from those moments to the Tampa Bay Times (see above).
Another witness—Joel Davis, who was standing next to his cargo trike observing the arrest—told CL he saw officers violently body slam Okwuosa. Davis tried to pull out his phone to record the arrest and was met with officers who put shotguns (presumably loaded with nonlethal rounds) in his face while saying, “get the fuck out of here or I’m gonna shoot you.”
Okwuosa was seen wearing a GoPro at protests after that.
On Monday, State Attorney, Andrew Warren declined to prosecute 67 protestors arrested for unlawful assembly—a second-degree misdemeanor.
An inciting a riot charge on him is still up in the air according to Okwuosa’s attorney Michelle Lambo.
On Tuesday, Lambo told CL that to the day, no charges have been filed.
“Inciting or causing a riot is a 3rd degree felony,” Lambo wrote in an email. Based on evidence she’s seen from the night of the arrest, Lambo thinks Okwuosa is not only not guilty, but actually innocent. In her eyes, TPD did not have probable cause to make an arrest.
“The arrest of Mr. Okwuosa for inciting a riot can and does have a chilling effect on his future actions as a local activist due to the conditions of pretrial release. What is worse is, Mr. Okwuosa now has an arrest record which could impact future employment or housing,” Lambo added.
Lambo cannot say for certain if Okwuosa was targeted, but said that it is a huge coincidence that the night Okwuosa was arrested, two other local leading activists were arrested in St. Petersburg.
“I have sent a chapter 119 request to the Tampa Police Department requesting records from the night of the arrest,” Lambo said. “I am curious as to what if anything I find in the response to my request.”
That night he was arrested, Okwuosa’s parents cried as they spent hours not being able to make contact. Mom—a Mexican-American from El Paso, Texas—normally calls her son every morning and night; her boy, an emergent leader in Tampa’s protests, went silent for five hours while he was in police custody.
“That was the scariest moment of their life,” Okwuosa told CL on June 15, three weeks to the day after Floyd died. “They see these stories of police abusing people, stories of white supremacists taking other people. They fear for my safety.”
Okwuosa’s mom believes in the movement he’s at the forefront of, but doesn’t necessarily want him to lead it or put himself in danger. He doesn’t blame her.
“She doesn’t understand; she doesn’t think it’s my fight, but it’s everyone’s fight,” he explained. Mom and dad, however, should already know that their son isn’t the type to back down from something he believes in.
At the predominantly-white North Haven High School, Okwuosa dealt with less systematic oppression and more social oppression.
“You learn to be ostracized, and you learn to be isolated. In every conversation, every interaction I had, I felt microaggressions from everyone around me. People were still openly my friends, and I didn't deal with direct racism, but I did deal with continuous microaggressions,” Okwuosa said. “It’s somewhat discouraging, but after a while, once you learn to work through it, it gives you a strong sense of identity.”
Growing up, Okwuosa always knew there was something wrong in the world. His friends danced around saying the N-word. They fell into stereotypes and asked him to “speak Black” and tried to associate his blackness “with being ghetto… or hoodness.”
“I thought that I had to fit into those stereotypes to be Black, when that has nothing to do with the Black experience,” Okwuosa added.
Okwuosa was 14 or 15 when 17-year-old Trayvon Martin was killed in Sanford, Florida, less than two hours from where he’s organizes protests in Tampa Bay. When Martin’s murderer, George Zimmerman, got off, the country’s lack of sympathy and inability to create change broke his heart. Okwuosa “felt that pain, I felt that we had to do something. I wanted to march in the streets, but where I was at, nobody wanted to march in the streets.”
But those weren’t his first acts of defiance. During his senior year of high school, Okwuosa came out to his parents and gave them two options: Accept me, or lose me.
Nobody knew Okwuosa, who had a girlfriend, was gay. He knew his coming out would rattle his mom’s expectations. He was ready for dad to outright disown him.
“My dad’s not even Nigerian-American, he’s only Nigerian, culturally that’s not accepted,” Okwuosa said. “But I'm also not someone to hide, and I've never been anyone to hide.”
Dead silence followed the announcement; Okwuosa heard the bag of chips in his dad’s pockets pop and then crumple. Okwuosa took a long time to figure out that he was gay, but he knew he was going to live freely with or without his parents.
“My dad heard that, he saw that in my eyes,” Okwuosa said. “It was just quiet for two minutes. He didn’t say anything. And then he was like, ‘Well, I love you,’ and he got up and walked out. That was the last time we ever talked about it.”
That’s the conviction Okwuosa—who believes in, and practices, non-violence—brings to demonstrations. It’s his belief that change can only happen when a segment of protesters is constantly on the streets making life the right amount of uncomfortable for cops and bystanders alike. In his eyes, the fight for equality—and more recently the fight for a Black person not to be killed by scared, under-trained and over-militarized police officers—has been going on for decades. And despite reform, or Mayor Jane Castor’s argument that the TPD has long had policies like those citizens demanded as part of the “8CantWait” social media campaign, Black people are still being abused and mistreated by police.
“We’ve been attempting to speak about and ostracize racism. We’ve been trying so hard to do that, but it hasn’t been working. We’re still seeing the same things that we saw seven years ago eight years ago,” Okwuosa said. “I’m tired of taking that approach.”
His approach is part of the reason Okwuosa split off from Tampa’s Black Collective Movement. In a social media post, Okwuosa explained that there are no hard feelings between him and BCM. They’re both fighting for the same cause, after all, but they do have different approaches.
“BCM Tampa is very focused on building itself an organization, which I think is very, very good,” Okwuosa said “But I think my main goal is unifying Tampa and bringing as much pressure to the city until they see that we want change.”
To Okwuosa, a movement must be multifaceted, with different aspects all focused on changing the big system it’s up against. Splitting off from BCM gives Okwuosa the ability to collaborate with more people and put all his energy to being out in the street
“I want [BCM] to continue to work to bring about social awareness and education, and to do other things that they feel fit to see this movement continue,” he added. “I think I'd be better used working with the community of Tampa in every aspect, and joining and collaborating with a multitude of people to make one unified front.”
Okwuosa admittedly goes to bed helpless, angry, drained and emotionally exhausted. In the mornings, thanks to the family he’s gained during the protests, he is energized and ready to go again.
Over the weekend, Okwuosa and others met a “Back The Blue” rally to make sure the Black Lives Matter message wasn’t forgotten (yes, the one where the “white power” symbol was thrown). Later that afternoon, he and a few thousand protesters were marching on Bayshore Boulevard and throughout South Tampa.
On Monday and Tuesday (outside of BMC's small Monday demonstration at the Wiregrass Mall in Wesley Chapel) Tampa’s streets were largely quiet, but Okwuosa had something planned for Wednesday, June 17. He has hopes that the action gets the attention of of Mayor Castor, who he says he’s yet to talk to.
But as CL sent this story to print on Tuesday, Okwuosa was exchanging text messages with a spokesperson for the mayor, presumably to set up a meeting between Tampa’s top official and an emergent voice of the youth movement.
In an unrelated interview with Tampa rapper BC, the emcee said he was reluctant to vote for Castor she led the police through a discriminatory “biking while Black” ticketing campaign. BC still cast a vote for the former cop, however, largely in part because she was a lesbian. BC thought maybe because Castor did come from a community, and had a long history in a community, that was ostracized and marginalized, that she may be able to sympathize with the Black community, and maybe she did learn from that mistake.
Okwuosa understands Castor’s part in the police force and the fact that she comes from a gay community which has a long history of being marginalized.
“She does experience [discrimination] to a certain degree. But even within the LGBTQ community, Blacks are kept as minorities,” Okwuosa said. “The police system was built off the backs of slaves; they were slave catchers before they became police.”
At the end of the day, Okwuosa is still disheartened by the way police have treated protesters who’ve all knelt in front of officers with hands up. He said protesters have asked officers to simply nod their heads if they respect the movement; demonstrators have cried in cops’ faces telling the story of their lost brothers and sisters. Okwuosa himself has asked officers to simply validate his life.
“Tears are running down [protesters’] faces, and the police are still able to look by them as if they don't exist. That shows a complete lack of morality and a complete lack of empathy from the police,” Okwuosa explained.
Seeing police use excessive force against protesters during global protests against police brutality breaks Okwuosa’s heart.
“We're asking for help [and saying] ‘please do not shoot me. Please protect me.’ We're begging them to do their job correctly. And we still end up being shot at,” Okwuosa said. “And that's when I get that feeling of helplessness.”.
The day he got arrested, Okwuosa wasn't upset about being in handcuffs or upset about not knowing what was going to happen. He knew he’d get out.
“I knew things would be OK,” he said, adding that he had no intention of taking an interstate that day. He did, however, want to make a scene to create change. He wanted police to understand that American cops are disportionately killing Black people. But then the cops used excessive force over an umbrella and “one person throws something at officers.”
“It was just so disheartening to me,” Okwuosa said, “because I was like, ‘I did everything right. I did everything right.’
So until this movement gets the reform it wants, Okwuosa doesn’t see it stopping or slowing down.
“At the end of the day, I’m not going anywhere. I have to live here. This is my country to defend, my country to protect. I don’t want to be in America that doesn’t represent me and isn’t safe for my children to live in,”
Okwuosa said. He knows people are exhausted, and that protesting isn’t one person’s job.
“This is all of our jobs. This is going to be a fight that we can’t stop, but don’t think that change isn’t coming and don’t think that we’re not doing anything,” Okwuosa said.
“Because the same way we’re tired, the police are tired, too. The government is tired of monitoring us, everyone is tired, but we have to win because we won’t have this momentum again… it’s hard to handle, but it’s a blessing. We have power behind this movement. We always ask for our voice to be heard, and now we have it—do not give up.”
See more of our Q&A with Okwuosa below.
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How are you feeling and how are you holding up? I know you have a 22 year old body, but what you're doing to it is intense.
I think I go through every emotion every day. Every day, I wake up so ready, so empowered to take on the day, but then every day… it’s not discouraging, it's more so validation, that's why we have to keep fighting—but it is disheartening to see such a big system that we’re up against.
I never thought that I would be protesting for something so significant in 2020. I saw people fighting for the civil rights movement, but I never thought that I would be fighting with that same sense of danger and risk in my life; it's terrible that we have to do what we’re doing, but I'm doing OK.
I feel like the family that I’ve made in this movement, the people, we’ve close together. We share that same pain, and we share that same stress, so although it does get very disheartening whenever I have those talks and whenever we have those open discussions. I always feel more empowered because we all feel this pain, and we all know that this is the last time we're gonna have to do this.
You went to USF, but tell me about your childhood.
I just graduated from USF this past spring. I grew up in North Haven, Connecticut. My dad came to America when he was about 25; he's from Nigeria. My mom grew up in El Paso and she moved to Connecticut, too, which is where my parents met. Honestly lived a pretty ordinary life. I was a suburbs kid. I went to a predominantly white high school. I feel like a lot of a lot of black kids who go to predominantly white high schools, deal with a lot of less systematic oppression and more social oppression. You learn to be ostracized, and you learn to be isolated. It’s somewhat discouraging, but after a while, once you learn to work through it, it gives you a strong sense of identity.
I went to school in North Haven High School and like I said it was a regular life. I played basketball, I played football, I play track. But when I was growing up there, I felt ostracized. I felt as though, in every conversation, every interaction I had, I felt microaggressions from everyone around me. People were still openly my friends, and I didn't deal with direct racism, but I did deal with continuous microaggressions.
I chose USF specifically because I wanted to get out of Connecticut; it was a small place with a lot of small minds. I also knew USF was the most diverse school in Florida. When I came to USF, I felt a sense of power. I came as a political science major, but I ended up switching to psychology, so I'm a psychology major with a criminology minor.
What are your parents telling you about the work you're doing on the ground here in Tampa?
My parents know this isn't out of my character to be in a position like this. Ever since I was young, I've always been outspoken. Even in my high school I was outspoken in every aspect. I hate to be silenced. I always live out loud. I've always spoke my mind in every encounter that I've had. And I've always fought for equality, regardless if it's trans women, women's rights, the black movement, whatever, whatever it may be, I've always spoken about it. On my Instagram with my friends, I've always just been so astonished as to how the world could be so corrupt and outspoken that people can't be doing enough to, to help and actively fix it.
My parents aren't surprised, but I can't say they're not worried. Every morning my mom calls me. Every night my mom calls me. My mom believes in the movement. But she doesn't necessarily want me to lead it. She doesn't want me to put myself in danger in order to see this change. And I don't blame her, but she doesn't understand; she doesn't think it's my fight, but it's everyone's fight. And that's why I have to do exactly what I'm doing, but I can't deny that they're not scared.
When I did get arrested, they didn't tell anyone where I was for five hours. They told me that was the scariest moment of their life. They said they just sat in the room and just cried because they didn't know what would happen to me when I was missing. They see these stories of people going missing in Chicago. They see these stories of the police abusing people. They see these stories of white supremacists taking other people. They fear for my safety. They tell me I can't leave the house alone, they tell me that they don't want me to do certain things.
So it's definitely a scary time for them, but they hear me when I talk, and they hear the emotion and passion behind what I say. They know that even though it's dangerous like they know I'm not stopping.
Do you remember the first time you had that feeling in your gut, that something was wrong with the world, and that first time you spoke out?
I would say the first instance, as simple as it sounds, it was Trayvon Martin. It was Trayvon Martin and how it was handled. When the whole Trayvon Martin thing happened, it was just the fact that there was no there was no coverage on it, there was no, there was no justification for it. It was just another person just like me that was killed. When it happened, it was everybody's lack of sympathy, lack of action. A lot of people saw that it was bad, but nobody felt that same pain.
I realized that there might be more bad in the world than good when Donald Trump won. At that point, I thought there was no way somebody can be this openly racist—that's actually when I became a political science major. I was like, "We have to make this change." There's no way someone can endorse this rhetoric and speak about the world so negatively. There's no way someone can peak about Mexicans—because I am half-Mexican—and no way people can speak about gays—because I also am gay. There's no way someone can speak about blacks and openly ostracize people so that they feel as though they're less because of how they're born and get votes and get people to support them. I think that's when the fire in my gut started to burn because I was just like, "I do not want to live in Donald Trump's America." I do not want to live in an America where people feel as though they can be openly discriminated against.
I've never questioned or judged someone based off the color of their skin, and I've always been open to checking my own privilege and checking my own entitlement. And it really blows my mind when I meet people who don't have that same ability, because it's not hard to be a good human being, but it seems like the hardest thing in the world right now just to respect somebody for who they are, instead of what they look like. At that point, I realized that I had to keep fighting.
Have you been able to talk with any city councilors or anybody in the mayor's office to start a real dialogue about what the protesters are asking for, has anybody approached you?
No. No one from the moment from the City Council has approached me. We've called them and tried to make contact with them. We've had a lot of people that have reached out to us. and said, they can speak to Jane Castor on our behalf, or if there's any idea that we would like to be shared with Jane Castor. But she's never opened up the conversation to meet with any of us directly. But I do think that will change. Now that we have a list of demands that we're going to meet sure that they're known and that they're seen. I don't want them to think that we're protesting for no reason. I want them to know that we do have things that we're working towards and that we are constructing a list to say what we want. We will make sure that list is seen. I know they see my social media; I know they see everything I'm doing, but I guess I have to make it a little more, a little bit more apparent and a little bit more direct for them to understand that we want to have that conversation, and that we want to be in that in that situation. They've made remarks about us they've talked about us but they haven't talked to us yet.
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The Tampa Bay Times has suggested that perhaps you and other protest leaders have been targeted. Is that something that you're willing to talk about or something that you felt?
I don't think there's any doubt that I was targeted. Because at the time of the arrest at the, at the time that they did arrest me I was in front of the crowd. I wouldn't be surprised if they were targeting me. At the protests, I make their life very hard. Every single day that they want to have an easy day, we're going out there, and we're and we're making sure that we're heard and making sure that we're seen. So I wouldn't I wouldn't be surprised if I was targeted.
The reason I feel as though I was is because they didn't arrest me at the time that I was doing anything wrong. If they wanted to arrest me for inciting a riot, they could have done that when I was standing right in front of them. When we were facing off with each other I wasn't doing anything wrong. Instead, we were all walking back to Curtis Hixon Park, a public park, to go exercise our rights. As I was walking down the street, when I was by myself, that's when they cornered me and they arrested me. There was only one person with me; it was my friend Stephanie, and I told her to record for me right because I didn't trust myself in the hands of the police, and even me just telling her to record for me, they arrested her as well, for no just reasons. Both of us asked why we were being arrested at the time of the arrest, and nobody said anything. Nobody would reply to me. Nobody told me what I was being arrested for until I got to the police station. And that's because they didn't know, they just knew that they had to arrest me.
Did your arresting officers or anybody in the car, or anytime you're in the jail cell, say anything to you that they've made that they probably shouldn't have?
I was saying that if they could just help us in any way shape or form, but anything I said was a nuisance. There was one cop that was just holding her head; she kept rolling her eyes every time she looked at us. Even the cops that arrested me refused to tell me what I was being arrested for. There were no direct comments. When I got to the jail so people were like, "Oh, so you're the popular guy," and they were like, “Oh get a hobby or find something else to do," or "Stop making us work so hard,'' stuff like that. " There was never any explicitly derogatory statements, just very implicit statements.
So you were charged with inciting a riot. Has your lawyer been in touch with the state attorney or anybody else? Has that been dropped?
They have not charged us, but they also have not dropped the charges. It’s still pending. So we're waiting to see what they're going to decide to do.
So they’re holding it over your head right now?
I think that is what they're doing and it's smart because I can't be active. I can't do anything, because I'm limited because I do have this case over my head.
[Editor’s Note: On Tuesday, Okwuosa’s attorney, Michelle Lambo, told CL that to the day, no charges have been filed. On Monday, State Attorney, Andrew Warren declined to prosecute 67 protestors arrested for unlawful assembly—a second-degree misdemeanor.
“Inciting or causing a riot is a 3rd degree felony,” Lambo wrote in an email. Based on evidence she’s seen from the night of the arrest, Lambo thinks Okwuosa is not only not guilty, but actually innocent. In her eyes, TPD did not have probable cause to make an arrest.
“The arrest of Mr. Okwuosa for inciting a riot can and does have a chilling effect on his future actions as a local activist due to the conditions of pretrial release. What is worse is, Mr. Okwuosa now has an arrest record which could impact future employment or housing,” Lambo added.
Lambo cannot say for certain if Okwuosa was targeted, but said that it is a huge coincidence that the night Okwuosa was arrested, two other local leading activists were arrested in St. Petersburg.
“I have sent a chapter 119 request to the Tampa Police Department requesting records from the night of the arrest,” Lambo said. “I am curious as to what if anything I find in the response to my request.”]
And is this the first time you've been charged with anything? I think there's always a movement with people who would like to discount your action. People will immediately write you off, and say, “Oh well there's previous charges against Emadi,” or he did this or did that.
I've never I've never received a felony in my life. I did get pulled over two years ago, pulled over for driving with marijuana in my car.
Right, but we know all about petty weed charges and how they can be used to incarcerate people.
Exactly, so I got it I did get a marijuana charge, but it wasn't much. It ended up becoming a ticket. I paid $500, and then I went on about my day. It's not on my record or anything like that, but I did get arrested, booked and then they let me go that same day.
In an Instagram post, you explained that you have separated yourself from the BCM movement. Is there a particular reason for that? Can you explain any of the ideology? Obviously you still support them 100%—you guys are fighting for the same exact thing. Is there a reason why you had to do that?
I genuinely appreciate everybody in the BCM movement in Tampa. I respect them and we're all fighting for the same cause. There's no hard feelings. We just have different approaches on how to handle this movement. A movement is multifaceted. So we need a whole bunch of different aspects to bring about change; from the legislative aspect, from a community aspect, from a protesting aspect—many many different aspects.
But when it comes to BCM Tampa, they were very focused on building itself an organization, which I think is very, very good. But I think my main goal is unifying Tampa and bringing as much pressure to the city until they see that we want change.
I agree that there's many other forms of protest; I think that we should be doing that, but I think we should be doing that, as well as protesting. When I was in BCM Tampa, I didn't have that freedom to sort of collaborate and work with other people how I saw fit.
My main goal right now is to unify Tampa and to continue to be seen in the streets until we unify Tampa. Working with BCM was sort of limiting because I was forced to, to live by their expectations, and to live by their rules. But on my own, I can throw as many protests as I see fit. I can work with as many people as I see fit. And I can put all of my energy towards being out there and making sure that we see change. I want them to continue to work to bring about social awareness and education, and to do other things that they feel fit to see this movement continue. I think I'd be better used working with the community of Tampa in every aspect, and joining and collaborating with a multitude of people to make one unified front, instead of being on BCM Tampa. I want to represent Tampa as a whole.
Yeah 100% feel you on that. I think about that a lot because as the conversation starts to turn towards voting and "conversation" and things like that, it starts to get to that point that we've seen before where those who hold the power would like to pacify the movement enough so that other things can start to come into the conversation. Like getting back to "normal" and things like that. Without a presence on the street and disruption, nothing will progress at the speed that it needs to progress so that this movement can see through this change that it is asking for in a very direct way.
A few Saturdays ago there was a reaction because there was chaos in the streets, and not that you're trying to cause chaos, but you're trying to maintain that pressure, and that discomfort, because that is where change happens, in that uncomfortable place. You have to live in that uncomfortable place, so that the people who are comfortable will want to make those who live their lives every day uncomfortable, more comfortable as well.
Yes. We've been fighting for the last 70, 80 years. We've been fighting to educate the world on why we deserve to exist. We've been trying to do it in such diplomatic ways. We've been trying to bring awareness groups. We've been trying to enforce representation and a lot of different places. We've been attempting to speak about and ostracize racism—we've been trying so hard to do that, but it hasn't been working.
All the reforms that we put into the police stations have not been working. We fight for change, but even yesterday, Rayshard Brooks has been killed. It's like we're fighting, we're fighting, we're fighting, and even though we're still fighting, it's not finished. We're still seeing the same things that we saw seven years ago eight years ago. And at this point, I'm tired of taking that approach.
I want to educate people. But the resources are still available, there is no reason to be ignorant. I can educate people as much as I want, but the pressure that they applied in L.A. is the reason the police got defunded [there are talks of defunding the Los Angeles police]. The pressure that they applied in Minneapolis is the reason the police got disbanded. This is the first time we have all this energy, all this momentum behind the movement, and we don't have time to distribute our energy into all these different aspects. We need to distribute this energy into making sure we are seen.
I understand that we want to educate them on all aspects, but even more so, they know what we're asking for. They don't need a clear list of what we're asking for. It's not hard for them to take a look on any social media platform, or to take a look on any posts made about what we say, to see what we're asking for. Even in our chants, we say "Defund the police."
We will state demands more objectively and concretely, so that there is no room for misinterpretation, but it does not take much for them to educate themselves on their own time, and to join this movement. It's 2020—ignorance is not an option anymore. So I feel as though I shouldn't have to educate anyone who has the option to educate themselves. You see me in the street and see what I'm so upset for. You see what I'm fighting for, and why I'm so emotional. Take the time on your own free time, or call me after the protests. What I do know is that we need to be out there to be seen because, even with all the noise we're making, people are still dying so that's a you know we're not we're not doing enough.
Yeah, Mayor Castor gave an interview to the Tampa Bay Times last week, and one takeaway we had in our newsroom was that she cited that TPD already has the “Eight Can’t Wait” policies in place. However, as we’ve seen, those policies did not stop the way officers violently arrested a 17-year-old girl who they say poked officers with an umbrella, which I know is something protesters deny, even pointing to video provided by police. So in that sense, reform does need to happen, and as much as you may think you don’t need a list, perhaps you do need something more explicit as far as demands go.
Yeah, very much so. And it's so it's so sad because I don't know how else to go about it—because we will provide the list, and the list will say a lot—but I'm starting to lose trust in my police system. We just recently went to the "Blue Lives Matter" protest. The entire time, police were lined up right behind the Blue Lives Matter people. Blue Lives Matter people were able to march in the streets with no repercussions. They brought their dogs. We saw people with pocket knives. We saw people actively calling us racial slurs with the police behind them.
There was no violence. We did nothing besides go there and chant and maintain peace. But as soon as the last Blue Lives Matter person left, the police came out, and they rounded us up, and they kicked us out. When we were just doing exactly what they were doing. The Blue Lives Matter protest on Saturday was more violent than the protests when we all got arrested and met with tear gas, and we were met with rubber bullets. Even after that started, we weren't violent. We had a more peaceful intent in our protests on Thursday, that the day all of us got arrested, than they did at that Blue Lives Matter protest on Saturday—and they received more protection, they received more rights, and they were not persecuted against arrested or sprayed. I think that still shows that although you can say that the reforms are in place, although you can say all this is happening—it's not enough.
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The reason I say “defund the police,” is because in situations like Rayshard Brooks, in handling DUIs, in situations where people are being charged with drug charges or sexual abuse cases, there needs to be people qualified in that social service to take care of them. The police aren't handling it right. They're not trained right. And that's why I say this. It's more than just a reform. We need to train them to a certain point, or get people who aren't qualified to take care of all these social services problems going on in America. We can't just keep relying on the police to patrol and take care of every aspect of our life when all they receive is eight months training—and it's all physical training. They can say that all these reforms are in place, they can say everything needs to be done, and we shall speak about it… but it's just so obvious to me. That's what that's what hurts so much because I shouldn't have to tell you, to respect my life, and value my life when it's so obvious that you're not. It's frustrating.
Last week I interviewed someone who said they were reluctant to vote for Jane Castor because of her 30-plus years in the police force and because of the "biking while Black" issue, which she did apologize for and call a mistake before she ran for the office.
But the reason this particular person I interviewed with felt comfortable voting for Jane Castor was largely in part because she was a lesbian. He thought maybe because she did come from a community, and had a long history in a community, that was ostracized and marginalized, that she may be able to sympathize with the Black community, and maybe she did learn from that mistake. You talk about losing hope. Can you talk about that a little bit more, and what losing hope feels like, and what that sadness feels like when you're alone after the adrenaline of the protest kind of wears off?
Yeah, it's, it's disheartening. Honestly it's upsetting to me. The day I got arrested, I wasn't upset because I was in handcuffs. I wasn't upset because I felt as though I didn't know what was gonna happen. I knew I was gonna get out. I knew things would be OK. It was just so disheartening to me, because I was like, "I did everything right. I did everything right."
I had no intention on causing any violence. I had no intention on taking over an interstate. I had no intention on doing anything of that sort. What I did want to do is make a scene and make a change, and I wanted them to understand that they are killing us. And they did exactly what I was accusing them of. They expressed police brutality at a police brutality protest.
I don't see how hundreds of thousands of people can march in the street, and you can invalidate all of them by abusing them at the exact protests that they're asking for help, because that's what we're doing: We're asking for help. And that's what hurts so much when I go to police officers I talk to them. And I explain to them how necessary it is for them to validate my life. I'll ask them if they can “just nod your head if you respect our movement.” You have people crying in front of them telling them about their brothers or sisters that were lost. Tears are running down their faces, and the police are still able to look by them as if they don't exist. That shows a complete lack of morality and a complete lack of empathy from the police.
That's why the feeling of helplessness resides in me, because it's like how can we be so transparent, be so vulnerable, be so submissive to you. When we're on that protest, we have the intention of going up to the police officers and kneeling with our hands in the air. That's a complete form of submissiveness. That's a complete form of submission to these people asking them, "please do not shoot me. Please protect me." We're begging them to do their job correctly. And we still end up being shot at.
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That's when I get that feeling of helplessness because it's like I'm fighting a system so much bigger than me. And I want to be careful when I say that, and that's why I say every morning I wake up empowered and recharged. And every night I go to bed, drained and exhausted. Because every time I go to bed so angry about how this world is, and every morning I wake up like I have to change it.
Because at the end of the day, I'm not going anywhere. I have to live here. This is my country to defend, my country to protect. So it's, it's a sense of obligation that I have to continue to fight, but I can't deny that it just baffles my mind that people can negate and neglect someone else's experiences as if we don't mean, same as if we don't have the same blood and we don't share the same experiences.
I understand that Jane Castor used to work for the police system, and I understand that she is a lesbian, so she does experience that to a certain degree. But even within the LGBTQ community, Blacks are kept as minorities, even then. Even Black trans women are being completely neglected at this time. This is a Black movement for everybody, but in every aspect, in every minority, even in the gay community, Blacks are still held to the side, regardless. So she may understand that that minority feels that she managed in that minority feeling to an extent. But the police system was built off the backs of slaves. They were slave catchers before they became police.
Slave patrols.
Exactly. Exactly. They were on slave patrol. So it's been built on the backs of slaves so everything like that, it's like this system was built on a shaky structure, so it's no wonder riots are coming to light now. That's why I think that it has to be completely rebuilt and formed, or even abolished until it can be built the right way, and they can do exactly what they're meant for.
When did you come out?
I came out my senior year in high school, 2016.
What did your parents think? How did your social structure at school change?
That's how that's how my parents knew that I wouldn't back down to anything; that was my first example of complete resistance, I guess you could say, because I grew up at North Haven High School as a pretty masculine jock. I played all the sports. I was friends with everybody. Nobody would have suspected that was gay. And I didn't know I was gay. I actually had a girlfriend that I was dating for a while, and I struggled with my emotions growing up for a little minute. Eventually I just realized that I was after a lot of introspection and figuring out everything. The minute I realized I was, I made a Twitter post that I posted for my entire school to see.
My dad's Nigerian, he just he's not even Nigerian-American, he's only Nigerian. Obviously culturally that's not accepted. Even my mother had certain expectations for me that I was going against, so I knew that it was going to be very hard for me to come out to my parents, and to come out to my school because it wasn't something that a lot of people would have expected from me. And I know they had visions. Me being the football running back and varsity basketball player, no one wants to see their son be the gay kid, especially with the stereotypes that it's associated with.
But I'm also not someone to hide, and I've never been anyone to hide. I came out to my parents, and my parents knew they had two options: They could accept me, or they could lose me. I stood strongly with that. I ended up telling my father and my mother, I just told them, I told them straight up I didn't sugar coat anything. They came to my room because I asked if I could talk to them. I explained the situation. As soon as I said it, I was ready for my dad to just disown me and never talk to me again. I felt the hurt when I said it to him. But I think he felt the determination in my eyes, I think he felt how serious I was and how I wouldn't back down to compromise my identity. Because it took me a long time to make sure I was what I was, and once I finally figured it out, no one could tell me anything, because I was going to live freely and I was going to express myself however I saw it. If that was in my parents house, I would love for that to happen, but if it wasn't, so be it because I was going to make sure that I came out. He heard that he saw that in my eyes.
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I remember he had a bag of chips in his pocket, and as soon as I said it, you just heard the bag of chips pop in all the chips crumpled. And then it was just quiet, it was just quiet for two minutes. He didn't say anything. And then he was like, "Well, I love you." And he just got up and walked out. And that was and then that was the last time we ever talked about it.
Ever since then they knew about me; we've had more open conversations these last recent years, but it was just something that I needed them to know for myself. They didn't have to accept it, they didn't have to be there. I told my parents they don't have to come to my wedding. I do not blame them if they don't come to my wedding. But as long as they knew who I am, and they don't try to act like they don't. I don't want them to ask about my girlfriend. I don't want them to ask about anything else besides what they know. If they don't want to ask, that's OK, but they do need to know who their son is in every aspect.
As soon as I told my parents, I came out to my school. It was a shock to everyone. But I didn't want to allow any room for people to talk about me. I didn't want to allow any room for people to feel as though they had power over me, or they could misconstrue my story. So that's why I put a long post on Twitter. Everyone retweeted it, and within seconds everyone liked it and saw it. That was the best way I could have done it because I took power of my situation. I lost friends, of course, but I mean the friends that I lost didn't even have to have a conversation because they just removed themselves from my life already without me having to check them or say anything. Everyone knew that I was so strong and so determined in being myself, unapologetically, that there was no room for misinterpretation. There was no room to question me. It was either you accepted me, or you stopped talking to me on your own time. I think I had a good coming out, story, honestly.
Have you thought about future plans at USF, anything like that, or are you so focused on the protests right now?
It's hard. Three weeks ago I was thinking about where I wanted to go get my masters, and what I wanted to do, and where I wanted to move out to once my lease ended July 31. So I had a lot of questions like that. I didn't know what I would be doing. But no, I can't think of anything else besides the process at this point. I can't think of anything else. I feel like this is the biggest civil rights movement—it's an international civil rights movement—and I don't think we're going to have this energy or power behind the movement again. I think if we don't capitalize on it now, then it's going to be the last time we fight for it. I refuse to live in a country that I do not feel free in—I refuse. So I do think that we have to keep fighting.
After that Thursday event, you started wearing a GoPro. How much has changed now that the police knew you are watching them? Where does that footage go to? Where are you saving it?
I have lost trust in my police system because I've seen them blatantly lie when there is no room to lie. I've seen them fabricate complete stories that go against the true accounts of what actually happened. And if I had a GoPro on the day that I got arrested, no one could deny my story. It's no room for anyone to talk because I did nothing wrong. If I had a GoPro on in many other situations, they could say nothing because we have videos, but, still, in every video they have, "Oh that's the wrong view," or "You can't see it from here"—there's always some excuse as to why that's not good enough evidence. I know for a fact that if I have a GoPro on, there is no room for misinterpretation. This is my point of view from exactly where I'm standing. So you can’t say that you haven't seen it.
I haven't put the GoPro footage anywhere. It's more preventative because if anything does happen, it’s like a safety precaution, so that I can say, "Hey, this is what happened. We're safe."
I do believe that I am being targeted. I do believe that they want to arrest me again on charges that can't be [disputed by a witness]. I don't trust that the police are on my side, and I don't trust that they're not out to get me. So that GoPro is to ensure that if I do come up, if I do go anywhere if I do get arrested, then I have this concrete evidence that I'm not doing anything wrong. Because I haven't incited violence, once before in my past, and I will never incite violence anytime in my future. I just need proof that these are my motives, and this is my intention, even though I do say it every single day.
Is there anything you feel like we missed at this point, right now? Is there anything you want to make sure is heard and understood about yourself and your movement?
Yes. I would just say that there is so much more to this fight, than we've experienced. We're at the very, very, very beginning of this long dreary fight. I understand the emotion that everyone's going through—from discouragement to hopelessness, feeling as though this isn't your job. But I need everyone to know that this is a fight for equality.
We can tell—even just yesterday with the Rayshard Brooks—everyday we're reminded. I thought the momentum would die out for George Floyd. But we have three more names to add to the list. We have three more people in the last 48 hours that we can add to that list. And it's so terrible that even throughout all these protests, people can still be disrespectful to hold their own celebrations on June 19, like Donald Trump. Even though he moved [his Tulsa rally] to June 20, the statement in that means so much. The fact that we can still be blatantly disrespected and blatantly put to the side. The fact that the police so blatantly protect Blue Lives Matter for the same things Black Lives Matter do, it shows that we have more fighting.
I know people are exhausted. I know people are tired. I know you feel as if this isn't your job. But this is all of our jobs. We're are all tired, and they're all tired. This is going to be a fight that we can't stop fighting, but don't think that changes and coming and don't think that we're not doing anything. Because the same way we're tired, the police are tired, too. The government is tired of monitoring us, everyone is tired, but we have to win because we won't have this momentum again.
I really mean it when I say, "No justice no peace." I don't want to be in America that doesn't represent me and isn't safe for my children to live in. And I think that's just the importance of this.
Three weeks ago, I never would have thought I would have been in this position. I never would have thought I would have had this type of responsibility on my shoulders. And although it's hard to handle, it's a blessing that I wouldn't ever give back, because we have power behind this movement. We always ask for our voice to be heard, and now we have it. My message would just be for everyone not to give up.
This article appears in Jun 18-24, 2020.