The Night I Met Joe Prude
When Living is the Resistance #justiceforDanielPrude #justiceforWalterWallace
It was a crisp Thursday night, the first of October. A night on for the movement, for the resistance. It was the night I first met Joe Prude, brother of the late Daniel Prude, and his family.
On this night, the resistance did not manifest in its typical form of peaceful protests and revolutionary calls for an end to police murder in the Black community. This night’s protest was an authentic celebration of life. An homage to Joe Prude on the occasion of his birthday. The scene was set with a block party in the heart of the City of Rochester, illuminated by streetlights, DJ beats, socially distanced cupcakes and lit paraphernalia honoring the Black Lives Matter movement.
My encounter with Daniel Prude’s loved ones occurred during a much-needed return to where I was born and raised. After months in quarantine, and actively participating in BLM protests across Brooklyn, I embraced being home, and could not recall a time where I felt prouder of my city. In meeting the family of the unarmed Black man whose life was cold-bloodedly taken at the hands of officers in the Rochester police department, I felt there was a sense of calm and peace, of warmth and resilience. My attention turned to examining the lesson Joe Prude and his family were offering each of us.
Daniel Prude did not deserve to die. By all accounts every social system in place whose job it is to protect, serve and save our lives failed not only him, his family, and our community, but consequently staged the arena for the next Black man to be killed by police officers in the wake of a mental health episode, instead of being subdued and disarmed. The death of Walter Wallace eerily answers Joe Prude’s query, “How many more brothers got to die for society to understand that this needs to stop.”
For every Black life there is a family, a community, a city, a nation impacted by the persistence and senselessness of racially motivated police murders. These murders are symptomatic of the anti-Black pathologies and white supremacist ideologies characteristic of too many in our judicial system. Yet, on this night, for the movement, for the resistance, it struck me that it was perhaps the most profound form of protest I have witnessed and participated in since my journey began in the final days of May.
The celebration of Joe Prude’s birthday is a reminder that our utmost responsibility as Black people is to live, as much as it is our responsibility to act in truth for those whose lives have been unjustly cut down. This is something that took me a longtime to understand.
Under the weight of losses, it is easy for surviving family and friends to become mired in guilt, shame, and remorse. Their lives end when their loved one’s end…but we cannot afford to stay there.
While the name Daniel Prude remained firmly etched in the minds of all who gathered, the movement called for the music, the laughter, and celebration of life to go on. For us, continuing (and for some, beginning) to fully live our lives, our Black lives, is the resistance.
