It was just 50 years ago that the National Guard was first called to a northern city.
That city was Rochester, New York.
It was called a “riot” but most riots don’t last three days. Some have called it a rebellion instead.
I was just 13 by three weeks when it started. Back then, all I could think of was how horrible it was, and how glad I was to be fairly far away from even the nearer of two key neighborhoods. One of my two older sisters was, at nearly 21, already an R.N. at Genesee Hospital and was served with a police escort to work.
I had no idea what sort of discrimination and fearful living conditions, together with prior bad treatment by the police, was behind it.
In a film shown around town for a few months now, I and my friends saw what kind of attitude the police had toward “those people” including a certain ministerial staff. A clearly identified man and woman approached the nearest police station and asked to be an exception to the curfew. They wanted to minister to the rioters in the interest of peaceful resolution.
An intercom from an inner office was left on. The police chief was heard by them to say that they could stick to their own neighborhood, but that if they were to venture to downtown (“Main Street”) they, the [epithet used when murdering] should be shot on sight.
What is perhaps most disturbing about “1964” is the current situation here in Rochester, despite years of fighting against discrimination and poverty by many organizations.
We are currently among the most geographically segregated communities in the nation. And it’s a surprisingly poor one.
ETA: At 4pm EDT, I will be attending a retrospective tour at the Lincoln Branch library in the Joseph Street area, the nearer of two neighborhoods heavily involved. I may have more to write after that.