Voices of 'Philly is Baltimore'

There were still a few hours before the march, so the pastor sat in his rectory office and reviewed the words of his Sunday sermon.

Words that the Rev. Mark Tyler of historic Mother Bethel A.M.E. Church had crafted for the moment upon us. For the hopelessness and despair and anger on display in the streets of Baltimore and Philadelphia and everywhere else in the wake of the death Freddie Gray and other black men before him. For the opportunity for change that comes with the pain.

Across town, Temple senior Paul-Winston Cange made his way through campus to the Broad Street Line. Even with three philosophy papers due, Paul-Winston wanted to make it to the "Philly is Baltimore" rally. Since before Ferguson, the idealistic 23-year-old political science major had helped organized social-justice rallies on campus - as well as helping plan January's Reclaim MLK march. On the train, he contemplated what, if anything, he would say at the protest.

In Center City, Hakim Thompson, 25, of North Philadelphia, and his friends made their way toward the crowds at Dilworth Park. Hakim doesn't need anyone to explain anger. The way he sees it, the cops are scared of him, and he and his friends hate the cops. What was a protest going to change? Still, he wanted to experience it. He wanted to be heard. He wanted to be there for whatever happened. "I am going to start some s-," Hakim said, laughing.

Three perspectives of the hundreds who marched in Thursday's tense but mostly peaceful march through Center City. Three windows onto a moment and a movement and a city.

Paul-Winston and his roommate Naveed Ashan, 23, found a spot on the edge of the crowd near the fountains. He says there is room for real change through our political system. That Baltimore was the expression of people who have not been heard in a long time. That as sad as the looting was, it was important for the nation to realize black people are no longer content living in the shadows. That this can be the moment that pushes everyone toward real solutions.

"We can no longer act as if those problems no longer exist," he said over the noise.

He listened as speaker after speaker took the microphone - the rhetoric growing angrier with each. After about an hour, he decided he had nothing to say this day. He decided to go home to work on those philosophy papers.

"We have to figure out how to move forward, where we go from here" he said. If not, he said, before heading down the steps to the train, "We'll just be back here again in a few months, chanting the same exact things, giving the same exact speeches, just with a new name."

As the speeches wore on, Hakim scanned the park - the white college kids, the dudes playing drums, the Crips and Bloods standing together in their colors. He grew bored.

"People out here for the show and nothing else," he said, suggesting he and his friends leave. Then the crowds began to organize for the march. He and his cousin Antonio Thompson, 19, found spots in front. They listened as an organizer shouted instructions through a megaphone. They laughed at the surprised stares of rush-hour commuters. They chanted in the faces of customers at Rittenhouse Square restaurants. They felt the adrenaline. Somewhere, Hakim picked up a sign - "Justice for Freddie Gray." They locked arms as marchers tried to take an I-676 ramp. They bragged of the baton strikes they said they braved.

Hakim never did start any of that stuff he had promised.

But as the march slowed, he said he wanted more.

"It felt good," he said. "They couldn't stop us."

As he marched, Tyler winced at some of the language, but he understood it.

"The anger is important, even if it is frightening to some people," he said. "Hopelessness is paralyzing. Hopelessness locks you in. And there is such a tremendous amount of despair and hopelessness."

He thought of his Sunday sermon, how he was returning to a theme he has preached often since Ferguson: that silence is compliance. How no one has the luxury of remaining silent. Not in a city that works for some but fails so many. Not when there are so many voices that need to be heard.