The Things
We Carried
Allie Fireel
For over 100 days, protesters and activists have marched through Louisville, shutting down streets, business districts, and bridges while decrying police brutality and mourning the death of Louisville’s Breonna Taylor. Her death at the hands of Detective Brett Hankison, Sgt. Jonathan Mattingly and officer Myles Cosgrove, along with George Floyd’s death at the hands of Minneapolis police, sparked worldwide demonstrations and protests.
Though the city of Louisville has reached a historic settlement in civil court with Breonna Taylor’s family, the weight of her death, the death of David MacAtee, and the burden of a lifetime of trauma still weighs heavily on Black Americans.
But in the many days of protest that have included rain, scorching heat, and multiple aggressive actions by the Louisville Metro Police Department, protestors have also shouldered the very literal burden of the supplies they pack for protests. Actions that begin peacefully too often end in police using less-lethal crowd control measures like tear gas, RADS, and rubber bullets, not to mention a slew of arrests that often occur while the smoke is still clearing. So while protesters may hope for the best, many discover they must plan for the worst.
For TAUNT, I shared my experience and interviewed five other activists about theirs. Alongside the interviews you will find photography by Bearykah Badu and Destiny Mbachu, known collectively as A Well Written Photograph. Here are stories and memories of a few of the belongings we found when protestors dumped their bags. We hope to help provide a window into the physical realities of the people in the streets, and the weight of the things they carry.
Noa’s Megaphone
Noa is a Black trans non-binary activist with a passion for the intersection of Black and Queer identities. They are working to become a full time organizer, and to create workshops to help educate and advocate for the safety and health Trans, gender non-conforming, and gender non-binary communities. Support Noa's fundraiser.
“When anyone out there – another Black person especially, especially a cis-gendered Black person – sees me and is willing to be like, “Hey, your voice needs to be amplified,” it makes me feel seen.”
Noa: Usually I'm out there in front of the crowd, keeping the morale up, singing some chants, jingles, songs, whatever it is that we need so we can keep the momentum, you know?
The first few protests I went to, they were spur of the moment, I was there the first night, I've been there like everyday. The first few days I didn't have a megaphone, I wasn't thinking about a megaphone, in fact the first day, I was so under prepared it was ridiculous.
After the [redacted] action, after that I realized there was a need for (a megaphone), and it was given to me by another organizer, so I could continue doing what I needed to do. And also my voice is a very, like, relaxed calm voice, it’s really difficult to be just like yelling all day. So they were like, “You need to have this. You need to have this on you. I need your voice amplified Noa. You need to be out here doing this,” and gave it to me so I could use it.
When anyone out there – another Black person especially, especially a cis-gendered Black person – sees me and is willing to be like, “Hey, your voice needs to be amplified,” it makes me feel seen. It feels validating. It feels empowering. Like, “Hey, someone has seen me, you know what I mean?”
“Of course, immediately after I got it my mom was like, ‘Do they make bulletproof face masks too?’”
Jon’s Bulletproof Vest
Jon is a Black photographer whose ongoing and comprehensive documentation of the protests in Louisville has been featured in national publications like Time Magazine and Vanity Fair.
Jon: It was the day after Tyler Gerth was killed in the park.... As photographers, a lot of times we crowd around each other because we see the same shot. I'm not sure how Tyler ended up in the path of that bullet; it doesn't sound like it was intended for him. But I imagine in my mind that he was there to capture a conflict. And so, any of us could have been stacked up on top of him. Tyler and I had a lot of very similar shots, from the same angle.
So I had a conversation with my mother that night. She called me and actually I didn't answer because my phone was in a different room, so she was freaking out because she heard a photographer was killed, and so I called her back and told her everything was fine. She expressed her concern and I agreed with the sentiment and I, you know, went out and tried to buy a vest. Interestingly enough, gun sales are up and concurrently bulletproof vest sales are up, so there's a lot of things on back order.
So she and I had the conversation and we came to an agreement that I wouldn't go back out to the protest until I had this vest, and I would wear the vest at every protest. So I went and got fitted for one by a business in town, and started wearing it. Of course, immediately after I got it my mom was like, “Do they make bulletproof face masks too?”
Kayla’s Notebook(s)
Kayla is a Black, non-binary writer and protestor whose work has recently been featured in The Washington Post's "The Lilly." Contribute to Kayla’s fundraiser.
Kayla: It's a little blue line notebook, and the cover is velvet…. (but) to take to the protests I definitely use whatever spiral notebook I can find. Because nothing you have is really safe when you're at the protest. You can plan for what you want to, and have nice things with you, but the cops? You cannot trust them to leave your things alone.
I take notes. I take a lot of notes during the marches, I just try to write down images that are poignant to me or just an interaction I see, maybe something for an essay. It's just so hard to put everything I've seen in the last few months into words…
It's just very ironic to me that all of this protesting, and all of everything that we're doing, is about a Black woman, but we can't seem to get farther in respecting Black women than wearing tee-shirts, and saying (during a march) “women and children to the center.” Like that should make me feel uplifted? Like that should make me feel like anything other than prize cattle, a prized possession, or some sort of pedestalled object.
That is the most disrespectful, fake, woke bull crap, it's just so garbage. and everyone thinks that they're, they're so feminist, and they're so woke, and they care so much about women just because every once in a while they'll take a moment to say "Can I get a round of applause for all the Black women today!" but then not stop their friends from raping us, and not stop their friends from calling us beasts, or– or– not having any conversations with the people in their lives who say, "I would never date a Black woman, they're just bitches."
I definitely want to write that essay, but I just can't find the words.
It's just very ironic to me that all of this protesting, and all of everything that we're doing, is about a Black woman, but we can't seem to get farther in respecting Black women than wearing tee-shirts, and saying (during a march) “women and children to the center.”
And they are these big leather boots with a steel toe. But right on that toe is a glitter paint trans pride flag.
Allie’s Boots
Allie is a queer, bi-polar, non-binary writer attempting to use their white privilege to make space for and elevate marginalized voices.
Allie: There isn’t always a lot of space for my queerness at the protests. Like the way I dress is so utilitarian; black pants, a black tee shirt or tank top. I’ve got my black denim jacket rolled in my bag in case I need extra protection for my arms. And like, if I wore any make up I’d sweat right through it, right?
And it’s like, even though it’s probably a “women’s” pair of jeans and a “women’s” tank top, I just end up looking like this big ass cis-het man. And it feels kind of awful.
So I hand painted these trans flags on the toes of my boots. And they are these big leather boots with a steel toe. But right on that toe is a glitter paint trans pride flag.
And I had gone in not thinking that was going to happen. Because nobody goes into a peaceful protest thinking, "You know, we're going to be pepper bulleted and rubber bulleted, and tear gassed.”
Reena’s Saline
Reena is an activist, a mother, and an immigrant from Pakistan. She has been involved with social justice since racism and hate crimes against Muslim Americans began to multiply after 9/11.
Reena: The other thing I do have is this saline solution. And I learned that the hard way. Because the first night that I showed up at the protests, it was – as usual – a peaceful protest, and we were tear gassed for no reason at all. And I had gone in not thinking that was going to happen. Because nobody goes into a peaceful protest thinking, "You know, we're going to be pepper bulleted and rubber bulleted, and tear gassed.” So that was a very uncomfortable and rough night for me because I went in completely unprepared.
The medics were there, and they had this saline solution, and they were cleaning my eyes out with that. That was awful. I can still taste (the teargas), I can still remember the taste in my mouth.
Katie’s Granola Bars
Katie is an ally and accomplice who has pivoted her organization skills toward providing food and beverages to protestors. She knows that the best snack is delicious and nutritious.
Katie: I had started to notice that people were just bringing chips, and that’s not very sustainable for standing outside and feeling good, I guess.
The day after David Macatee passed away, down at 26th street, when people were having the big gathering at 26th and Broadway? Me and a friend brought cases of water, and a ton of snacks down to the square that weren't chips.
So we took, like, protein bars down… But granola bars are like, cheaper and easier. It’s got to be something that is going to get you protein so you can just stand outside all day. That is a task in itself.
People were so thankful. That is what sticks in my mind. They were like, “God, thank you, those chips make me feel like shit.” I just noticed that that felt like an important thing that people focused on, like how they are nourishing themselves during the protest.
So, a little granola bar.
About the Writer
Allie Fireel (they/them) is a bi-polar non-binary queer writer, performer, and producer based in Louisville. As both a playwright and journalist Fireel is making a commitment to de-stigmatize neurodivergent and emerging queer identities through their work. As founding Artistic Director of The Louisville Fringe Festival they are committed to pushing back against assault and abuse as in their theatrical community, as well as breaking down the racial divide in Louisville’s entire creative scene. #BraveArtistsDeserveSafeSpace #BlackArtistsMatter
About the Creatives
A Well Written Photograph is an original Black collective aimed at promoting Black artistry and Black creativity through community outreach. Learn more.