Hip Hop Prompts Discriminatory Security Practices

Chicago's Millennium Park is a local, national and global treasure. From the world-class architecture by people like Frank Gehry to the first-rate range and quality of the performances given for free nearly every day all summer long, there is no other place like it anywhere, no exaggeration.  That's what makes the horrifically discriminatory security practices there at a concert this past week so difficult and painful for this raving fan to understand. What follows is my personal experience of this travesty, which I expose and dissent to because I want it to go away and never come back.

On any given night, the Park is host to a premiere musical event, usually classical but for the past few years with increasingly innovative series. One brings performers from around the world, literally from Benin to  Japan and beyond. On these nights, weather permitting, the Park is full of mostly white, suburban or urbanite groups and members of the national groups to which the performers belong. They happily and peacefully drink wine and beer, and often smoke pot, loving city life to the fullest. I have been among them on many, many an occasion, never taking for granted the liberties that living in this great city affords us, savoring every moment with gusto. Until this night, when I got literally sick by what I saw.

It started when I got out the "L" subway train a few blocks away. There has been more and more police on patrol, more and more security guards, and more and more helicopters overhead since Barack Obama became President, on top of the city's electronic surveillance, unmatched in quantity and quality anywhere on the planet. But now there were groups of two to four police officers at each street corner. Half were drinking  iced coffee and chit chatting, the other half checking out people as they walked by, including myself intently as usual, since I sort of look like Palestinians you seldom see on TV. I generally smile or smirk back. I recognized that they were all on the path to the Park, but let it pass. Maybe we've gone to "orange alert" or something, I joked, whatever that means.

The closer I got to the park, the more both the number and diversity of security personnel present became striking, no longer explainable by any security alert level short of an impending terrorist attack, the presence of a foreign dignitary, or the President himself. I saw that I was not the only one noticing the strangeness, unable to help overhearing other spectators' disgruntled grunts. "That's Chicago for you…" was one of the more benign and historically-informed, drawing on the city's notorious record of police violence. "No it's not, not anymore at least," I hoped. I let that pass too, until I got to the manned, metal gates into the Park that had never been there before. That's when I began to witness the extent of the disproportionately discriminatory security practices in a Park that until that point had only embodied, not only symbolized, much of what's great about this country to me.

The night's performers would be a first for the Park, combining international with local stars reaching beyond its usual target market demographics. One of the concerts I  know a lot of Chicagoans and out-of-towners alike had been looking forward to all summer. First up, the globally renowned  Congolese street band Konono N°1, famous for what's called their ‘junkyard sonics.’ Next, the headliner: Chicago's own Kid Sister (Melisa Young), who exploded onto the national music scene with the hugely popular single “Pro Nails” featuring Kanye West. It was her first hometown show of the summer, universally billed as a can’t-miss for hip hop and house fans. Both performers were a welcome departure from the New Music Monday's over-focus on experimental, occasionally flighty, rock, which usually attracts an exclusively hipster lookalike crowd.

I was excited for the show but infuriated by the Park's unprecedented security setup. I got to the temporary metal gate manned by Park security guards, surrounded by security guards from other security companies, surrounded by police officers, surrounded by people in Park uniforms just looking around. I patiently worked my way to the front of the line. Nothing even close to this ever happened at any other Park concert I'd been too, and over the past few years I've been to a lot.

They asked me to open my bag. I obliged. After an initial protest, the many guards from other security companies told me I could not come into the Park with the sustainable-use bottle I had in there. I guessed he had x-ray smell and scented the wine I had in there, as I and most spectators have brought to Park concerts before.

"Why can't I've bring it in? I've brought it and my dinner to many Park concerts before."
"This one's different."
"What's different about it?"
"This is a hip hop concert."
"Yeah, so?"
"So new rules."

I was speechless, and took a few steps back in shock. This is not my Chicago, this is the Chicago Martin Luther King Jr. faced in a different form, in which hip hop like "soul" music then is a euphemism for black, who for some city officials then and apparently now need to be quartered and monitored like animals, like the white activists who support them. Congo and Chicago's South Side, better call in the National Guard. I got into another line, hoping to find a security guard like many who do as bad a job as they're paid for.

"Can't bring that in."
"Why?"
"It's a hip hop concert."

This time, I had enough. I wanted to eat my leftover barbecue pork chops, tofu and tomato with my wine in peace. Konono N°1 had just started playing, and with the Park's stunning acoustics, I could listen from a side grassy knoll. When I sat down, I saw the literal cage-like mass cubicles built with metal fences that had been set up in the park's large grassy area, again never there before. It was obviously intended to keep the people in the area separate from one another for crowd control purposes, with passageways for security to walk about and monitor. An outdoor detention hall or prison yard. This was a 'hip hop' concert, after all.

The visceral anger of the people sitting around me was palpable. As I ate, as they ate, as I drank, as they drank, security guards would walk by and tell us not to drink from beer or wine bottles. Most ignored them, other diligently obeyed. Not event Konono N°1's junkyard sonics were enough to distract me from what seemed to be a riot in the making, by forcing all the "undesired" elements in a small space outside the place they wanted to be, and letting their anger fester and spill over. A recipe for disaster quelled only by the beautiful summer night and beats.

With my sustainable-use bottle empty, I got in line at the gate again. When I arrived at the line's front, I held the bottle upside down to make it clear that it was empty. I was informed by the security guard that I couldn't bring it in. I thought I misunderstood.

"But it's empty."
"Yes, but you can't bring it in," said a second security guard.
"I don't understand. It was full, I emptied it, I just want to enjoy the concert. Can you please explain."

Apparently I was causing a ruckus, because now three police officers were standing in front of me, repeating what the security guards had said. One of them, awesomely square shouldered and jawed, obviously wanted to get upfront and personal. So I humored him.

"I must be really, really stupid. Can you please explain to me why I can't bring it in?"
"That's the rule."
"That rule has never existed before."
"But it does tonight."
"Why?"
"Because it's a hip hop concert."
"You realize that means because black people are here."

He didn't say anything, just smirked.

"That's racist," I said.
"I think you're using that term too loosely."
"You're right officer. I must be a total idiot. Please pay no mind to silly, stupid me. Just please, if you will, tell me who is in charge of the security tonight."

I think he noticed my hand was shaking in frustration as I put my empty bottle in the trash. He referred me to a woman in a gray shirt, who asked me what I'm doing here and I said I will write  about what I am experiencing and want to talk to who is in charge of this fiasco, who referred me to a man in a light blue shirt, who referred me to a woman in a white shirt who took me aside to talk to me. It turns out she is the Communications Manager for the Park and the city's Department of Cultural Affairs. She was very diplomatic, and listened very carefully as I told her what I was seeing and what it meant, about which she had apparently been oblivious to this point.

"I love this Park, I love these concerts, I love this city, but this brings us back to the old Chicago we all wished and believed had gone away. Why have you brought it back?"

Her response, verbatim, was "We are experimenting with new security measures." She gave me her card and we parted politely as I took a place in the seating area in front of the stage. Within seconds, Kid Sister and her DJ were on, the beats and bass started booming in heavy house music cadences (another Chicago original), and everyone was dancing right by the stage and having a great time.

The DJ's closing words were "have a safe night, peace." The night went without incident, and so will pass -- except for this post and in the minds of a handful of spectators and yours -- Chicago's old-new security practices into the great night of discrimination of which the day will only come in its elimination.

Photo credit: stuttermonkey