Steven Taylor Day: Looking Back

I waited to post until now. I wanted to sit with my feelings about the first official Steven Taylor Day this past April 18, 2021. The day commemorated not his murder by SLPD, but rather his life as a father, a son, a grandson, an artist, an SLHS alumnus, and so much more. He was a human being. His life mattered. It was self-evident, inherent. His worth was more than 40 seconds or $40 dollars of generic retail items.

However, because he was a Black man, mentally ill, and homeless, he was discarded, disregarded, callously calculated as less than and less deserving than. Sadly, his story is not unique or even rare. It's why Steven Taylor Day was also made into a memorial for every life, every victim, every survivor, every family touched by police violence. It’s a reminder that racism is not a bygone era or fringe feeling. It was built into the foundations of our nation, intertwined within our institutions, our values, our way of life.

So, yes, I wanted to sit with it, because so much happened on that day and because of that day. For myself and others across our city, it was a wake-up call. It was a sudden shock to an otherwise self-satisfied existence in San Leandro. Since then, we have seen a grassroots movement arise within our community, thousands upon thousands of residents from Estudillo Estates to Roberts Landing, from Davis Tract to Lower Bal, and from creek to creek. Dozens of social justice groups, working independently and together. A coalition summit of local leaders, activists, organizers, students, and the families of those affected by police violence. We came together to elect a progressive majority that November. We pushed for transparency, equity, accountability. Police oversight. A budget task force. New city management. A navigation center for the homeless, the sick, and the struggling.

But does anyone remember where they were on that day? I do. I was sitting at my desk, working remotely, coming to the end of the afternoon cruiding social media when I came across a sudden influx of tweets about the Walmart on Hesperian. Slowly, but surely, I learned that a San Leandro police officer had shot and killed a Black man. I watched video after video. I read tweet after tweet. It was horrifying and yet I couldn’t stop watching. Couldn’t stop reading. Couldn’t stop thinking that if I didn’t act now to stand up against injustice in the city I call home, then all my work before, during, and afterward would be meaningless.

Besides sharing a name and the experience of fatherhood, Steven was the same age as I am. We both loved music and making music. We both enjoyed making jokes. We both experienced mental illness. We both struggled. Yet why is he dead and I’m alive? I never met him personally, but from what I’ve learned from those who did know him, he was beloved. Yet that was not enough to spare his life. Racism doesn’t care whether he was exceptional or not, because racism is indifferent to individual Black lives. Racism only kills and consumes and grows into something completely different yet remarkably reminiscent.

On this past Steven Taylor Day, I had the pleasure of meeting the names, faces, and voices of people I had only known through a computer screen. Elected officials. Local leaders. City employees. Activists. Organizers. Elders. Youth. Teachers. Allies. Friends. Strangely, I forgot how much I missed the people I had never met in person until they were six feet in front of me, masked and waving, as we talked excitedly about anything or nothing in particular. Just happy to connect. Just happy to be there. That we could all come together like this amidst one of the deadliest pandemics in human history, is nothing less than miraculous. It was a gift I’ll never take for granted.

Something interesting and surprising about this event was that despite all the pain and trauma that people shared, it wasn’t depressing or infuriating. I never felt like I was drowning in sadness or grief or loss or fear or hurt or anger. Quite the opposite —I saw myself and others healing in that space as we came together to celebrate Steven Taylor’s life and the lives of so many others.

My daughter planted seeds for flowers and vegetables. We played with fidget spinners and drew pictures. There were speeches, poetry, music, dancing, and prayer. People freely gave away books on social justice and art.  I bought a mask and a t-shirt as keepsakes, as well as shaved ice as a treat to share. The wind was cool and the sun was warm and it felt like we were creating a moment in this movement that I can’t really explain other than to say it reminded me of home. So, as we neared the end of the festivities, my daughter and I walked back to my car and drove to our apartment to be with my wife and my other daughter, to finish the day as a family. 

After everyone had gone to sleep, I stayed awake wondering though… What if Jason Fletcher had waited just 10 more seconds? What if it had been homeless compact Officer Camarillo who had responded to the scene? What if Steven Taylor was still here, what would our world look like? I honestly don’t know. I wish we didn’t have to wonder. I wish we didn’t live in a world where each day we wondered what kind of world we could have had if not for all the innocent Black and Brown lives lost to violent racism.

For now, all I can do is say his name and continue in solidarity to build a better world for my children than the one I was given. I guess that will just have to be enough.

I’ve taken the liberty of sharing photos from the event. A few are mine, but most are courtesy of Bruce Lescher at Pro Bono Photography. You can learn more about his work at https://www.probonophoto.org/. 

Take note and take care.