First-time activists say Philando Castile shooting has opened their eyes

Keelan Bailey was about to nod off on the night of July 6 when he checked his phone to get the next day's weather. He saw a headline that jolted him awake.

A black man had been shot by a St. Anthony police officer, only 3 miles from Bailey's St. Paul home. The aftermath was caught on a live-streamed video that Bailey watched from his bed. He swiped to the next article and learned that the victim, Philando Castile, was someone he had met — the kitchen supervisor at his son's school.

"I just couldn't believe it, and I couldn't stop crying," Bailey said. "I just took off, hopped in my truck and drove over there."

He raced to the scene of the shooting in Falcon Heights, then to the governor's Summit Avenue residence.

It was the first time he'd gone to a protest. He didn't leave until 6 in the morning.

When Bailey got home, he set up a Facebook page to collect donations for the Castile family. A few days later, he put out a collection box at his son's fifth birthday party. Since that night, he has raised almost $1,000.

Bailey had never been an activist, but this shooting was different — too close, too personal.

Bailey's son Elias knew Castile from the cafeteria at J.J. Hill Elementary School. The pre-kindergartner had been too timid to get his breakfast by himself, until Castile encouraged him. "He helped my son throughout the year," Bailey said. "He was a genuinely good guy."

Seeing a man he knew — a man his young son knew — dying in a video, "stirred up some obligation in me to go see what's going on and try to get involved."

While he admitted he was troubled by angry remarks some protesters directed at police officers at the crime scene, he was impressed by the lack of violence and said that the powerful speeches from protesters moved him. And, for the first time, he felt like he understood the pain that racism elicits.

"A lot of things resonated for me," he said. "It definitely opened my eyes to something I used to not look at."

With its haunting video of a bloodied, dying man circulating online, the Castile shooting has become a catalyst for Bailey and many others. The closeness to home, plus the visceral images cast over Facebook Live, have inspired a growing number of metro residents who had ignored previous Black Lives Matter protests to join in.

"I think there was a sense in this city, and across the nation, that Black Lives Matter would make their statement over one incident and it would die away," Mayes said. But with every high-profile fatal shooting of black men, since Trayvon Martin in 2012, "you see a groundswell of people deciding — if they were on the fence — and understanding that excessive force by the police is a real issue."

It's a pattern evident in previous social movements that tipped from small, local, highly specific causes into broad national issues: women's suffrage, civil rights in the 1960s and, recently, gay marriage.

"All movements that are successful begin small and grow bigger, culminating into policy change," Mayes said.

Lorelei Larson lives three blocks from the spot where Castile was shot. She went to the site of the shooting and later to the governor's residence for rallies, something she hadn't done before.

"That it happened in my neighborhood, it had more of an impact," she said. "It's such a trauma."

She was so moved that she went to Castile's funeral, where she sat on a stoop across from the St. Paul Cathedral to watch the mourners arrive.

Observing often is a first step for people who are new to activism, Mayes said.

"It's very important, because for some of those folks, they may hear something they never heard before in their life," Mayes said. "Protests are about educating people about what's going on, and they may be people just trying to learn what the larger issues are."

The weekend after the shooting, Scott Ewing of Minneapolis went to the protests at the governor's residence. Until then, he said, he had been "in denial" about racism still being a problem in the United States.

"It has really made me look at the struggles the black community faces, examine my own white privilege and reconsider my initial feelings about the Black Lives Matter movement," Ewing said.

What to do next is now the question for some of these fledging activists. As a white man, Bailey said, he wants to support a movement created primarily by people of color, without creating divisions with his presence.

"My eyes have been opened," he said, "but I will only go where I can be useful for the cause."

Sharyn Jackson • 612-673-4853