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Persistent looking in the space of appearance 19
Garner was not shot but strangled by police. 4 The events in Ferguson transformed
this set of associations into a new form of embodied protest. Although “Hands
Up” flowed from what was believed to have happened, it was not a simple recreation
of the scene of the murder. Leaving aside the question of whether Michael
Brown raised his hands (a possibility complicated by the fact his right arm was
broken by a bullet before he turned around), the gesture of raised hands did imitate
those made at the scene, such as those of a white contractor, caught on a cellphone
video. 5 He stood with his hands raised in a gesture that clearly asks: “why
did you shoot, his hands were up?” It expresses puzzlement and confusion as
much as rejection. On the first evening after the shooting, protestors at the scene
came together to hold a vigil at the request of Michael Brown’s mother Lesley
McFadden. Confronted by police with dogs, as if it was suddenly Birmingham
in 1963, they responded by raising their hands, documented in a Vine videoclip
posted by Antonio French, a local councilor. 6 The action was a montage of the
isolated and vulnerable body of Michael Brown and their own resistance into a
common identification – for they knew that any one of them could have been
killed as Brown had been. The next day, the chant “don’t shoot,” attributed by
then to Michael Brown, was added to the gesture and performed by itself at the
Canfield Green housing complex as part of the ongoing protests, again captured
by Councilor French on a Vine. A press photograph taken by Scott Olsen of a
protest on the following day, shows a handwritten poster displayed in front of
Ferguson police station, in which the phrase “Hands Up” was added to create the
full statement. Three days after Michael Brown’s death, activists were already
circulating printed flyers with the slogan “Hands Up, Don’t Shoot,” seen in press
photographs from Ferguson.
These words were combined with the action of raising hands as a call-andresponse
marching action: “Hands up?” “Don’t Shoot!” It calls to people to
join in, to become part of the action. I have never experienced a more effective
and affective embodied political protest. When it was first seen in New York on
August 14, 2014, people rushed out of buildings to share the gesture or join the
march. At the same time, “Hands Up” is a command to the police that says “when
people have their hands up, don’t shoot.” In itself, this would be – or should be –
an unremarkable statement. But it follows: “our hands are up, you don’t dare to
shoot.” By not only displaying vulnerability but admitting to it and doing so in
numbers, the performance gains a paradoxical strength. “Hands Up” was not in
this sense addressed to the police at all but to the protestors, naming political bodies
that can be wounded, even die, but do not submit and are open to others. The
feminist implication of this vulnerability as strength became clear when women
formed the #SayHerName project. Because the conventional space of representation
is normatively masculine, there was an unequal response at first to the deaths
of African American women at the hands of the police. Protestors took the appearance
of the sexualized female body and rendered it political. Naked to the waist in
articulated affiliation with West African traditions, Black women blocked traffic
in San Francisco with their bodies to force the connection between their visibility