Nimer Salem stands in the doorway of his cousin’s corner store in West Garfield Park waiting for the protesters to arrive. It’s Saturday afternoon, a bright, hot day, and while he waits, little kids walk into the building at Madison and Keeler and walk back out with sodas, candy, and freezer pops. African Supermarket, which Salem manages for his cousin, also sells diapers, milk, eggs, toilet paper, cigarettes, beer, liquor, and lunch meat, some of which is made with pork.
One of the signs says, “Stop pimpin’ our sisters, our children, and our community.” Another says, “No respect. No store. Don’t patronize.” Yet another says, “Swine, cancer sticks and wine. Kills black people!” A chant goes up: “Don’t buy disrespect! Don’t buy disrespect!”
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Abdul-Khaliq, who also heads a group called the Black Community Task Force, says that when he and some of his fellow activists approached employees in the store on June 1 they were laughed at and treated rudely, so they went outside and began demonstrating. He says the building’s owner, a black man, came outside and told them to clear off. “I told him he didn’t own the sidewalk and we had a right to peacefully demonstrate.” Then the police were called. “I informed them that we’re not here for any illegal reason and we’re just taking advantage of our constitutional right.”
Abdul-Khaliq says he lost the phone number of the woman who made the original complaint, and he hasn’t been able to track her down. But he claims that while he was demonstrating outside the store he heard even more sinister rumors: “This is the word that we have got from certain people that are familiar with that area–that they have been sexually taking advantage of young girls and welfare mothers by exchange of products like Pampers, cookies, candy, things of that nature.” But Abdul-Khaliq says he doesn’t know where to find those women either. “To be honest with you,” he says, “I have not dialogued with any of the black females in that area about this. It is hearsay, I must admit.”
Salem has other supporters too. George Ward, the son of a woman who sometimes does African Supermarket’s bookkeeping, stands in the store’s doorway shouting at the protesters, though it’s hard to hear him through the din of angry voices. “This is my neighborhood store!” he screams. “I been here all my life–ain’t none of these people out here! They don’t know what the fuck they talking about!” Ward is joined by his wife and mother and a few other regular customers, but mostly they’re drowned out. A few of the protesters begin referring to Ward as the “house nigger.”
Two little girls clutching dollars push their way through the crowd. They hesitate in front of the door when a stout man in a brightly patterned African shirt tells them, “Please don’t go in there.”
“You’re not welcome here!” chant the protesters, of whom there are now about 50. “You’re not welcome here!”
