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A couple of TV news cameramen from different stations swept in for close-up shots as this was repeated twice more.
“That was yesterday,” Cross then loudly proclaimed, and again repeatedly mimed firing with his imaginary pistol, only this time in rapid fire: “Pow-Pow-Pow-Pow!”
And four more wearing the STOP KILLADELPHIA! T-shirts reacted theatrically as they fell to the ground.
“And that was today!” Cross said, his voice booming.
An anxious murmur arose from the crowd.
He paused, and slowly looked around at the people.
“And what do you think happens tomorrow?” he then said softly, drawing out the words as he dramatically raised both hands over his head. “Tell me what happens tomorrow?”
“Four more!” a middle-aged woman in the crowd yelled, smiling broadly at being so quick with her answer.
“No!” Cross called out in almost a shout, pointing his finger at the woman.
Then he wagged his finger at the whole crowd as he went on: “Oh, no, no, no! That is what is expected. That is what’s always been expected. And that is why we are here today—to Stop Killadelphia!”
He swept his arms, motioning toward the crowd as a whole.
“It is time for all of us to do something, not simply accept the same to happen again and again. It is time to rise up”—the eight people who had fallen to the ground after being “shot” now stood, arms held triumphantly above them, joining the raised hands of the others in the line—“and take back our neighborhoods, take back our city.”
There came another wave of cheers, and when that quieted, a chorus of amens could be heard.
“It’s no news when I tell you that we’re not safe on the streets of our neighborhoods, that we’re not even safe in our own homes,” Cross said.
There was a murmur from the crowd and he saw a lot of people nodding in a solemn fashion.
“And why do you think that is?”
He gestured at the Stop Killadelphia! banner.
“I want you to think of something,” Cross then said. “There’s no jobs here. No work. So our children, desperate, look for a way to make a buck. And that’s what? It’s drugs.
“Now, have you ever wondered what’s the real reason why drugs are not legal? Have you?
“Yes, there’s talk in City Hall about legalizing marijuana—even talk about cocaine—and selling it like alcohol, including those same folks in City Hall collecting taxes on it. But there’s only just talk.”
He paused, looked across the crowd, then went on: “Think about this: Even though they have signed a city ordinance that lets you have up to an ounce of marijuana, you still get fined twenty-five dollars if the police find you with it. You get caught smoking it in public, it’s a hundred-dollar fine. And if they catch you buying pot—and especially selling it—you’re gonna get thrown in jail!”
He paused for a moment, then added: “So, it really ain’t legal, is it? The Man, as King Two-One-Five raps, still be raining down on us.”
He swept his arms across the crowd.
“And do you want to know why that is?” Cross then said, carefully drawing out his words. “Well, let me tell you why. It’s because illegal drugs is a way to keep our young men killing one another.”
A murmur rose from the crowd.
“That’s right!” Cross went on, his voice booming. “They want us to stay here in the hood, selling to one another, getting hooked on smack and crack, and then either dying of overdoses, or going out in a gunfight.”
“Beat down The Man!” a young male shouted from the crowd.
Cross nodded as he added: “And when someone needs money, you don’t see them going into Center City or out to the fancy Main Line. No, the home invasions are happening here.
“These crackheads and junkies, they go into the homes of hardworking neighbors who they know aren’t going to call the police.”
He pointed off into the distance.
