This article is from the source 'nytimes' and was first published or seen on . It last changed over 40 days ago and won't be checked again for changes.
You can find the current article at its original source at http://www.nytimes.com/2016/04/11/magazine/deray-mckessonwont-be-elected-mayor-of-baltimore-so-why-is-he-running.html
The article has changed 3 times. There is an RSS feed of changes available.
| Version 1 | Version 2 |
|---|---|
| DeRay Mckesson Won’t Be Elected Mayor of Baltimore. So Why Is He Running? | DeRay Mckesson Won’t Be Elected Mayor of Baltimore. So Why Is He Running? |
| (about 4 hours later) | |
| DeRay Mckesson will not be the next mayor of Baltimore. He’s a 30-year-old with no experience in city government who registered less than 1 percent in a recent poll. He has no clear local support network and has been rejected by his most likely constituency — the city’s young black activists. At least one competing candidate has been embedded in Baltimore politics nearly as long as Mckesson has been alive. | DeRay Mckesson will not be the next mayor of Baltimore. He’s a 30-year-old with no experience in city government who registered less than 1 percent in a recent poll. He has no clear local support network and has been rejected by his most likely constituency — the city’s young black activists. At least one competing candidate has been embedded in Baltimore politics nearly as long as Mckesson has been alive. |
| And yet there he was on a recent Monday afternoon, in a coffee shop on the city’s north side, signing campaign fliers. He said he couldn’t sleep last night and got up to dress long before the sun rose over Roland Park, the tony North Baltimore neighborhood where he lives with a childhood mentor (navy chinos, eggshell Oxford shirt and, of course, his trademark royal blue Patagonia puffer vest, now faded and fraying around the collar). He had been pulled here and there all day, doing interviews with Mashable and Mother Jones, taking calls from the Museum of Modern Art and journalists in Italy and Germany. He’s exceptionally charming; all day, he fielded questions graciously, smiling and laughing, joking and gossiping. Through it all, he signed fliers. “I don’t even know what I’m writing anymore,” he said, scribbling. | |
| Baltimore’s Democratic primaries — which, in a city with as many as 10 Democrats for every Republican, might as well be the general election — take place on April 26. But for a few reasons Mckesson is willing to admit (he took time to ask scores of people for advice, he couldn’t find an available lawyer versed in Maryland election law) and a few he’s not, he didn’t officially file his papers until Feb. 3, leaving him the last of 13 Democratic candidates to throw a hat in the ring. | Baltimore’s Democratic primaries — which, in a city with as many as 10 Democrats for every Republican, might as well be the general election — take place on April 26. But for a few reasons Mckesson is willing to admit (he took time to ask scores of people for advice, he couldn’t find an available lawyer versed in Maryland election law) and a few he’s not, he didn’t officially file his papers until Feb. 3, leaving him the last of 13 Democratic candidates to throw a hat in the ring. |
| For an ordinary mayoral candidate in a major American city, filing minutes before the deadline — months or even years after competitors started eyeing the office — would be a waste of time bordering on farce. But Mckesson isn’t an ordinary candidate: He’s famous. He has more than 325,000 followers on Twitter. He has made appearances on “The Late Show With Stephen Colbert” and “The Daily Show With Trevor Noah,” and has been to the White House so many times that he says he doesn’t get nervous anymore. He was on Fortune’s World’s Greatest Leaders list last year. He collects celebrity “friends” (Azealia Banks, Jesse Williams, Susans Wojcicki and Sarandon, Rashida Jones, Tracee Ellis Ross), refers to them solely by their first names and often follows by asking if you’ve ever met them. All because, over the last year and a half, he has been the best-known face of the Black Lives Matter movement, traveling the country to protest police violence. | For an ordinary mayoral candidate in a major American city, filing minutes before the deadline — months or even years after competitors started eyeing the office — would be a waste of time bordering on farce. But Mckesson isn’t an ordinary candidate: He’s famous. He has more than 325,000 followers on Twitter. He has made appearances on “The Late Show With Stephen Colbert” and “The Daily Show With Trevor Noah,” and has been to the White House so many times that he says he doesn’t get nervous anymore. He was on Fortune’s World’s Greatest Leaders list last year. He collects celebrity “friends” (Azealia Banks, Jesse Williams, Susans Wojcicki and Sarandon, Rashida Jones, Tracee Ellis Ross), refers to them solely by their first names and often follows by asking if you’ve ever met them. All because, over the last year and a half, he has been the best-known face of the Black Lives Matter movement, traveling the country to protest police violence. |
| Now he’s asking voters to put him in charge of everything from Baltimore’s police force to its potholes. His campaign is by far the highest-profile example of a Black Lives Matter protester running for public office, and it was initially greeted with nationwide excitement. Mckesson has already inspired thousands around the country to protest police brutality, but the viability of any civil rights movement lies in its ability to move from the street to the places where governance happens. The question was whether Mckesson could parlay his national following into local action. “I get it,” he says now. “I get that that doesn’t translate.” | Now he’s asking voters to put him in charge of everything from Baltimore’s police force to its potholes. His campaign is by far the highest-profile example of a Black Lives Matter protester running for public office, and it was initially greeted with nationwide excitement. Mckesson has already inspired thousands around the country to protest police brutality, but the viability of any civil rights movement lies in its ability to move from the street to the places where governance happens. The question was whether Mckesson could parlay his national following into local action. “I get it,” he says now. “I get that that doesn’t translate.” |
| The first poll to include his candidacy, conducted by The Baltimore Sun and the University of Baltimore and released in March, barely registered his presence. Catherine Pugh, a Maryland state senator, led with 26 percent. Sheila Dixon, Baltimore’s mayor from 2007 to 2010, was two points behind. Smaller chunks of respondents favored David Warnock (a businessman and charter-school founder), Nick Mosby (of the City Council; his wife, Marilyn, is state’s attorney for Baltimore), Elizabeth Embry (of the Maryland Attorney General’s Office) and Carl Stokes (another city councilman). Mckesson and the six remaining candidates all came in at less than 1 percent. He says that the polls don’t tell the whole story, that he was a late entry, that pollsters overrepresent voters with landlines — in other words, old people. But the typical profile of a voter in a Baltimore election is a black woman over age 50 (a category that happens to include both Pugh and Dixon). | The first poll to include his candidacy, conducted by The Baltimore Sun and the University of Baltimore and released in March, barely registered his presence. Catherine Pugh, a Maryland state senator, led with 26 percent. Sheila Dixon, Baltimore’s mayor from 2007 to 2010, was two points behind. Smaller chunks of respondents favored David Warnock (a businessman and charter-school founder), Nick Mosby (of the City Council; his wife, Marilyn, is state’s attorney for Baltimore), Elizabeth Embry (of the Maryland Attorney General’s Office) and Carl Stokes (another city councilman). Mckesson and the six remaining candidates all came in at less than 1 percent. He says that the polls don’t tell the whole story, that he was a late entry, that pollsters overrepresent voters with landlines — in other words, old people. But the typical profile of a voter in a Baltimore election is a black woman over age 50 (a category that happens to include both Pugh and Dixon). |
| Mckesson still speaks as if he’s in the thick of the race, but he’s also apt to move the goal posts. “The visibility forced all of them to speak on the issues, right?” he asks — though it’s hard to imagine a Baltimore mayoral election that wouldn’t already revolve around issues like policing, education and poverty. His run has drummed up national interest but has made little impact locally. Since the poll, there have been two televised debates; each invited only the top six candidates, excluding Mckesson. The Sun and the University of Baltimore were magnanimous enough to hold another debate for the remainder: It was streamed online in the middle of a workday, and two candidates didn’t bother to participate, so Mckesson ended up valiantly debating three others in front of moderators in an empty room. (It makes for bleak viewing.) The poll numbers effectively locked him out of the political process, turning the race’s most famous candidate into someone resembling a black Jim Gilmore. | Mckesson still speaks as if he’s in the thick of the race, but he’s also apt to move the goal posts. “The visibility forced all of them to speak on the issues, right?” he asks — though it’s hard to imagine a Baltimore mayoral election that wouldn’t already revolve around issues like policing, education and poverty. His run has drummed up national interest but has made little impact locally. Since the poll, there have been two televised debates; each invited only the top six candidates, excluding Mckesson. The Sun and the University of Baltimore were magnanimous enough to hold another debate for the remainder: It was streamed online in the middle of a workday, and two candidates didn’t bother to participate, so Mckesson ended up valiantly debating three others in front of moderators in an empty room. (It makes for bleak viewing.) The poll numbers effectively locked him out of the political process, turning the race’s most famous candidate into someone resembling a black Jim Gilmore. |
| The notion that Mckesson ever had a shot gets a chuckle out of Anthony McCarthy, Pugh’s communications director. “I can say with a great deal of confidence that DeRay Mckesson is not going to be the next mayor of Baltimore,” he says. “As far as Mckesson contributing to the conversation, I think she appreciates him” — but that’s about the limit of his role. “Baltimore’s a city you don’t have much of a connection to, other than you were born here,” he adds, referring to Mckesson. “A lot of people were.” | The notion that Mckesson ever had a shot gets a chuckle out of Anthony McCarthy, Pugh’s communications director. “I can say with a great deal of confidence that DeRay Mckesson is not going to be the next mayor of Baltimore,” he says. “As far as Mckesson contributing to the conversation, I think she appreciates him” — but that’s about the limit of his role. “Baltimore’s a city you don’t have much of a connection to, other than you were born here,” he adds, referring to Mckesson. “A lot of people were.” |
| Mckesson has a plan. Somewhere between 70,000 and 95,000 voters are expected to vote in the primary. So today, he was starting “30 Days for 30,000,” a Hail Mary effort wherein he aimed to contact 30,000 voters, over the phone or in person, before early voting began, and another 30,000 after. Ten thousand of those people would be given fliers highlighting Mckesson’s platform; his tiny team would hand-deliver them to doors around the city; and Mckesson would maybe try to deputize his Twitter followers to help. Even if everything goes well, this will be difficult to pull off, and things are not going perfectly: The fliers contain a typo. The word “education,” of all words, is misspelled. | Mckesson has a plan. Somewhere between 70,000 and 95,000 voters are expected to vote in the primary. So today, he was starting “30 Days for 30,000,” a Hail Mary effort wherein he aimed to contact 30,000 voters, over the phone or in person, before early voting began, and another 30,000 after. Ten thousand of those people would be given fliers highlighting Mckesson’s platform; his tiny team would hand-deliver them to doors around the city; and Mckesson would maybe try to deputize his Twitter followers to help. Even if everything goes well, this will be difficult to pull off, and things are not going perfectly: The fliers contain a typo. The word “education,” of all words, is misspelled. |
| Quixotic as his campaign might seem, Mckesson still possesses the same seemingly bottomless well of self-confidence that moved him to wake up one morning and drive 550 miles from Minneapolis to Ferguson, Mo., to protest after Michael Brown was shot to death in August 2014. He’s a man who doesn’t much know failure. So all day, in the Ubers he took around the city, between tweets and through interviews, he was personalizing fliers, signing his name in black marker right over the word “education,” covering up the mistake. Then, the plan went, he would pass out these fliers, and then something else would supposedly happen, and then DeRay Mckesson would be the next mayor of Baltimore. | Quixotic as his campaign might seem, Mckesson still possesses the same seemingly bottomless well of self-confidence that moved him to wake up one morning and drive 550 miles from Minneapolis to Ferguson, Mo., to protest after Michael Brown was shot to death in August 2014. He’s a man who doesn’t much know failure. So all day, in the Ubers he took around the city, between tweets and through interviews, he was personalizing fliers, signing his name in black marker right over the word “education,” covering up the mistake. Then, the plan went, he would pass out these fliers, and then something else would supposedly happen, and then DeRay Mckesson would be the next mayor of Baltimore. |
| DeRay Mckesson will not be the next mayor of Baltimore. | DeRay Mckesson will not be the next mayor of Baltimore. |
| Baltimore — as anyone who has spent any time there (or just binge-watched “The Wire”) will tell you — is a city with problems. There were 344 murders last year, the most per capita in the city’s history. Its Police Department is being investigated by the Department of Justice over its use of force and possible discriminatory policing. Almost a quarter of its citizens live below the poverty line — many of them in West Baltimore, where hypersegregation pins blacks without the education, or even the public transportation, they would need to escape. | Baltimore — as anyone who has spent any time there (or just binge-watched “The Wire”) will tell you — is a city with problems. There were 344 murders last year, the most per capita in the city’s history. Its Police Department is being investigated by the Department of Justice over its use of force and possible discriminatory policing. Almost a quarter of its citizens live below the poverty line — many of them in West Baltimore, where hypersegregation pins blacks without the education, or even the public transportation, they would need to escape. |
| Mckesson, the child of two drug addicts, was raised here by his father and his great-grandmother. His dad eventually got clean and started working 16-hour days at a local seafood distributor, and when Mckesson was in sixth grade, the family moved out of the city to nearby Catonsville. Mckesson was elected to student government from sixth grade all the way through Catonsville High; at Bowdoin College, in Maine, he spent each year as class president, student government president or, in his senior year, both. He majored in government and legal studies but went into education, and soon moved back to Baltimore to work in the city’s public-school system. | Mckesson, the child of two drug addicts, was raised here by his father and his great-grandmother. His dad eventually got clean and started working 16-hour days at a local seafood distributor, and when Mckesson was in sixth grade, the family moved out of the city to nearby Catonsville. Mckesson was elected to student government from sixth grade all the way through Catonsville High; at Bowdoin College, in Maine, he spent each year as class president, student government president or, in his senior year, both. He majored in government and legal studies but went into education, and soon moved back to Baltimore to work in the city’s public-school system. |
| By then, he says, he already had mayoral ambitions. “I thought about it a long time ago,” he says. “Then I was No. 2 in human capital in the school system. And it was actually, like, that was the perfect role to get things done.” In 2013, he was recruited to be the senior director of human capital for Minneapolis public schools, and his career path seemed all but mapped out. | By then, he says, he already had mayoral ambitions. “I thought about it a long time ago,” he says. “Then I was No. 2 in human capital in the school system. And it was actually, like, that was the perfect role to get things done.” In 2013, he was recruited to be the senior director of human capital for Minneapolis public schools, and his career path seemed all but mapped out. |
| Then came Ferguson. Mckesson watched the protests on television and was moved to drive to a town he had never visited, just to bear witness. It was a stark departure from who he was — a self-described “system guy,” a technocrat who believed at his core that the system was good, or at least not inherently bad. “You’re not born woke,” he says. “Something wakes you up.” He was anonymous when he pulled into Ferguson, but in the midst of the tear gas and rubber bullets, he made a small group of friends, including a local woman named Johnetta Elzie. They reported what they saw on social media and eventually started publishing a newsletter. They weren’t organizers, operating more like a communications team. Mckesson was a patient, passionate speaker and an incessant Twitter user. He also understood the power of branding and soon settled on wearing his bright blue vest to every protest. | Then came Ferguson. Mckesson watched the protests on television and was moved to drive to a town he had never visited, just to bear witness. It was a stark departure from who he was — a self-described “system guy,” a technocrat who believed at his core that the system was good, or at least not inherently bad. “You’re not born woke,” he says. “Something wakes you up.” He was anonymous when he pulled into Ferguson, but in the midst of the tear gas and rubber bullets, he made a small group of friends, including a local woman named Johnetta Elzie. They reported what they saw on social media and eventually started publishing a newsletter. They weren’t organizers, operating more like a communications team. Mckesson was a patient, passionate speaker and an incessant Twitter user. He also understood the power of branding and soon settled on wearing his bright blue vest to every protest. |
| He had spent much of his life in Baltimore and his entire career in the system, but he was reborn, publicly, in Ferguson. He and Elzie emerged as powerful symbols, new faces of a leaderless movement. By March 2015, he had resigned from his job and become a full-time activist, the biggest star within a movement that had grown, since the 2012 killing of Trayvon Martin, to hold the nation’s attention. Then, in April, Freddie Gray died of a spinal injury suffered in the custody of the Baltimore police, and the protests that followed brought Mckesson home. And in September, Mayor Stephanie Rawlings-Blake announced that she wouldn’t seek re-election in 2016. | He had spent much of his life in Baltimore and his entire career in the system, but he was reborn, publicly, in Ferguson. He and Elzie emerged as powerful symbols, new faces of a leaderless movement. By March 2015, he had resigned from his job and become a full-time activist, the biggest star within a movement that had grown, since the 2012 killing of Trayvon Martin, to hold the nation’s attention. Then, in April, Freddie Gray died of a spinal injury suffered in the custody of the Baltimore police, and the protests that followed brought Mckesson home. And in September, Mayor Stephanie Rawlings-Blake announced that she wouldn’t seek re-election in 2016. |
| Mckesson had experienced power before, but Black Lives Matter was surely different. He was being invited to appear on network television, rubbing shoulders with Beyoncé and President Obama. The movement gave him purpose and community but also influence and access. And if the goal of Black Lives Matter was, in part, to convince more Americans that police brutality existed at all, it was successful. With that success, the momentum began to shift and transform into something else. Mckesson was a protester, but there were fewer protests than before. And he couldn’t protest indefinitely; he needed an income. | Mckesson had experienced power before, but Black Lives Matter was surely different. He was being invited to appear on network television, rubbing shoulders with Beyoncé and President Obama. The movement gave him purpose and community but also influence and access. And if the goal of Black Lives Matter was, in part, to convince more Americans that police brutality existed at all, it was successful. With that success, the momentum began to shift and transform into something else. Mckesson was a protester, but there were fewer protests than before. And he couldn’t protest indefinitely; he needed an income. |
| In February, he announced his run. In the two months since, he has raised more than $265,000 from more than 5,400 supporters spanning all 50 states, with more local donors than all but two candidates. Money has rolled in from celebrities he counts as friends and others he doesn’t. It has rolled in from tech executives like Reed Hastings of Netflix and Omid Kordestani of Twitter, which has embraced Mckesson as a kind of power-user brand ambassador. Jack’d, the gay dating app, endorsed him via a push notification to its users. (Mckesson is gay.) The legendary Baltimorean John Waters endorsed him, too. | In February, he announced his run. In the two months since, he has raised more than $265,000 from more than 5,400 supporters spanning all 50 states, with more local donors than all but two candidates. Money has rolled in from celebrities he counts as friends and others he doesn’t. It has rolled in from tech executives like Reed Hastings of Netflix and Omid Kordestani of Twitter, which has embraced Mckesson as a kind of power-user brand ambassador. Jack’d, the gay dating app, endorsed him via a push notification to its users. (Mckesson is gay.) The legendary Baltimorean John Waters endorsed him, too. |
| But other candidates have been building their campaigns for years. They have TV ads, yard signs, bumper stickers. Warnock has spent almost $2 million on his campaign. Mckesson doesn’t have these things; he has made an ad and other video clips but shares them only online. Instead, he is swimming in small contributions from an army of supporters, and maximum donations from influential people who don’t much represent Baltimore. All that good will only further cements the narrative that the candidate, who was born and raised here, is a product of somewhere else. | But other candidates have been building their campaigns for years. They have TV ads, yard signs, bumper stickers. Warnock has spent almost $2 million on his campaign. Mckesson doesn’t have these things; he has made an ad and other video clips but shares them only online. Instead, he is swimming in small contributions from an army of supporters, and maximum donations from influential people who don’t much represent Baltimore. All that good will only further cements the narrative that the candidate, who was born and raised here, is a product of somewhere else. |
| By the time of Freddie Gray’s death, Mckesson’s fame could prove a distraction at protests. “I stopped going,” he says. “People line up to take photos.” Other activists would accuse him of grandstanding, hogging the spotlight or stealing the mantle of Black Lives Matter from the women who coined the name. Even after he moved back to Baltimore, Mckesson stayed largely separate from local activists. It put him at odds with organizations like Leaders of a Beautiful Struggle, a group whose members would, in theory, be Mckesson’s natural constituency. | By the time of Freddie Gray’s death, Mckesson’s fame could prove a distraction at protests. “I stopped going,” he says. “People line up to take photos.” Other activists would accuse him of grandstanding, hogging the spotlight or stealing the mantle of Black Lives Matter from the women who coined the name. Even after he moved back to Baltimore, Mckesson stayed largely separate from local activists. It put him at odds with organizations like Leaders of a Beautiful Struggle, a group whose members would, in theory, be Mckesson’s natural constituency. |
| “DeRay hasn’t been in Baltimore doing stuff for the last several years,” explains Dayvon Love, 28, the organization’s director of public policy. “In terms of grass-roots organizing work, he has no history.” Different versions of this critique — that many people, mayoral candidates included, were trying to better Baltimore long before Gray died — cling to Mckesson wherever he goes. Much of Mckesson’s time campaigning is spent arguing that Baltimore has shaped him; his skeptics argue he hasn’t done anything to shape it. | “DeRay hasn’t been in Baltimore doing stuff for the last several years,” explains Dayvon Love, 28, the organization’s director of public policy. “In terms of grass-roots organizing work, he has no history.” Different versions of this critique — that many people, mayoral candidates included, were trying to better Baltimore long before Gray died — cling to Mckesson wherever he goes. Much of Mckesson’s time campaigning is spent arguing that Baltimore has shaped him; his skeptics argue he hasn’t done anything to shape it. |
| The front-runners in the race are experienced insiders; Dixon is so well connected that her stint as mayor ended with corruption charges. Mckesson doesn’t know the various players in Baltimore, or even have many staff members who are locals. His campaign managers, Sharhonda Bossier and her deputy, Maria Griffin, are young Californians. The latter met Mckesson in February at an education meeting — “But I know him how you know him,” she told me. “From Twitter.” | The front-runners in the race are experienced insiders; Dixon is so well connected that her stint as mayor ended with corruption charges. Mckesson doesn’t know the various players in Baltimore, or even have many staff members who are locals. His campaign managers, Sharhonda Bossier and her deputy, Maria Griffin, are young Californians. The latter met Mckesson in February at an education meeting — “But I know him how you know him,” she told me. “From Twitter.” |
| Love admits that none of the other candidates inspire him. “Most of them are different iterations of the same arrangements,” he says. But local activists still bristle at Mckesson. Even Kwame Rose, a 21-year-old Baltimorean who protested alongside Mckesson, says he is voting for Pugh. “We don’t need Superman,” he tells me. Activists heckle Mckesson at mayoral forums around the city, and when Leaders of a Beautiful Struggle organized a forum of its own, it deferred to the poll results and didn’t invite him. | |
| There are other difficulties. Education is Mckesson’s career strength, and the first issue addressed on his platform, but Baltimore’s mayor has no direct control over the schools — the city relinquished it to the state in 1997, after years of dysfunction. And if New York City police officers turned their backs on a mayor as relatively mainstream as Bill de Blasio, how could a man famous for protesting police violence work productively with the force in Baltimore? | There are other difficulties. Education is Mckesson’s career strength, and the first issue addressed on his platform, but Baltimore’s mayor has no direct control over the schools — the city relinquished it to the state in 1997, after years of dysfunction. And if New York City police officers turned their backs on a mayor as relatively mainstream as Bill de Blasio, how could a man famous for protesting police violence work productively with the force in Baltimore? |
| “The hardest thing about all this is that there are — it’s the same thing as the movement,” Mckesson says. “People are not as imaginative as they think they are.” He calls this lack of imagination the “belief gap” — an inability to believe someone like him could become mayor. “The belief gap is just the hard thing. People are like, ‘I want it to be different, but the election is just. ...’ ” He trails off. “And you’re like, ‘No, it’s not.’ It’s not a sealed deal. The only poll that matters is on April 26.” | “The hardest thing about all this is that there are — it’s the same thing as the movement,” Mckesson says. “People are not as imaginative as they think they are.” He calls this lack of imagination the “belief gap” — an inability to believe someone like him could become mayor. “The belief gap is just the hard thing. People are like, ‘I want it to be different, but the election is just. ...’ ” He trails off. “And you’re like, ‘No, it’s not.’ It’s not a sealed deal. The only poll that matters is on April 26.” |
| All day, between signing fliers, Mckesson practiced talking points to sum up his campaign. He tried “I believe in the promise and possibility of Baltimore” with foreign media but thought it made him sound like a politician. Tonight, while canvassing on the city’s whiter, more middle-class north side, he planned to lean on “I believe Baltimore is a city in recovery.” It was more natural, and more closely dovetailed with his personal narrative, beating the odds as the son of two addicts. “They like the ‘recovery’ line,” he said, riding in an S.U.V. to the Charles Village neighborhood. “They?” Griffin asked. “White people?” Mckesson nodded. “They like hearing about black people in pain,” he said. | All day, between signing fliers, Mckesson practiced talking points to sum up his campaign. He tried “I believe in the promise and possibility of Baltimore” with foreign media but thought it made him sound like a politician. Tonight, while canvassing on the city’s whiter, more middle-class north side, he planned to lean on “I believe Baltimore is a city in recovery.” It was more natural, and more closely dovetailed with his personal narrative, beating the odds as the son of two addicts. “They like the ‘recovery’ line,” he said, riding in an S.U.V. to the Charles Village neighborhood. “They?” Griffin asked. “White people?” Mckesson nodded. “They like hearing about black people in pain,” he said. |
| Charles Village is just around the corner from Johns Hopkins University. The S.U.V. pulled up to a block of brightly colored rowhouses. Priuses and Volkswagens dotted the curbs. This could be Mckesson’s constituency, too: people who might have attended elite colleges, or who might gather news from Twitter or watch “The Daily Show.” Mckesson knocked on one door and spoke to a woman briefly, but came back empty-handed. “She’s a Pugh person.” | Charles Village is just around the corner from Johns Hopkins University. The S.U.V. pulled up to a block of brightly colored rowhouses. Priuses and Volkswagens dotted the curbs. This could be Mckesson’s constituency, too: people who might have attended elite colleges, or who might gather news from Twitter or watch “The Daily Show.” Mckesson knocked on one door and spoke to a woman briefly, but came back empty-handed. “She’s a Pugh person.” |
| A man walking his dog turned the corner and was yanked down the sidewalk. “Hello!” Mckesson said. “My name’s DeRay, and I’m running for mayor.” | A man walking his dog turned the corner and was yanked down the sidewalk. “Hello!” Mckesson said. “My name’s DeRay, and I’m running for mayor.” |
| The man recognized the candidate. He was a Baltimore public defender, in jeans and a dark jacket to stave off the chill. He immediately wanted to know the last time Mckesson stayed in the city for a long period, and was surprised when Mckesson said he was raised and spent much of his adulthood here. | The man recognized the candidate. He was a Baltimore public defender, in jeans and a dark jacket to stave off the chill. He immediately wanted to know the last time Mckesson stayed in the city for a long period, and was surprised when Mckesson said he was raised and spent much of his adulthood here. |
| “We have a close community,” the public defender said. He told Mckesson about residents teaming up to shovel their way out after a blizzard, when city snow removal never arrived. For the rest of the evening, from Charles Village to an evening event at a bar in Canton, Mckesson would be asked about things like this. What could he do about trash pickup? What did he have to say about high water bills? Did he know the head of Under Armour, one of the city’s largest employers? When he said he wanted to get more money for Baltimore’s Red Line transit proposal, he was pressed: Did he have an in with the governor? | “We have a close community,” the public defender said. He told Mckesson about residents teaming up to shovel their way out after a blizzard, when city snow removal never arrived. For the rest of the evening, from Charles Village to an evening event at a bar in Canton, Mckesson would be asked about things like this. What could he do about trash pickup? What did he have to say about high water bills? Did he know the head of Under Armour, one of the city’s largest employers? When he said he wanted to get more money for Baltimore’s Red Line transit proposal, he was pressed: Did he have an in with the governor? |
| There were questions about utilities and waste management, not so many about sweeping education reform or police brutality. These voters’ ambitions are more modest. Maybe they don’t believe Mckesson can save Baltimore, or that Baltimore can be saved at all. Either way, they’ll need their streets plowed. | There were questions about utilities and waste management, not so many about sweeping education reform or police brutality. These voters’ ambitions are more modest. Maybe they don’t believe Mckesson can save Baltimore, or that Baltimore can be saved at all. Either way, they’ll need their streets plowed. |
| Mckesson kept smiling. All told, he had spent the day greeting approximately 30 of the 30,000 people he hopes to win over in the coming month. On the other hand, his campaign event that night would be live-streamed to an international audience via Twitter’s Periscope app. A Vice Media producer was following him around, shooting video, pitching a documentary series on his campaign. The next week, a new poll was released, with Mckesson still under 1 percent. When I contacted him with additional questions, I learned he wasn’t in Baltimore at all: After a quick trip to the White House, he was headed out to San Francisco to raise funds from his network there. | Mckesson kept smiling. All told, he had spent the day greeting approximately 30 of the 30,000 people he hopes to win over in the coming month. On the other hand, his campaign event that night would be live-streamed to an international audience via Twitter’s Periscope app. A Vice Media producer was following him around, shooting video, pitching a documentary series on his campaign. The next week, a new poll was released, with Mckesson still under 1 percent. When I contacted him with additional questions, I learned he wasn’t in Baltimore at all: After a quick trip to the White House, he was headed out to San Francisco to raise funds from his network there. |
| DeRay Mckesson will not be the next mayor of Baltimore. He will, most likely, have to get a job — a professorship, an administrative seat, a spot at Twitter. Regardless, he seems finished as a full-time protester. | DeRay Mckesson will not be the next mayor of Baltimore. He will, most likely, have to get a job — a professorship, an administrative seat, a spot at Twitter. Regardless, he seems finished as a full-time protester. |
| That doesn’t mean that he and the Black Lives Matter movement haven’t made this country a bit better for everyone, or won’t continue to do so. Every presidential hopeful has been asked whether black lives matter; Hillary Clinton and Bernie Sanders met with Mckesson and other activists, and have included police-reform proposals as part of their platforms. Ferguson’s police department is currently undergoing significant reform. Last month, prosecutors in Chicago and Cleveland lost re-election bids over their handling of police shootings — the deaths of Laquan McDonald and 12-year-old Tamir Rice. But the biggest difference may be less obvious. On the Charles Village block where Mckesson was canvassing, red, white and blue Sanders and Clinton signs punctuated the front yards. And there were other signs here, too, black with white lettering: “Black Lives Matter.” | That doesn’t mean that he and the Black Lives Matter movement haven’t made this country a bit better for everyone, or won’t continue to do so. Every presidential hopeful has been asked whether black lives matter; Hillary Clinton and Bernie Sanders met with Mckesson and other activists, and have included police-reform proposals as part of their platforms. Ferguson’s police department is currently undergoing significant reform. Last month, prosecutors in Chicago and Cleveland lost re-election bids over their handling of police shootings — the deaths of Laquan McDonald and 12-year-old Tamir Rice. But the biggest difference may be less obvious. On the Charles Village block where Mckesson was canvassing, red, white and blue Sanders and Clinton signs punctuated the front yards. And there were other signs here, too, black with white lettering: “Black Lives Matter.” |