America: From a Fallen Child Star to the Head of the University of the West

Camden, New Jersey.

Right now, the cold wind along the Delaware River is lashing against the glass walls of the Philadelphia 76ers' training center, while downtown Philadelphia, across the river, looks particularly oppressive under the gloomy sky.

Inside the CEO's office, Darrell Morey listened irritably to the advice of what he called a good-for-nothing.

"Sir, there are more and more people outside." Smith, the deputy head of public relations, stood by the gap in the curtains, his face grim. "Security says there are at least five hundred people gathered, and more are constantly arriving. People from Philadelphia have even chartered buses to come."

"Let them shout," Morey snorted impatiently. "A bunch of rabble. They'll get tired of shouting and go home for dinner."

“But, sir…” Smith turned around, “this time is different. That Sean Penn, he’s too inflammatory on his podcast. Now it’s not just Chinese people outside, there are Black people, white college students. There are even a few rednecks waving ‘freedom’ flags.”

It's a veritable gathering of all sorts of monsters and demons.

"Should we issue a statement?" another PR specialist cautiously suggested. "Or could you go out and try to appease them? But be very careful with your wording."

"What wording?" Morey asked, frowning.

"Sir," the commissioner swallowed hard, "the current media environment is very sensitive. You must not say the wrong thing. Especially those... insulting words."

"for example?"

"For example... 'Yellow Monkey' or 'Ching Chong'," the specialist said in one breath, as if afraid of burning his mouth. "These two words absolutely cannot come out of your mouth, not even in private complaints. The recording equipment these days is too advanced."

Morey's face darkened instantly.

"Shut up! You kept repeating those two words, and now they're all I can think about! Are you doing this on purpose?"

"No, I was just reminding you..."

"Enough!" Morey stood up, straightened his suit, and said, "Get the car ready. I'm heading back to Philadelphia for a dinner party. I don't believe they'll dare stop me."

In his view, this was just another pointless protest. Just like a few years ago, as long as he played dumb, it would all pass.

……

Meanwhile, in the square outside the training center gate.

Chen Kaiwen silently tightened the collar of his windbreaker.

He is a second-generation Chinese American who grew up in Philadelphia but now lives in New Jersey. Growing up, he was fed up with the "model minority" label, which meant being quiet, hardworking, and good at math.

And, you should swallow your anger when you are bullied.

But today is different.

He looked around at the people. He had expected to see only a few familiar Asian faces, but now, standing next to him were a black man in work clothes, a white student wearing glasses, and even a few Latino men with long beards.

People held up all sorts of signs: "Save Chinatown", "Respect the Community", "Morey Out" (Morey is out).

And all of this stems from a man named Sean Penn.

Chen Kaiwen had only seen Sean's TV shows before, and his impression of him was simply: Oh, he was a good actor, but unfortunately he went astray later. But after listening to that episode of "The Joe Logan Experience," he felt something inside him ignite.

Sean is right. This matter is not only related to the Chinese community, but also to every ordinary person!

He also wanted to become a famous person like him!

"Hey bro." Just then, a black guy next to him handed him a bottle of water, interrupting his thoughts. "That Sean Penn guy is a real tough guy, isn't he? He said that's the Philadelphia spirit. Even though I don't live in Philadelphia, I think he's totally right."

"Yes." Chen Kaiwen took the water and gripped the bottle tightly. "He made us stand together."

Just then, the crowd suddenly became agitated.

"It's out! That's Morey's car!"

The electric gates of the training center slowly opened, and several security guards pushed through the crowd, trying to clear a path. A black Cadillac SUV slowly drove out, its windows tinted with dark tint, but a chubby figure could be vaguely seen in the back seat.

"Morey! Get out here!"

"Apologize to Chinatown!"

The crowd surged forward like a tide, and the human wall formed by the security guards instantly became precarious.

"Hey buddy, be careful." The black guy next to Chen Kaiwen pulled him aside and whispered, "I heard the cops are on their way. Don't rush in too recklessly. They're armed!"

"Thank you," Chen Kaiwen replied, stumbling slightly from the jostling. But instead of backing away, he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and touched the cold, hard object.

That's a Glock 19.

Since the anti-violence gun protests by Chinese Americans in Philadelphia in 2016, he has taken the gun license test. He no longer wants to be that "honest man" who only trembles behind the counter.

He didn't actually intend to fire, but the weight of the gun gave him an unprecedented sense of confidence.

Through the gaps in the crowd, he saw the car window rolled down a crack.

When Morey's furrowed brows appeared in the gap, he saw that the other man's eyes were full of disgust and disdain, and his lips seemed to be moving, as if he was cursing something.

For some reason, all his calmness and restraint were useless. Chen Kaiwen suddenly felt that the face had become incredibly ugly, like what? Like a giant target.

He involuntarily pushed forward, his hands still in his pockets, gripping the gun's grip tightly.

……

A few kilometers away, Camden City Hall, the office of the City Clerk.

"Gentlemen, according to regulations, you should apply for a meeting thirty days in advance."

The official sitting behind the desk was a bald, middle-aged white man named Harold. He was currently slowly flipping through the forms Sean had submitted, not even bothering to lift his eyelids.

"Mr. Harold," Sean said, sitting across from him. He looked at the middle-aged white man whose favorability rating towards him was only -10. "I also wanted to bring it up thirty days earlier. But public opinion isn't a bus; it doesn't have a timetable. The current situation is: if this matter isn't given an outlet, things will spiral out of control."

"It's not like we're requesting permission to hold a march; whether we request it or not, it will still happen in Camden!"

"That's your problem, not mine," Harold said coldly. "Besides, New Jersey has its own laws. If a large assembly is held without a permit, the police have the right to disperse it."

Vincent, unable to contain himself any longer, pulled a law code from his briefcase.

"Mr. Harold, according to the First Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, citizens have the right to peaceful assembly. While the Supreme Court, in Cox v. New Hampshire, allowed local governments to establish licensing systems, it also clearly stipulated that such systems cannot be used to suppress free speech, nor can they deprive citizens of their rights due to administrative delays!"

"We're not suppressing anyone," Harold remained unmoved. "We're just following procedure. For public safety, we need time to assess traffic, police deployment..."

Sean listened to the other party's explanation, but he knew exactly what was going on.

The New Jersey state government has long wanted to poach the 76ers entirely; their Camden center was built thanks to significant concessions they received. The fact that the 76ers' construction of a new arena in Philadelphia is now blocked is actually a good thing for New Jersey. However, they also don't want these protesters causing trouble on their turf, giving the 76ers' management the bad impression that "New Jersey is also chaotic."

Therefore, the best approach is to suppress the protests or delay them until they fail.

Sean, however, did not want to make things too big, after all, this was the first time he had faced such a large-scale, uncontrolled gathering, and even someone as calm as him was somewhat unsettled.

"No need to say any more, Mr. Carter," Sean interrupted Vincent's quotations.

"Mr. Harold, how many people do you think will end up in this march? A thousand? Two thousand? Far more than that!" he said calmly. "If you sign this now, it will be a legal and controlled assembly. You can even send in the police to maintain order, and everyone can just chant some slogans and disperse."

"But if you insist on waiting thirty days..." Sean sneered, "then this isn't a rally, it's the prelude to a riot. And when the first brick hits a 76ers window, even when the first shot is fired..."

"All the responsibility will fall on your shoulders, the clerk who refused to sign."

Harold's expression changed, but he still forced a smile and slammed the folder shut.

"Mr. Pan, are you threatening government officials? Let me tell you, I won't listen to that. Rules are rules. Without a 30-day approval period, no one will get a license!"

Sean sighed, stood up, and straightened his clothes.

"If that's the case, sir," he looked at Harold with regret, "you may be responsible for everything that happened this afternoon, and hopefully your pension will be enough to cover your legal fees."

"Then you won't need to bother!" Harold said angrily, pointing to the door. "Now, please get out!"

Just then, the office door was suddenly kicked open.

A young clerk stumbled in, his face pale, and forgot to knock.

"No, something terrible has happened! Mr. Harold!"

"What's the panic!" Harold snapped. "Can't you see I have guests?"

"No...it's the training center!" The clerk gasped, his voice trembling. "Something's happened there! Someone...someone fired a shot!"