Black Lives Matter

My wife and I organized a protest march in our neighborhood. Four days ago, we hatched the idea—hoping for perhaps a handful of people. Instead, nearly 500 showed up, spilling across multiple blocks.

We intentionally did this in our quiet, residential part of town, to both invite and confront an area, like so many others, that assumes a reprieve from the urgency of these demands toward abolition, toward an immediate ceasing of state-sanctioned violence against Black people.

We pulled our kids in a wagon as we walked. Some day, I will tell them this story about their first protest. How they held signs they made and led a long line of comrades.