From my fellow troublemaker and Sister in Christ…
Photo credit: Heather Wilson
I had been in Ferguson since Mid August. I showed up not knowing exactly what I was doing or what my role was, but I felt compelled to show up anyways. I would like to say that I have always felt the urge to fight for Black liberation. I would like that to be true, and in some ways, yes, I have always felt a certain whisper urging me towards solidarity with the marginalized and oppressed.
But things were different now.
Now I was the mother to a Black daughter.
Now my responses were less driven from a theoretical or academic headspace. My response was less a measured response to an ethical or theological dilemma and more a lump in my throat, a brick in my gut, an inner scream that won’t stop.
A visceral response that Black mothers for centuries have known all too well
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