I struggle to write what Ferguson meant to me. I struggle to feel what Ferguson meant to me. I replay the emotional conversations and cultural exchanges that helped soothe my Blackness into political mobilization. I retell the experience of traveling with Black and Brown activists and professionals to an eager audience of friends and family. And yet, I still have difficulty summing it all into words suitable for a meager blog post.
I am unable to articulate my feelings because my feelings run too deep.
My experience in Ferguson was surreal; even while there, I didn’t truly feel situated. I was floating above, watching down in aerial view as I maneuvered between hundreds of Black and Brown bodies ready and willing to stand for racial justice.
I felt like a visitor within my own family. In Ferguson, surrounded by so much experience, I felt like a novice in Blackness. My Blackness operated…
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