“I couldn’t help but think of the innocent Black men and women who’d hung from the branches above me, their cries cut short by the pull of a noose, their feet swaying back and forth, the blood draining from their faces along with their unfulfilled dreams. When I remember the thousands who died, many whose stories were never recorded in history, I bow my head. And when my wailing is done, I get up and I carry on, not in my own name, but in theirs.”
