Unless we do, police violence will rage on, and Black communities will continue to live in fear of the people ostensibly sworn to protect them
On the night of 30 May last year, I was standing at the mayor of Atlanta’s podium, wondering what I might say to keep my home town from burning itself to the ground before the sun came up in the morning.
The fury erupting in the streets of Atlanta in George Floyd’s name that night was the cry of generations, and it was a righteous cry, and it was justified. Standing there before those TV cameras, I thought of Mr Floyd in his last moments on Earth, his neck crushed under the knee of a cop who once took an oath to serve and protect his community, his partner standing watch while Mr Floyd cried out for his mother in heaven and died.
