social justice

Troy Davis Lives

I woke after a fitful sleep yesterday morning and my throat hurt from yelling and my body ached from marching. But in my head all I could hear was "I am Troy Davis! We are Troy Davis!" and if the dull sense of numbness that I'd lain down with a few hours before didn't quite disappear, it did get light enough for me to pull myself up, and to get back to work. This is an amazing moment, not just for the darkness of such blatant and abhorrent injustice, but also for the opportunity to build this movement and change the course of history.

When we heard that Troy's execution was going forward, we were still gathered in front of the Supreme Court in DC. We were a smaller crowd, but such a cathartic moment feels bigger, feels louder. For hours, we were many, having marched from around the city to this spot, colliding in solidarity with students from Howard University who had marched from the White House only moments before. We'd spilled into the street, calling back and forth, "I am Troy Davis! We are Troy Davis!" We'd rallied, forgetting about the rain, our voices echoing off of each other, moving in rhythm, only stopping for a few brief moments to talk about next steps, to plan beyond the night no matter what was in store.

When we heard, we gathered around a woman reading from her smartphone in the quiet now, many of us who were left frantically tried to confirm, knowing well what was happening a few hundred miles away in Jackson. As bright camera lights moved in, a few people spoke their outrage and their disgust. Amidst quiet sobs and angry words, one man called out, slowly and deliberately, "the Supreme Court Justices are murderers!"

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