I am writing this in my Santa Monica apartment. Right outside there are sirens blaring, scores of helicopters hovering overhead, two stores across the street that were just looted by roving criminals and a couple of structure fires a few blocks away. About an hour ago, there was a crowd of at least 300 peaceful protestors outside. I watched from my roof, afraid to enter the fray, but when they stopped and knelt in silent vigil for George Floyd, I knelt too, and raised my fist high in solidarity.
King said, “A riot is the language of the unheard,” and yet we’re still not listening. I don’t know how this all will end, but I do know that it can’t go back to how it was. I do know that no lives will matter until black lives matter.
