How to Handle The Neverending Fires From Paris to Ferguson

A stream of black smoke rose above a building three blocks ahead. People of all ages and backgrounds surrounded me. It was May 1, 2018 and thousands were gathered in the streets of Paris. Union members carried signs and shouted into microphones. The black bloc surged faithfully ahead. Glass from the windows of a nearby McDonald’s crunched beneath boots and sneakers.

“There’s the tear gas,” an American shouted.

I heard screams as canisters shot down from the sky, streaming gray gas as they hit the streets or people. The crowd pulled out their scarves and masks. Coughing fits began. I spat into my bandana as a hot feeling spread through my throat. Suddenly I was taken back to the images of Ferguson- milk being poured into the eyes of protesters and street kids lobbing back canisters of tear gas at police — that I’d been so viscerally affected by in 2014.

During my senior year of college, the photo of Michael Brown in front of Canfield Apartments woke me up like never before. Within months, I was leading protests on my campus, thinking about Huey Newton’s notion of Revolutionary Suicide , and traveling to Ferguson to join the growing movement in the streets. It was that year that I stood face to face with riot police and learned of James Baldwin for the first time.