Dr. Carter G. Woodson earned the title of “the father of Black History” because he took it upon himself to ensure the history of a race would be documented. Because his belief was that “if a race has no history, if it has no worthwhile tradition, it becomes a negligible factor in the thought of the world and it stands in the danger of being exterminated.” (BH 27) And extermination is not necessarily physical.

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And this was in the height of lynching, in the early 1900s, and here we are in the early 2000s, and we no longer have white folks sending post cards, we have three white men, in a pick up truck following and chasing down Ahmaud Arbery as he was jogging, like he always did. They went looking for a lynching. And they went looking for the new postcard—cell phone video. The murder of Ahmaud Arbery captured on film by the mob themselves, is the new post card of American lynching.

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Since childhood you’ve thought about what college you would attend. What friends you would make. Wondering what you would major in. Places you would go for breaks. The type of freedom you would feel away from home. And most likely, you dreamed about what it would be like to walk across that stage, with your cap and gown, in front of your families and friends. The moment you knew would represent seventeen years of schooling, seventeen years of homework, seventeen years of being tested, seventeen years of new friendships, broken friendships, and forever friendships. Seventeen years of awesome teachers, teachers that did the best they could, teachers who changed your life, teachers you would like to forget, and teachers you can’t wait to tell, “I did it!” For many of you, college has been a part of your future since you knew what a future was.

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As I walked onto that stage, Dr. Gordon reminded me to “breathe,” and as I remembered to breathe, and remembered all those folks lifting me up, I delivered an introduction of Black Lives Matter that garnered three sets of applause leading up to the journey of Patrisse Cullors arriving on stage and gifting me with a hug. And then I got to sit and listen. And they took us to “church”, and by “church” I mean a space where response was inevitable, where faith—belief in something you cannot see—was alive and ready.

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…We had lived 3 hours from Virginia Beach all our lives and had never ventured there—we had no family vacations. Packing is first generation too. But what about all the little trinkets to decorate with? What about my bedding? What about my pillows? My computer (which was a desktop at the time)? My shoes, my towels, my soap, my hair stuff, and who will do my hair, my black hair in Ithaca, (Facebook hadn’t started yet) … And so much more. No one in my family had a van, or a big SUV…

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