My kids had been given the broad strokes of mob-vigilante terrorism, and they'd all watched Just Mercy. But none of us were prepared to be so moved.
Two things you won't glean from the digital tour of the memorial:
First, the names on the memorial markers (shaped to remind you both of bodies and of coffins) are only a small fraction of the Black and brown bodies murdered and tortured.
Second, as you enter the memorial, all the county markers are sitting on the floor. As you progress, the floor drops out from underneath you (like a hanging) in a gradual slope until, at the end, the markers are hanging above your head, dark and weathered, distanced from you physically as they are distanced by time and systemic forgetting.
My 5-year old son was melting down when we entered. But then he noticed words on the markers. "what that say," he asked, reaching out to touch the name in front of him. I read the name, and then another, and then another, until I started to get choked up.
"Why you crying," he asked?
"Because I'm saying their names." And the names --- not even their own. Like a brand. Have you ever known an African person to be named Maggie?
That's because none of these names are their true names. These aren't the names their mamas whispered to them when they were rocking them to sleep. These aren't African names. Even in death they're branded as property.
I urge every one of you to go visit the memorial. It's free, has an amazing gift shop, and also accepts direct donations online.
You don't want to think about this. Nobody does. But you must. We all must