George Floyd died in vain. On the grim night of May 30, 2020, in La Mesa, California, that statement was challenged. At the intersection of Spring and Allison, one could find themselves entranced by the blood, sweat, and tear gas being put forth by their fellow citizens. Posters with the phrase “I can’t breathe” paced back and forth, as you can hear the shards of broken glass crack beneath your feet. A woman in the middle streets sang to the crowd with words of protest without caring for her vocal cords that were seemingly about to burst with cries. Pain was evident. There was a deep sense of both discomfort and liberation.
Letters to the Editor
George Floyd died in vain. On the grim night of May 30, 2020, in La Mesa, California, that statement was challenged. At the intersection of Spring and Allison, one could find themselves entranced by the blood, sweat, and tear gas being put forth by their fellow citizens. Posters with the phrase “I can’t breathe” paced back and forth, as you can hear the shards of broken glass crack beneath your feet. A woman in the middle streets sang to the crowd with words of protest without caring for her vocal cords that were seemingly about to burst with cries. Pain was evident. There was a deep sense of both discomfort and liberation.