As night descends on Harlem, rallies become riots. People are throwing things through high-end store windows, then looting whatever is inside. The peaceful protesters and the rioters are mixing in, and it’s hard to make out which group is which. All over Harlem, sirens can be heard as fires are being set in trash cans, stores, and cars. The cops rush on the scene in full riot gear.

The anger of the crowd is palpable. I know the rage that grips them; it has taken me too. And as the city begins to burn, I don’t see wild, lawless thugs; I see spiritual, tribal men and women who are tired of begging the gods for a drop of justice. No more drops; they need it to rain. It’s the only way to nurture the last seed of hope they have.

Sly News calls them criminals, and one commentator says the cops need to be even more aggressive so that the city can return to “order.” The network actually has the nerve to suggest that cops have to be more forceful with us because Black people are somehow prone to acts of violence. They have people calling into the show talking about how Black people go to jail more often, due to our lack of self-control and discipline.

WTF? Sly News is full of idiots.

The protesters are dancers, retelling Alvin Ailey’s Revelations. There’s grace and beauty in their movement, even if it is fueled by fury and frustration.

See Us has given up on calling; the entire board is here at the house. I overhear them talking about the protesters who have been beaten over the head and tear-gassed while my mom’s name falls out of their lips as they chant.

“They’re risking their lives fighting for justice for Rosalie and her only child can’t even make an appearance? They need to hear from her. Now more than before,” Nate says.

He’s right.

I never wanted anyone to get hurt, and if the only way to stop this is to speak to the crowd, then I will. I can hold back my fear and face whatever needs to be faced. But I don’t know what I will say to them. How will I lead them with no real voice of my own?

I didn’t want to say anything before because whatever I said would just add gasoline to the fire. I don’t have it in me to take the high road. I want to burn down the police station and every damn thing near it. How do I find the strength to battle that rage and make something good out of it? How can I tell them to tame their anger when I can’t tame mine?

I need you, Mom. I need your strength. And I’m going to get it.