The young conservatives feel very persecuted, like the whole world is out to get them. I never knew white people—white men—could feel like victims. How? When so much has been given. How, when the privileges afforded them for generations are as thick as the molasses from an old sap tree? They want the entire world. They want the world of their ancestors, to be free to take whatever suits them—land, people, riches. Not just privilege but vast, unchecked power. There are too many voices now and experiences demanding inclusion. This is not the world they know in their bones. Considering the impact of their words on someone else encroaches on their right to hate freely and, when in power, oppress freely.

I don’t say any of that out loud, of course. I sit quietly still staring at the flag and the clock, which are my safe anchors in this room. Gabby, Keli, and Earnell have also been quiet for the duration of the meeting. Until Stephen says there should be limitations on protests against public servants, particularly police officers and people elected to serve “this great nation.” I can feel the tsunami of Earnell’s rage coming. I look at Gabby and Keli—we know it’s time to prepare for battle.

“Hey, just gonna chime in here. Faithful conservative since birth. Earnell. Yea, I don’t think we’re thinking about this in the right way. Public servants and police officers are people also. They are not without flaws just because they are in a certain role. If anything, we should be even more vigilant and speak up when wrongdoing has occurred.”

A hellscape of discussion. World War III of beliefs. Jennifer’s ideological tennis ball jockeying back and forth, building to a crescendo of Earnell’s raw emotion for this brother. Earnell stands and begins shouting:

“These dumb opinions are easy when you never been through nothin’! When the toughest choice in your life is what college to go to.”

“You don’t know what I’ve been through,” Stephen retorts.

“I don’t. But I know that if you have been through what I’ve been through it’s almost impossible to believe what you believe.”

A force field of energy starts building behind my eyes. Then words by Dr. King: “Until justice rolls down like water and righteousness like a mighty stream.” So much pressure builds, I furtively shake my head to try and release it. It doesn’t work. More energetic intensity. Then beams of light spinning around the retinas before shooting out of my pupils, bathing Stephen in a bright white light. He freezes, hypnotized by the glare.

“Show him,” I say, beckoning the Keepers. “Show him his ignorance.” Messages from the light pour out. Black men who have been shot and killed by the police, incidents that never made the news, flow into Stephen.