My heart aches at the sight of your blooded corpse. The video footage shook me in a way that it brought out the activist in me. I knew from a young age that freedom was just an illusion that Black people tried to make visible. I apologize for not being able to save you. I apologize that this letter is the only way that I can speak up concerning this injustice. But I’m not sorry that you’re a black man. I’m proud to call you a brother in the struggle for equality.
I’m not turning a blind eye to the system that couldn’t save you. And what’s worse is that your children are learning the effects of oppression up close and at such a young age. I look at your children and family, and think about our ancestors that were still working on plantations when this country found its independence. For a long time, I tried to be optimistic about the flawed government that we pledge allegiance to as young ones. I’m not a father myself, but should I be blessed to have children, I will daily weep for them. The color of their skin is a death sentence, yet they are made in the image of God. You were made in the image of God. I don’t know if you’re Christian, but if you are, then I would be honored to shake your hand. As well as the hands of other black martyrs that died a noble, albeit unwilling death. You’re in my thoughts, my prayers, and my desire to see a change in the system. I never met you Alton, but I feel like I lost a loved one.
Your fellow brother,
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