In the neighborhood where I grew up, there's an intersection not unlike many others — unassuming junctions that combine to create the mosaic that is south Minneapolis.
These simple strips of blacktop, for decades well beyond the seven for which I've been around, have carried travelers in cars and buses in four basic directions — north and south, east and west. Typically, they pass in relative safety.
And then, on May 25, 2020, history unfolded its map, and together we were all lost in the longest nine minutes and twenty-nine seconds our nation has collectively endured. During those horrible minutes, 38th and Chicago became another crossroads where America would be forced to search for its true soul.
There will never be just one path we all take. One person may kneel to pray, another may take a knee to say "enough." But at 38th and Chicago we watched the leg of the law as it knelt down unmercifully and strangled the life out of a man.
But this time, as if it was meant to be, a young woman's diligence digitally captured that haunting, nonchalant stare. I have seen evil eyes filled with anger. I never knew such darkness could pierce even deeper when gazing out with casual indifference.
With a blindingly magnetic power, the eyes of that "public servant" tore at and tore out our already aching hearts.
And now in this time, with a day that is ours, the world changes forever. A movement began at 38th and Chicago, but we cannot allow it to end there. Let's begin with that focal point. But let's remember that 38th Street starts on its westernmost end at Lakewood Cemetery.
It is amid those gentle rolling hills that you will find the final resting place of Mary Jackson Ellis, the first Black teacher in Minnesota. Look a bit further, and you will also find the grave of B. Robert Lewis, Minnesota's first Black state senator.