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When I Decided To Finally Speak Up

At the end of May 2020, there was a planned peaceful protest in LA. I decided that day it was my turn to stand for justice — time to speak up. I called one of my best friends as I walked toward the protest. Our conversation was about how I was so sorry that I had been quiet in the past about being Black, and that I won’t stay quiet out of fear anymore. As I walked, I started mentally preparing myself for how bad this could get. I found a new friend that was also alone, and we agreed we would look out for each other. There were all types of ethnicities, genders, ages.
We stood in large groups chanting many songs, and it was as inspirational as it was depressing. I messaged a friend to tell them where I was, and her husband that’s in the military told me what to do if they started to spray tear gas. I stood there in disbelief as four LAPD helicopters circled the street, and a group of police officers lined up to stop us from walking further down the street. “Is this really happening?” I wondered to myself. All we wanted to do was peacefully express our feelings for the way Black people are being treated, and they quickly roll out the big guns? I know many people who work in law enforcement or serve in the military, and truly feel torn about this.
My tears started to melt my sunscreen off my face, and my new friend just touched my shoulder to let me know that it’ll all be okay. I began to document what I was seeing because I knew people wouldn’t believe me. About two hours into peaceful protesting, we started to hear “POP. POP. POP.” Hundreds of people began to run in the opposite direction. They were shooting at us with rubber bullets. After that, it all went downhill.
Two days later, I overheard my roommate on the phone saying, “These people are ruining our neighborhood.”
This was my first step in speaking up for Black America — and it did not lessen my anxiety.

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