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#10YearsLater #UnflinchingProgress: DeMarco Davidson

Photo credit: Lindy Drew / Humans of St. Louis

“The moment I felt like I was a leader was in 5th grade. I was captain of Safety Patrol and promoted the fastest at my school ever at the time. Usually, it was me and two other girls in class who would get an assignment and compete against each other to try to get it done correctly and first. Well, some students in my class were struggling. While the young ladies and I were finishing our school work fast, my fellas — who I played with, ate with, and sometimes got in schoolyard fights with — were struggling to get theirs done. I noticed some of them also started to become the bullies and they’d make fun of the students considered ‘smart.’ So I’d ask them, ‘Why are you all doin’ that? You tryin’ to make fun of me? That’s not okay.’

 

I started to see those guys lean toward the physical side of their bodies. Vice versa, the students who were ‘smart’ knew they couldn’t excel as much on the playground or in the gym. So they couldn’t get back at the guys there, but they could retaliate with their wisdom and intelligence. And I thought, ‘That’s not okay either.’ I felt like, ‘If I got to be in this position as captain of Safety Patrol, I’ve got to do something about this.’

I went up to some of my guy friends and, I kid you not, I told them, ‘Punch me in my arm.’ So they did. I said, ‘Okay, now I’m gonna punch you in your arm.’ And they were like, ‘Ow, man! You hit hard!’ I told them, ‘If we get into a fight, most likely you’re gonna win. You’re probably gonna beat me up. But you’re also gonna know you were in a fight.’ Then I asked, ‘Do you like not being able to get your work done?’ And they didn’t. I said, ‘Well, if I ask the teacher if some of the students who get their work done faster can assist, would you be cool with that?’ Then I talked to the students who would get their work done faster: ‘Hey, instead of sitting around and not doing anything after we finish assignments, would you all be willing to help people who need assistance?’ They were like, ‘No, ’cause they’ll still beat us up or whatever.’ I said, ‘And what if they didn’t?’ So I asked the teacher about my plan and also added, ‘And maybe if we all get done with our work, we could have some extra playtime?’ So I brokered a deal and it worked out well. And I saw how it took a community of people to come together.

I don’t know if it’s all the counseling and therapy I’ve been in as a young man and currently, but I’m able to see multiple sides of an issue, assess a situation, and relate to others. I learned about what sympathy and empathy are, even if I couldn’t define them. And I started to embody that.”

Photo credit: Lindy Drew / Humans of St. Louis

“I used to have a speech impediment because I grew up with fluid in my ears. I remember being made fun of. When it finally went away and I heard the world, which was muffled, I learned how to enunciate my letters. Because I learned how to do that correctly, I don’t use the St. Louis vernacular. For example, I don’t say ‘hurrr’ I say ‘here.’ And I was even made fun of for that. So I came to understand that, ‘Being smart, I’m gonna be ridiculed. Not being smart, I’m gonna be ridiculed. Being strong, I’m gonna be ridiculed. Not being strong, I’m gonna be ridiculed. Okay, how do I live in a world where I can coexist and not choose sides if we’re all tryin’ to win?’ Sure, we have places where there’s competition. Like, I wasn’t the fastest running a mile. I never won the Presidential Fitness Award. I celebrated those who did win though. And I was good at the science experiments and math competitions. We need all of that. We need everyone. That also let me know, ‘I’m a leader. Whatever position I’m in, I can maximize it to bring harmony and peace. And, also, more fun!’ I was always tryin’ to have more fun. Like, ‘If I have to be in this classroom and y’all are tryin’ to get your work done and argue… Look, I need a win-win-win here.’”

Photo credit: Lindy Drew / Humans of St. Louis

 “I had amazing leaders in my life. I could have been a spoiled rotten leader, but I had teachers and adults who would humble and correct me with love. That’s one thing I truly appreciate because it hurts when I hear, ‘Someone in my family wouldn’t let me do something. They said I wouldn’t amount to anything.’ I can say I have never experienced that. I did have an old white professor in college who once asked me, ‘Boy, what are you doing here?’ And it caused a little self-doubt for a second, questioning why I belonged there like, ‘Actually, what am I doing here?’ But my focus reminded me, ‘I’m not here because of him. I’m not going along with whoever he’s trying to tell me I am. I’m here for multiple reasons, one of which is uplifting my family and community.’

My leadership abilities and experiences took a quantum leap when I got involved with the Kappa Instructional Leadership League sponsored by Kappa Alpha Psi Fraternity, Inc. I was the youngest member in the 8th grade. It was supposed to be for high schoolers, but they allowed a few middle schoolers to join. Then exponential growth happened in my sophomore year when I went to Hazelwood Central High School. There was a junior at Lutheran North — Carl Davis — and, to me, he was the wisest, youngest, old-soul person I ever met. I was like, ‘How is this dude only two years older than me and lightyears ahead, starting organizations and creating fundraisers?’ I was able to learn from him, which propelled me and allowed me to meet others like him in St. Louis.

I never felt like I was in the upper echelon of Black society. I came from a blue-collar, working-class family. My mother was a hardworking, sometimes-two-jobs, mom. My dad was a firefighter and a locally recognized drug dealer, sometimes, who was on and off in the streets. And other family members were dealing with addiction here and there. I was filled with love and family kept me in church a lot. That was always a big influence. But being involved in Kappa League and with friends who were moving at the speed of light, to me, was amazing.”

“I remember hearing the word ‘disparity.’ Some people were getting access to information and opportunities and others didn’t even know those things existed. I share with my peers how one of the reasons St. Louis looks the way it looks is because of how we were raised. We were taught that success looked like gettin’ out of the hood, no matter what hood you come from. It could be a quality neighborhood, a loving neighborhood, a trashy horrible neighborhood. We were taught to get up out, leave, and never come back. Sometimes it was said directly, sometimes indirectly. Whether it was from family, church, or school, that was the message. And when I ask folks from here, ‘Can you recall ever hearing a direct message about that?’ They say, ‘Nah, but that was definitely how we felt.’ So we also started feeling like anybody who stayed here in St. Louis was a failure. And anybody trying to still work here, at home, was a failure.”

Photo credit: Lindy Drew / Humans of St. Louis

“My mother said, ‘I don’t know why you and your sister stay here. If I was y’all, I would be gone.’ I was like, ‘Go where? Our family is here. Our loved ones are here. And you’re still here. If I leave you, you’re not gonna be calling me every day, talkin’ about how I’m a horrible child!?’ Some of the greatest energy; minds; solution-oriented, problem-solving, community-oriented people and leaders, they’re not here anymore. They’re from here. But they got opportunities and left here. That’s part of leadership and growth, too. At the same time, it’s done a disservice. Just in my high school, there were 450 of us who graduated. I lost track of how many became doctors, lawyers, engineers, and counselors who don’t live in St. Louis anymore. Maybe they plan to come back when their parents are struggling. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s part of nature. And I salute people who do that. The part that frustrates me is when those who leave say, ‘Why is St. Louis so terrible? That’s not the St. Louis I come from.’ I’m like, ‘It is the St. Louis you come from. You just left it. You and somebody else didn’t do anything about it.’ From my class of 1999, I can easily name 100 people who are nationally recognized for different efforts. But there’s only so much they can do here because now they’ve grown roots where they’re at. That’s one thing that compels me to stay in St. Louis and work here. I definitely don’t feel like a failure or a savior. If anything, I have a work complex. I just work. And it’s work that needs to be done.”

Photo credit: Lindy Drew / Humans of St. Louis

“I went through a lot of counseling and therapy because I grew up in what seemed to be a peaceful house, but my dad was violent in many ways. While he didn’t do anything physically to me, I saw him acting out. And violence was a way of life. In my family, it was probably encouraged to be THE way of life. Me being the youngest and one of the smallest, I knew, ‘That’s not gonna serve me well. I’m not gonna win any fights. I better use my words.’ I saw a large amount of death and destruction from being outside with my dad or just going around to different places. And I let people know off the bat, ‘I’m not street. I don’t pretend to be street. I know what it looks like. I know what it sounds like. I never had a taste for it.’ I had seen a lot of pain and hurt. So I never desired to be part of the street life or to glamorize drug culture and things of that nature. I once witnessed cousins getting Christmas gifts and their parents sold them before New Year’s for drugs. So, I don’t want to be involved in anything that’s gonna cause harm to kids. I just want to give them the chance to explore this world in ways they can see what options they have before they get boxed in or cut down in life.”

Photo credit: Lindy Drew / Humans of St. Louis

“I grew up in Metropolitan St. Louis, where if I’m not near a highway, I don’t know what to do. But I did go to Rolla, MO, for a time and it felt like a different world. Being in a rural area for seven years, I realized how different life was. I went to school at the University of Missouri– Rolla. In 8th grade, my advisor, an alum, took a bunch of us students down there and said, ‘If you’re good at math and science, consider engineering.’ I was good at those but didn’t know what an engineer was beyond being a train conductor. They told us, ‘If you’re good at chemistry, you should be a chemical engineer.’ I thought, ‘I like chemistry. I could do that.’ I was living in a two-bedroom apartment trying to share one bathroom with my mom and sister, so those were already cramped conditions. When I found out how much money engineers make, I was like, ‘Sign me up!’ Ever since 8th grade, it was: DeMarco Davidson, chemical engineering, University of Missouri–Rolla. I applied to only one school. Talk about unflinching — I know we’re gonna get there later — but, I was gonna get to college one way or another. I was focused.”

“Going to Rolla was interesting because the first 14 years of my life I was surrounded by mostly African Americans. I had a few white teachers here and there. Then, high school was 55% white, 40% Black, and 5% other. That was a culture shock, too, especially as I started going into classes when I’d be the only Black male in advanced classes. I wondered, ‘How did this happen?’ I started recognizing those types of disparities as well. The university claimed there were 5,000 students enrolled and 200 were Black. I thought, ‘Including the Africans, there was no way there were 200 African-Americans down here.’ Understanding and learning about my Blackness in the scope of diversity there was a new challenge for me.”

Photo credit: Lindy Drew / Humans of St. Louis

“I was set on being a chemical engineer, but it did not love me back. It was cruel, it was brutal, and, for whatever reason, I couldn’t understand the concepts. I got what was being said, but when it came time to test, I didn’t have it. I got kicked out of the department and the entire school altogether. I had to reapply for my fifth year. While I was doing so well in extracurriculars, being involved in fraternity life, and with a few positions in the National Society of Black Engineers, I was also working as a resident assistant and started an organization. All that stuff was going well while my academics were struggling. I finally had to make a change, even though I felt like I was giving up. So I switched to engineering management, which is the business and people side of engineering.

Engineering is really just problem-solving. You take a big problem and break it down to smaller problems, create smaller solutions, and bring those smaller solutions back to one big solution. Okay, but how do you break down a big problem to a small one? If you have a chemical problem, you use chemical engineering. You have an electrical problem, you use electrical engineering. And then you make all the things come back together. My GPA skyrocketed. It took off. Even got a chance to represent my university in an event in Seattle. Another activity was to participate in a lean engineering week, which meant using less material to make whatever product we wanted to. So we visited Boeing in St. Charles, where they showed us how they used less material to make the casings for the HJ-9 missiles, the same ones being used in the current conflict between Israel and Gaza.

This visit was 20 years ago, post–9/11. The phrase ‘weapons of mass destruction’ was in our lexicon by then. We knew what those words meant. And I had family who worked at Boeing. One of the ways to work there was to know somebody, to have a degree meaningful to the company, or to be somewhat lucky. I had two out of three, so I could have easily gotten a job there. Maybe. But, when I visited this facility, I realized they were making weapons of mass destruction. The Joint Direct Attack Munition (JDAM) missile can load into a cargo plane and a thousand at a time can be dropped and directed where to hit. An employee was showing us videos and I thought, ‘I’m not okay with this.’ They showed us pictures of decoys in the desert and I thought, ‘I don’t know about anybody else, but this could easily be the Middle East. And the Middle East is full of melanated people. So, these bombs are gonna be used to drop on melanated people? I’m not okay with that.’

From different books I’d been reading, I started developing a consciousness about global diversity, and it made me realize, ‘We’re connected to this.’ The thing that really got me that day, though, is that they had a proud list of customers — North Korea, South Korea, Russia, Afghanistan, Iraq, Iran, the U.K., China, and a few places in Africa. And I asked, ‘Aren’t we in conflict with some of these countries?’ Without hesitation, and I don’t think the person was joking, the employee said, ‘Yeah, we sell them the old weapons and make sure we keep the new stuff for America.’ That blew my mind. Another moment when things shifted for me.”

Photo credit: Lindy Drew / Humans of St. Louis

“America operates as a company. And we are a war-driven company. I started looking into other companies like Honeywell and Raytheon. I was like, ‘Wait a minute. This is perplexing.’ The last thing that pushed me over the edge was how these companies would name their aircraft carriers or conveyors of weapons of mass destruction after Indigenous tribes: the Chinook, the Blackhawk, the Tomahawk. ‘Whoa, wait a minute. ‘I’m not okay with any of this. I don’t like this at all.’

When I graduated, I didn’t know what to do about my work trajectory. Everyone assumed, ‘You’re definitely gonna work at Boeing, right?’ ‘No, I just can’t.’ ‘But they got an aircraft side.’ ‘Yeah, and even those are getting recalled left and right.’ But, if I hear, ‘They’re dropping bombs on only the bad guys,’ I know there are gonna be children in these places. There are gonna be someone’s loved ones and innocents.

I was struggling financially, so I’m not gonna pretend that it was an easy decision, but I had to decide to do something different. I could not be part of that system. People say, ‘The system is broken. The system is terrible. The system is trying to keep us down.’ And, this will probably be on my tombstone at this point, the system is not broken. Systems are engineered. Even the word ‘SYSTEM’ stands for Save Yourself Some Time, Energy, and Money.

I recognize the word ‘passion’ wasn’t in my parents’ vocabulary. It was always, ‘You get that good job with benefits and then you can retire.’ For some of them, it worked. My mom retired over 10 years ago and she’s enjoying her life. Other family members retired and they’re pretty good. I don’t plan on ever retiring. There’s a word that is extinct as far as I’m concerned. Until then, I’m working. But not at Boeing.”

Photo credit: Lindy Drew / Humans of St. Louis

“I have just as much in common with someone in St. Louis City struggling to pay their bills as someone in Rolla struggling to pay their bills. Although the cost of living is cheaper there, the welfare office was still full of people. I started asking, ‘Who’s benefiting from these systems? Who’s benefiting from people being on welfare?’ When I came home, schools were deemed ‘unaccredited.’ I never heard that word but, in just a short time, how did those schools become unaccredited? I started asking, ‘Who is saving time, energy, and money with our education system? Or, our healthcare system, our prison system, our insurance system?’ Because I’m naturally inquisitive, I wanted to know some answers.

There was a high school student I was tutoring in precalculus back in Rolla, a community with one of the best engineering schools in the country, and I asked him, ‘You’re good in math and science. Have you considered being an engineer?’ He said, ‘Not really. If I don’t get a sports scholarship to go to college, I’ll just join the military. And if I don’t get that, I’ll work at Walmart.’ This child, who was taking more advanced math classes than me when I was in high school, only felt he had those three options. He sounded like some of my peers back in high school and they were from completely different backgrounds and demographics. ‘Okay,’ I thought. ‘This too is a system. This system is working well to make young people feel like they only have a few options.’”

Photo credit: Lindy Drew / Humans of St. Louis

“Thank goodness for my pastor and my previous pastor, I recently shared in a sermon how I told my mom I didn’t want to build bombs. I wanted to build families and communities and love, peace, and harmony. I know that’s gonna take time and energy, but that’s worth fighting for versus fighting to maintain a militaristic economy. I don’t want to be part of that system. 

The thing is, there’s a place and part for everybody in this work. I respect those who have the financial means to give to charity. I respect those who make sure their giving is intentional and focused. As an executive director of a nonprofit, I tell people, ‘All money is not good money. Sometimes money comes with strings. Make sure those strings don’t turn into a noose.’ For those who just want to help and are professionals, we need their advice and somebody to fight the laws. I salute that. We have those who are advocates and abolitionists. I’m for that too. There are storytellers and those who collect and gather the stories to make sure they’re heard. There are artivists — artists and activists. There can be a little bit of activism in every single person, especially in those who want to tear systems down. And my role as a leader is to be an organizer to bring everybody together. What’s the big problem? Let’s break it down and bring everybody together to figure out who’s working on all these small solutions. And let’s get all these small solutions back together to create systems that actually benefit us. We can create a system with as much intentionality as possible without diminishing anyone’s humanity or putting anybody in danger. If we decide to figure out another way for people to be rehabilitated out of jail, no matter how terrible the crime they may have committed, let’s find a way to create that, organize, and commit.”

Photo credit: Lindy Drew / Humans of St. Louis

“I heard from a professor in one of my engineering classes, ‘The business of business is business.’ Halfway through the course, I asked, ‘What does that mean?’ And he said, ‘The business of business is to make a profit. And to make as much as you legally can.’ That didn’t sound too bad. But then I was in a room with some very wealthy people who said, ‘If people don’t like the way you’re doing business, just change the laws. And if you can’t change the laws, just change the politician.’ He said it so matter of fact.

Connecting those things, I was like, ‘Wait a minute.’ How do we build enough influence to get laws changed? How do we build it with voters? With congregations? That’s where I come in as an organizer recognizing we either have to change laws or the people who change the laws. As a 501(c)3 here at MCU, I can’t do a lot around changing people. But I can encourage them to lift up the values they want and organize phone banks and do research to get clear on what the things are people want to fight for.”

Photo credit: Lindy Drew / Humans of St. Louis

“August 2014 was my first month in seminary. I was in this collegiate world while also experiencing this movement world. I can’t tell the story without leaning on my community church, St. John’s, when Reverend Starsky Wilson was the pastor. What I loved, that we do even now to this day, is we’d read a book that involved aspects around movements and social justice in connection with the Bible. We had one book series in which while we were going through Bible study we went through a chapter of Exodus. We looked at Pharoah’s economy versus God’s economy. We looked at midwives and how they sparked a movement because they were like, ‘We’re not killing these babies, Pharaoh.’ Doing a deeper dive into these stories, I got stuck and wouldn’t let go. It blew my whole embedded theology apart. I was like, ‘I gotta get clear on this.’ Rev. Starsky said, ‘Clearly it’s time for you to go to seminary.’ Instead, I reluctantly went to a weekend-long life course that ultimately showed me it was time to go to seminary. I was just planning on going to work sales at Charter.

But it was on August 9th when my dad and I were driving to a family event and almost got hit by a police car responding to some incident. We started seeing police cars from different municipalities pass and my dad said it must be a code 1000, meaning whenever an officer is injured, officers from surrounding precincts and municipalities respond. At the time, I was praying for that officer and everything. We had a good time at the family event and then my friend called me: ‘You won’t believe what’s going on. Somebody got shot trying to rob a convenience store.’ It was 5 o’clock and he called me again: ‘Have you been checking what’s going on on social media?’ ‘Nah, I’m at a family event.’ ‘Man, they left this guy’s body outside so the whole community could see it?’ I was like, ‘What did you just say?’ ‘Yeah, it’s a teenager.’ I was like, ‘Even if someone did try to rob a place, you don’t do that. It’s too close to a lynching. Like a message to say: “Don’t do this again.”’ That’s provocative and used for fear. And fear leads to anger.”

Photo credit: Lindy Drew / Humans of St. Louis

“I said to my friend, ‘We are not Florida,’ because me and my friends still had rage from what happened to Trayvon Martin. I thought people were gonna rebel and riot there. At the time, Florida didn’t do much to show their rage towards a young Black boy killed by a vigilante who didn’t have any jurisdiction and then got away with it. One of my cousins told me the teenager in Ferguson who got killed by police was his homeboy’s son. I thought, ‘That’s tragic.’

My pastor, Rev. Starky, preached a challenging message on Sunday, August 10th, proclaiming our congregation would continue to be involved in community organizing efforts. He warned us about going to Ferguson because of the raw tension that continued to build. He also had to go out of town after that service. Since I was the president of St. John’s at the time, he asked me to go to certain events in his absence to represent the church.

That afternoon, several well-known St. Louis leaders held a candlelight vigil. A couple of hours later, a riot broke out. In response, the St. Louis County NAACP held a community meeting at Murchison Temple the next day. Mostly only people on the stage spoke. People were displeased with some of the messages they heard — too much talking, not enough answers or action. Near the end of the event, a lady interrupted and said to the leaders on stage, ‘Y’all left the babies! Y’all religious leaders came out for a candlelight vigil and then went home. Y’all abandoned us. That was wrong. That’s why this happened!’ People applauded her declaration. 

I was perplexed at the communal response. I thought about the old saying, ‘follow the leader.’ Well, if the leaders went home, why didn’t the people follow the leaders’ actions and also go home? The shift of who were considered to be leaders had changed drastically. The respect and trust for those considered to be community leaders had dwindled. That was concerning.”

Photo credit: Lindy Drew / Humans of St. Louis

 “My friend called me up again and said, ‘Man, we gotta raise money for The Brown Family. Too many people are out here tryin’ to scam.’ I was like, ‘We don’t have to do that at all. I’m about to start seminary. We’re both working at Charter trying to keep a job. Dude, if that’s what you feel you need to do, do that. I don’t even know if that’s legal.’ He said, ‘Call an attorney.’ So, I did. And this attorney told me it is legal and that we’d need to get in touch with the family. She said one of my fraternity brothers and someone I knew from Kappa League is the family lawyer. So I called him up. Tuesday, Reverend Traci Blackmon decided to host an event at her church. Reverend Starsky called me to say, ‘Please go and look after Traci.’ I was Safety Patrol without a badge or nothing and Traci was like a big sister spiritual leader to me, so I was gonna be there.

That same friend calls me up again and says he went on GoFundMe to create something right now. I told him, ‘Slow down.’ A few minutes later, the family’s attorney sends me this text message: ‘Please go to the bank and set up an account for the Michael Brown Jr. Memorial Fund. Make sure it says this name.’ I was like, ‘Okay, it needs to happen.’ Plus, I was going to that event later that night and could let people know that if they really wanted to contribute to the family, this would be the official way. I slid the info to Reverend Blackmon that evening to announce it, told her I was with the family attorney, and she did let folks know. I had no concept of what it meant to create a memorial fund for a child. Ended up meeting Lesley McSpadden, the mother of Mike Brown Jr., on August 15th. Got her name on the account. And I got Michael Brown Sr. on the account a few days later after my first time meeting him.

I then called my fraternity brother and the Brown family attorney to let him know I got both their names on the account and was about to take mine off. He said, ‘No, I need you to stay on there. We have to have a third party and I need somebody to be able to allocate the funds for the family.’ I was like, ‘Yo, I don’t want this family to be extorted or vulnerable while they’re going through a tragedy that’s completely unfamiliar on this level with this much attention and notoriety.’ Lesley and Michael Sr. did not get a chance to decide if they wanted an open casket for their son. The community, Facebook, and Twitter made the decision to show their baby with his own coagulated trail of blood. The family was robbed of that and I think we owe them an apology.”

Photo credit: Lindy Drew / Humans of St. Louis

“I saw the picture of Mike Brown Jr. murdered in the street. I felt like, ‘Wow, it really is open season on us and they are making it clear.’ To have his body lying in the street in August for that long was grotesque. I know his face melted into the ground. It was dead hot. 

Talking with Mike Sr. after that, he was like, ‘They were just pushing us in front of cameras and telling us what to say without even getting clarity or being able to process things.’ I told them, ‘If there’s anything I can do…’ Rev. Starsky had just preached earlier, ‘If you have a platform or certain skills, utilize them to support people who need it.’ I was definitely reluctant, trying to focus on seminary, which I didn’t want to go to in the first place. At the same time, I didn’t want this family in trouble with the IRS either. I didn’t want them to be seen as not worthy of getting funding. What about their other children and the family they still needed to take care of? 

There were a lot of great people who supported the Brown Family, like by paying for the funeral. Plus, Mike Brown Sr. and his wife and children were living out of a hotel. Talk about one tragedy on top of another. Furthermore, Mike Brown Sr.’s wife, Cal, was having health issues. The mother of Mike Brown Jr., Lesley McSpadden, had some tough moments as well. So I figured if there was anything I could do to alleviate something for them, I would.

I remember I ran up on one guy in St. Louis who came from Florida to sell shirts and I asked him, ‘Who are you? Where’s this money going?’ ‘Oh, I was gonna try to find somebody to help out the Brown family?’ ‘Really? Like, really?’ I wasn’t knocking the guy’s hustle. He paid for the shirts. But I showed him the documentation that I was handling that for the family. Literally, he was like, ‘Here, man. Take all the money.’ I was like, ‘Bro, I want you to still survive. You took a calculated risk coming here. But, yeah, I’m taking part of that. If you say it’s for the family, it’s for the family.’ Then I’d go to different events here and there and people would say they were raising money for the family. ‘Okay, where’s it at?’ And they’d be like, ‘Oh, we don’t know…’ So when I saw that happening in St. Louis, I knew there was still more I could do to help this family out to make sure they weren’t getting cheated. Lord knows it was a very opportunistic time.”

Photo credit: Lindy Drew / Humans of St. Louis

“When the pictures and name of the police officer were released, they had a press conference and then released the video of Mike Brown Jr. getting into it with the clerk at the Ferguson Market and Liquor. Somebody at the press conference held up a cigarillos package because of the incident that happened at the store. I immediately got on social media saying, ‘Do not go out and buy cigarillos. Instead, put money towards the Brown family who needs it.’ I said it because I saw how a bunch of Arizona Tea and Skittles were bought when Trayvon Martin was killed. It wasn’t until years later that I found out a cigarillos company tried to meet with the Brown family to present a whole marketing line with Mike Brown Jr.’s face on it. Luckily, the family rejected it. An example of how even a corporation tried to take advantage of this tragedy.

Because I studied movements, I saw how things go. I saw how fake or generic paraphernalia was created around Obama during his campaigns when I worked for that. Or, people who are elected leaders would ask to use my discount to buy Obama shirts from the campaign and resell them in the community. I was like, ‘We’re trying to get votes. Y’all trying to sell shirts? Y’all talkin’ about the money. We’re trying to make history.’ Seeing that also compelled me to be about this family because they couldn’t be everywhere. I couldn’t be everywhere either, but at least people could know the family started a memorial fund. If you were saying you’re doing anything for the family, somebody’s gonna show up. And I was that person.”

Photo credit: Lindy Drew / Humans of St. Louis

 “By working with the Brown family, them trusting me with the money they were receiving, and keeping accurate books, both of the parents asked me if they could pay me. I said, ‘No, because people donating aren’t thinking of giving extra to someone managing their funds.’ Also, I felt like it was blood money. Like, I shouldn’t know this money. I shouldn’t have had to open up that account in the first place. So, I didn’t want it. I also saw how Lesley was constantly being pushed and lifted up to be in spaces to talk because many can identify with mothers more. I respect that, wholeheartedly. I also saw Lesley getting invited to things and Mike Sr. not as much. I recognized he needed help too, as well as his wife Cal. There wouldn’t be a Chosen for Change without her. She saw how people were trying to tear up Mike Brown Jr.’s legacy and name and it got to her for multiple reasons.

I still struggle with this, but there are so many people who were connected to other businesses, nonprofits, and organizations who would tell the family, ‘I can give you a little money, but if you had a 501(c)3, we could give you more money. Otherwise, we can’t do nothing for you.’ I tried to tell them though, if they started an organization, they’d have to have deliverables. They couldn’t just take the money and use it how they wanted. They were like, ‘You seem to know a lot about this.’ I said, ‘I don’t, but I’m willing to learn.’ And that’s how I became the Executive Director for Chosen for Change for some years. I still had my pastor around for guidance. I’d study and read. And this was all while I was in seminary and working full-time. It was a lot, but I tried my best to look out for their best interests. I didn’t know what was better for them, but I knew what snakes and vultures and movement-jackers looked like.”

Photo credit: Lindy Drew / Humans of St. Louis

“It’s one thing to lose a child, it’s another to have them killed and exposed to the world. After that, there’s no such thing as normal. I would never judge Mike and Cal, Lesley and Louis, or anybody because, what’s normal? How they were pushed in front of audiences and their baby wasn’t even buried yet. They hadn’t even started grieving. Everything happened so fast. And I’d let them know, ‘If you do want to open a 501(c)3, you’ll have to report and respond to the IRS. And when you put “THE” in front of “IRS” it spells “THEIRS.” So this is not your money. This is public community money now. The memorial fund, that’s y’all’s money and nobody’s asking how you spend that. They’re gonna be asking how you’re spending this community money. And if you aren’t clear on how or why you’re doing it, either don’t do it or do it and be cautious.’ I just wanted to protect the family from being overexposed to further harm, financially, mentally, and emotionally. I lean heavily on John C. Maxwell’s quote: ‘Success is what you have when you add value to yourself. Significance is what you have when you add value to others.’ I’d already chosen to live a life of significance and not worry about success. I wanted to make sure I was adding value to this family, to this community, and to this movement. And that’s one thing I’ve continued to do.”

Photo credit: Lindy Drew / Humans of St. Louis

 

 

 














“Aug 9th, 2014 didn’t just happen out of nowhere. And Metropolitan Congregations United was one of the spaces, places, and people to organize others, to get them engaged, and to show this was not a one-off incident. Police killings can and will continue to happen if we do not change something like the laws or the people who make the laws. We have not changed history. We have not reconciled history. We have not atoned for things in the past. This will continue happening. I ended up volunteering to lead conversations and I’d go to other congregations to have these tough talks. White and Black congregations were being brought together to have these racial conversations. Speeches, talks, and public meetings were going on around Ferguson and St. Louis. With Vonderrit Myers Jr. being killed and Kimberlee Randale-King who died in a Pagedale jail, this is a whole regional issue. And it’s a national issue.”

Photo credit: Lindy Drew / Humans of St. Louis

) “I think, I feel, and I believe in the last 10 years that the people who have been unflinching are still around and still doing the work. They might be elevated to different positions, but they’re still working on adding value to themselves and the community around them. I once gave an interview at the one-year commemoration and mentioned that I’m looking forward to knowing how many young people are being impacted by Mike Brown Jr.’s death. How many of them are going to take up law? How many are going to take up becoming police officers? People do want to live free and desire a way to create community. So, how do we do it where everybody and not just a few can thrive?

More people are realizing these old systems are not benefiting them. I hear about organizations in St. Louis County doing work in social justice. I see congregations not just having a Black Lives Matter flag but acknowledging their contribution towards harm and working on it, not just through talk and prayers and finances, but also lifting up and doing programs. I see corporations and foundations admit the way they are operating and harming humans isn’t good for business. People and places are figuring out better ways, healthier ways, and humane ways that don’t involve the damage and destruction of humans. Sometimes it’s hard to see. If we focus on only what’s in the news, it’ll have us believe that nothing is changing.

We have new words — not just ‘trauma’ and ‘triggering,’ but ‘implicit bias.’ When I think about Missouri and Mizzurah, there are more people realizing, ‘They hurtin’ you, they hurtin’ me too. What does it take for us to put aside our differences and recognize we have a lot in common?’ When I see organizations like Forward Through Ferguson, Action St. Louis, Freedom Community Center, and ArchCity Defenders, St. Louis is providing a blueprint for the rest of America. We may not have started it, but there are statewide tables developed because of what we started here. We have to be unflinching when it comes to defining what freedom actually means and how everyone can thrive. What does that look like even when we may not feel it? It’s gonna be bumpy, but we know where we’re headed.”