A Reflection on Black Resistance

These streets remember
What history books forget —
Every cracked sidewalk
A testament to marches,
Every lamppost
Once witness to strange fruit,
Every brick building
Scarred with freedom’s price.

I walk these avenues now,
Privileged steps on hallowed ground,
Past corners where voices rose
Against fire hoses and fury,
Where children faced dogs
With nothing but courage
And hymns as shields.

The city holds memories
In its concrete bones:
Here, a lunch counter
Where dignity sat down
And refused to move.
There, a bus stop
Where tired feet
Sparked a revolution.

I see shadows of giants
In everyday places:
Malcolm’s fire still burning
In barbershop debates,
Martin’s dream echoing
Through church basements,
Harriet’s North Star shining
Above subway stations.

These buildings wear time
Like battle scars:
Bullet holes from riots
Now filled with pigeons,
Windows that watched
Black Panthers feed children,
Walls that absorbed
Freedom songs and tear gas.

I stand here now,
Not to speak but to witness,
Not to lead but to learn,
Not to help but to hear
The city’s long memory
Of resistance:

The grandmother
Who faced down tanks
With nothing but truth,
The students who bled
For the right to read,
The mothers who marched
For sons who never came home.

Each street sign
Bears invisible names:
Rosa Parks Boulevard
Intersects with
Fred Hampton Way,
While Fannie Lou Hamer
Whispers through alleys
Where votes were won
With blood and bone.

I see them all now,
These urban warriors
Whose shoulders bear
The weight of progress:
The unnamed millions
Who didn’t make headlines
But made history,
One refused indignity
At a time.

The city remembers,
Though plaques may lie,
Though statues stay silent,
Though tourists pass by
Without seeing the ghosts
Of freedom fighters
In every shadow.

This concrete forest
Grows from roots of resistance,
Each building a monument
To those who refused
To bend or break,
Who transformed pain
Into power,
Oppression into opportunity,
Rage into revolution.

I walk these streets
With open eyes now,
Seeing how every corner
Holds a lesson,
Every alley echoes
With untold stories,
Every playground built
On sacred ground.

This is not my struggle,
But I bear witness
To its power,
Its persistence,
Its presence
In every heartbeat
Of this urban giant.

The city remembers —
And so must I,
Not to appropriate,
But to appreciate,
Not to claim,
But to proclaim
The truth written
In steel and stone:

That justice flows
Through these streets
Like underground rivers,
That freedom rings
In subway tunnels
And tenement halls,
That the struggle continues
In every breath,
Every step,
Every refusal to forget.

These streets remember —
And through them,
So do we all,
Standing in solidarity
With those who fought,
Those who fight,
Those who will always rise
Against the night,
Until every city stone
Sings with freedom’s song.