A number of Chicagoans responded to the call to come to St. Louis and Ferguson for a weekend of resistance as part of Ferguson October. I attended a march in St. Louis on Saturday and several other friends from Chicago spent all or part of their weekends in Ferguson. I am still sorting out my thoughts and feelings but I asked some friends to share theirs if they were willing. This week, I will post the responses that I receive. Today, my friend Sarah reflects on her experience through words and her photos.

It’s Sunday morning, 8am, and my daughter Cadence and our friends Pidgeon and Mika are slowly waking up in our hotel room in St. Louis. I decide to use this time before we check out to edit my photos from the night before taken at the vigil at Mike Brown’s memorial and the subsequent protest at the Ferguson police station. While I wait for the photos to download onto my laptop, I read Mariame’s post from Friday, and see this video of Ethan, a young person I care very much about, and my heart cracks as I recall the events of the previous night when I watched him unleash his anger and pain in the faces of the Ferguson police officers lined up in front of the protesters. I then return to my downloaded photos, and the very first one I see is that of Mike Brown’s mother and family leading the march after the vigil to the police station, and that’s when my already cracked heart breaks wide open and I start weeping.

photo by Sarah Jane Rhee (Ferguson, 10/11/14)

The night before at the Ferguson PD protest, I witnessed several young men from Chicago whom I care about very much passionately and furiously express their anger and pain at the police officers who were lined up in front of them a few feet away, separated from them only by a thin yellow police tape that poorly represented the chasm between these two groups.

photo by Sarah Jane Rhee (Ferguson, 10/11/14)

As I watched, I was worried for their safety because I knew these officers could care less about the lives of these young Black men, that they may as well all be Mike Brown or nameless. I also recognized these young people’s need for an outlet for the feelings of anguish and rage that I don’t have adequate words with which to describe them.

photo by Sarah Jane Rhee (Ferguson, 10/11/14)

Eventually, the young people walked away from the line of police before anything could happen to them, and I was relieved, but I was also deeply affected by what I had witnessed.

It isn’t until Sunday morning in my hotel room, however, when I first glanced at the photo of Mike Brown’s mother, that all my emotions flood over me as I mentally make the connection between Ethan’s (and Ash’s and Ric’s…) anguish and that of Mike Brown’s family and the community of Ferguson. Images from the previous day’s march, vigil, and protest wash over me. I see in my head the little Black boy who couldn’t have been more than 5 or 6 years old holding a sign that declares in big bold letters “I MATTER.”

photo by Sarah Jane Rhee (St. Louis, 10/11/14)

I see the young black man wearing the shirt that says “Stop Killing Us” while holding a sign that reads “My Skin Color Is Not A Crime.”

photo by Sarah Jane Rhee (St. Louis, 10/11/14)

And I see so many manifestations of the phrase “Black Lives Matter.”

photo by Sarah Jane Rhee (St. Louis, 10/11/14)

And I feel grateful…grateful to have marched in solidarity, grateful to have borne witness, grateful to have these images that affirm to the world that Black Lives Matter indeed, that my young friends who lost their friend Damo, who have lost other friends, and who live in fear of losing more friends or their own lives, that their pain and anguish and rage matter, that all Black mothers and fathers and grandparents and sisters and brothers who have lost a child, a grandchild, a sibling, that their grief matters.

photo by Sarah Jane Rhee (Ferguson, 10/11/14)

I was reminded Saturday night at the Ferguson Police Station of this photo of Elizabeth Vega and others who created healing stations during the first few days after Mike Brown was murdered, a place where, as dream hampton put it, “Ferguson youth could come & scream & cry & be held & heard in love.” That image has been on my mind constantly these past couple days, and this is the kind of work that I see as being so needed, creating and holding healing and loving spaces. This is why I’m grateful to be part of the work that We Charge Genocide is doing in ending police violence in Chicago, especially aimed at young people of color. This work is being led by those very young people who are targeted by police and state violence, many of whom were in Ferguson this weekend. I know that there is little I can do as just one person to right the wrongs of generations and centuries of systemic oppression, but I believe strongly in the power of collective action, collective struggle, collective love, collective hope. And I believe that we will win.