Aug 19, 2014, 10:38 a.m.
I remember crying uncontrollably on April 4, 1968, the awful day Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated, but not because I was extra sensitive to the mission of the slain civil rights leader. I could not stop sobbing and sniffling because the Indiana police were tossing tear gas on West 22nd Street in Indianapolis when I was five years old. I remember screaming, “It’s burning! It’s burning!” Of course, I had no idea why American cities like Chicago, Kansas City, Baltimore, Detroit, Washington, DC and others were simultaneously smoldering in scorching flames of seething anger, self-mutilation, self-destruction and hopeless rage.
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