As a black man, no day ever required emotional labor the way May 30th did – the first day of protests in Philadelphia condemning the heartless murder of George Floyd by police.
I felt fear for my life witnessing cars combust into pillars of flame at City Hall. Trepidation standing before swathes of officers armed to the teeth ("one wrong move, and..."). Rage and anguish with protestors watching systemic racism repeat itself, people performing the most insane mental gymnastics to justify our status quo.
I said "Ok, I think I'm gonna go now" to myself on three separate occasions, but stayed. My camera overheated twice from long periods of taping because documenting history means so much to me – I have very little access to my own. In this powerless time, my camera is my power.