He was a sophomore at Morehouse College at the time of the riot. He’d heard Dr. King had been killed, so he rushed back to his dorm. His roommate was gone, somewhere in Atlanta with everyone else speaking what Dr. King had called, “the language of the unheard”. Morehouse was Dr. King’s alma mater, so students there were feeling a specific kind of disconnection and rage.
The sophomore’s cousin had been killed the previous year in Vietnam and if he hadn’t been radicalized by that, he sure had now. He knew sit-ins weren’t going to be enough to bring change and change was needed.
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