I can hear the gunshots in my sleep.
They sound like the gunshots from the last time.
And the time before that.
And the time before that.
Sharp pops whose noise belies their power. Quick pops that snatch the life from another innocent black man.
I can still see the cell phone video of 50-year-old Walter Scott from three Aprils ago, running away from a white South Carolina police officer who then inexplicably shoots him in the back, shoots him down like a dog.
I can still see the cell phone video of Alton Sterling from July 2016, on the ground with two white officers on top of him, officers who shoot him three times in the chest as he lay, then three times in the back as he dies.
I don’t have to list them all. We know their names. We hear their names every time there is another one.
But this time, the lynchings aren’t watched solely by racist crowds carrying lemonade and fans, celebrating as if they are at picnics. This time, the audiences are Americans and people all over the world.
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