Byron Allen: Black America Speaks. America Should Listen. What We Need To Do To Never Come Back Here Again – Guest Column
Byron Allen Last night I was sitting in my living room and a convoy of trucks drove by my home filled with law enforcement and National Guard troops.I am a 59-year old African-American man and this brought back vivid childhood memories. On April 4, 1968, 18 days before my 7th birthday, I was in the middle of the street in my hometown, Detroit, Michigan playing urban baseball with my friends, using a hubcap as home plate, and neighbors’ cars as first, second, and third base.That evening I heard my mother and grandmother scream: “They killed him! They killed him! They killed Martin Luther King, Jr.! They killed my Martin!” I had never witnessed my mother and grandmother in such emotional pain before.