This article was originally published by the St. Louis Business Journal. It has been republished with permission.
Ten years have passed since Michael Brown’s life was taken, and the world is still dealing with the aftershocks. The outcry and righteous anger in Ferguson caught fire around the globe, catalyzing protests and changing how we talk about racial justice and equity. This wasn’t the first time an unarmed Black teenager died in a police-involved shooting. But Brown’s death was a tipping point that fundamentally changed untold lives, including my own.
Before I talk about where I was on August 9, 2014, I have to talk about a sun-drenched afternoon on April 4, 1968. I was four years old, living with my parents in Washington, D.C. My mom was a telephone operator, and my dad was a metropolitan police officer. Their love and steadfastness bordered my world in the best ways.
I remember my mom answering the phone and handing it to my father. “Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Yes, sir,” his voice rumbled. My parents had just learned and painfully shared that Martin Luther King, Jr. had been assassinated. Dad put on his uniform in silence. Even then, my brain wondered what he would do. Would he harm and arrest people, or would he try to keep the peace?
I watched my father leave our apartment, a uniformed and formidable presence. From my bedroom window, I could see the fear, pain, frustration, and anger play out over the faces of our neighbors. I watched our city burn. I also saw Dad talking to our neighbors, validating their suffering, and guiding them to go home and stay safe.
Those moments shaped me. As I got older, I was drawn to movements for equality, liberation, and justice. I have marched with fellow students to dismantle apartheid and the NAACP over stop-and-frisk policies (never dreaming I’d one day chair the NAACP Foundation Board). I discovered that when I see people committed to meaningful change, that is where I want to be.
All of this came back to me as I watched the footage coming out of Ferguson. I lived in Princeton, New Jersey, working as the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation (RWJF) president’s senior adviser on health equity. At that point, I had been at RWJF for more than a decade doing impactful work with my team. I could not have predicted that these unfolding events would draw me to St. Louis.
Dr. Bob Hughes, then-CEO of the Foundation, connected me with Reverend Starsky Wilson. Governor Jay Nixon wanted to set up a commission to investigate the root causes of unrest and find a way forward for the region. That led to grant funding from RWJF to the United Way of Greater St. Louis, which helped to create the Ferguson Commission’s Playbook. RWJF dually intended to provide a guide for St. Louis and assist the many other communities that were likely to confront community racial trauma in the future. And indeed, leaders in Baton Rouge, Dallas, and other places found the Playbook useful. This resource, born from sorrow and determination, helped people across the country to heal.
At the same time, activists committed to making life better for Black people locally and nationally found their voices and demanded justice. The response to Brown’s death inspired everyday people to work for change, abroad and at home. It also highlighted the need for data that could help us effectively change systems. That led The Washington Post to create a police shootings database, the first of its kind. I mention this because we know that when society doesn’t measure something, we don’t value it. If we don’t understand how systems and structures create barriers that make it harder to live our healthiest lives, we can’t dismantle them.
From afar, I watched the region stand up and defend Brown’s humanity. When I got the opportunity to succeed Dr. Hughes at the helm of Missouri Foundation for Health, I knew my place was here. During the past three years, I’ve come to understand that the national narrative about St. Louis is a tiny part of the region’s tapestry. We have world-class culture, arts, music, and history. We have committed leaders across many sectors dedicated to helping people live their healthiest lives. I see the kind of Black pride and joy that says, “We have the power to change our conditions,” and inspires people to celebrate each day while working for a better future.
St. Louis is not perfect – no place is. The Ferguson uprising reminded us that we can conquer divisions of race, geography, politics, and economic status and embrace our shared humanity. We all thrive when we respect community wisdom and use it to build transformational opportunities. We’re still learning from the legacy of Brown’s death, and our lessons – like so much of Missouri’s history – are the lessons of America. We ignore them at our peril.
About 10 Years Later: Reflections on the Ferguson Uprising
To create our series, “10 Years Later: Reflections from the Ferguson Uprising,” we invited our staff to share their reflections and document their journeys following this pivotal event. The Ferguson Uprising not only reverberated through St. Louis but also sparked crucial work across the nation to address inequities. With the 10th anniversary of the uprising, we encourage readers to delve into these personal stories and think about their own experiences, fostering a deeper understanding of the ongoing journey toward health equity and social justice.
