Kendrick Johnson isn’t dead.
Ever since I first became inextricably bound to this story of a young man’s unusual and controversial death, I have simultaneously felt this unavoidable humility when addressing his family and supporters. This seems logical to most, and reasonable. Whenever someone has experienced a tragedy of such proportions, the deference for their life-altering, milestone moment demands respect, and unless you weren’t raised right, you effortlessly extend it to them – anything they’re bearing is paramount to any of your own personal convictions, motives or feelings.
When I realized that the Johnsons and their supporters were daily rallying in front of the Lowndes County Judicial Complex in downtown Valdosta, literally only a short 5-minute bike ride from where I was living, it baffled me that I wasn’t down there every single day with my bag of Nikons, my recorder and notebooks and favorite ink pens – the usual…
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