Written by Angela Su from New Orleans, Louisiana, USA We speak of unity, but our streets surge with scattered screams and footsteps that rattle office tower glass. Clammy hands clutch paper signs– creased, weathered, sweat-damp. Cracked lips form words lost somewhere in the noise. Steady feet pound, in unison, against earth’s tired bones. The air, aroma thick with cardboard, tear gas, and smoke– but does anyone call this division? We speak of justice, but the scales tilt slow
