Our society has many issues that people choose to ignore daily as they wait for others to step up and solve them.  The trials of 2020 pushed me to find my voice.  I was tired of seeing young Black voices silenced and could no longer wait for others to step up and make a difference.  I am good at organizing and rallying people and can speak with emotion and power.  Speaking up allows me to use my story to educate others.  I want to be a helping hand to encourage others to get involved when they do not know how. 

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You do not need a name or title to do the right thing.  When something is wrong, you help; when you can solve a problem, you do it.  There is not and never was time for excuses, as these are our lives we are fighting for. 

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In an interview I was asked what made me want to become “an activist”.  I had never considered myself an activist, as the word did not sit right with me.  On my way home, the word continued to ring in my head: “activist.”  Why did it make me so angry?  Being "an activist" does not explain the 14-hour days with 30 phone calls or the marches in 100 degree weather followed by face-offs with police in riot gear.  It does not encompass the story of raising 20 plus thousand dollars to purchase two vans to bring food to those in need, increasing output from 75 meals a week to 1200 a week in just two months.  Why does all the work I do get minimized by a single word?

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I am not an activist.  I am a passionate Black man who has found his voice and is using it to do better and be better. 

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I am a problem solver.