I use to consume history in high school like popsicles on a sunny day. I was intoxicated with learning what happened before my existence. My mind swelled with knowledge of how what became what and how who become who. I would go through trails in my head with the intent to get to the end of how I ended up here. In America. After years of slavery.

On a cold Thursday afternoon, I made my way to the new Mississippi Civil Rights Museum located in Downtown Jackson, Mississippi. As I walked through the doors, I was met by two police officers. The lady said “Take everything out your pockets. Step forward.” I did so. It was procedure, but I instantly felt a small sense of what would be ahead.

As I made my way to the beginning of the eight exhibit museum, I started here. Instantly taken aback by what…