Police brutality is in the news now, and rightly so. But I’m old enough to remember Jim Crow. Separate restrooms, water fountains, bus seats, even cemeteries. It’s why I wrote my novel SPITE FENCES. I constantly remind myself of the painful nature of those indignities, the routine dailiness of them. When white folks say there’s no racism, I think they suffer from a lack of imagination. Imagine what it might be like not to sit down at a lunch counter, not to pick a bus seat of your choice, not to choose your seat at the theatre. And of course not to feel safe walking the streets wearing your own skin. Imagine. Just imagine.