I know the heartbreak. I have waited for justice for 30 years.

It has been a season of heartbreak, and we all swirled in anxiety that we would never be safe no matter what we did. But in the hours leading up to the announcement of the jury's verdict in the Derek Chauvin trial, I felt it again-the moment when my heart sucked in the world's venom and exhaled its despair, when 30 years ago, as a red-faced 20-something, I, along with the entire nation, watched Rodney King clutched, brutally shaped, and night by the police I witnessed on crude video taken by a bystander as he was unable to defend himself from a barrage of stick blows and kicks. He was driving his car. He was stopped. He was attacked. We all witnessed the relentless violence of that mob. That was it. And on Tuesday, I suddenly found myself back in 1992.

I think about myself in 1992. I was in Chinatown, working with San Francisco high school students to encourage service learning. I believed in service and believed that taking the moral high ground would lead to great change. In the weeks leading up to the verdict, I saw friends among the crowd gathered on the campus of San Francisco State University in a protest to hold the police officers responsible for dragging Rodney King from his car and beating him to near death. As we held up signs, we thought that core decency would lead to justice and accountability.

What I could not have known at the time was that I would witness so many more police killings for another 30 years. Justice was denied again and again, and back in 1992, I did not fully accept that the law would not protect someone like Rodney King. People like me. I was outraged that King's character was assassinated to justify harm. When I saw a battered and heartbroken Dr. King stand up and ask everyone, "Can we all get along?"(open in new tab), I was broken. And in April 1992, I still believed it was possible - that legal scholars would come to recognize the injustice done to Dr. King and that the courts would serve as a theater for the truth. [But I was wrong. The four police officers who beat Dr. King were acquitted. I had no way of knowing then that this would become a script that would be repeated many times over the next 30 years, and what I felt in 1992, and would continue to feel thereafter, was that my belief was misplaced. The system has always betrayed me and broken my heart.

Over the past few years, heartbreak - crushing grief, anguish, and pain - has been an unwelcome guest as I experience the world through the lens of social media and news. Every story of pain or violence that touches my people, even if it is physically and geographically distant, cuts through the wound. The distance collapses. With the deaths of Tamir Rice, Sandra Bland, Oscar Grant, Eric Garner, and others, I felt my wounds tear open again. Wherever they were in the world, they were my friends. They are me.

When Derek Shovin was found guilty on all three counts of George Floyd's murder, I realized I was still there. After all these years, this was a fresh taste of justice. On the laptop screen, I looked into Shovin's eyes and saw that he was looking for something. I watched him leave the courtroom with his hands handcuffed behind his back. I felt the pain of deep wounds and scabs unraveling. Tears streaming down my face, I silently held hands with my partner. I took a deep breath. Is this finally the reckoning we have been waiting for?" an end to the trauma, grief, and pain of our lifetime and the lifetimes of those before us.

Less than 10 minutes later, I saw the news that 16-year-old Makia Bryant had been shot and killed (opens in new tab) after, according to family accounts, he had called the police for help. My old senses returned. I watched her TikTok video with her afro puffs. She was very, very young.

A heart can shatter into pieces. Or hearts can be broken. In the decades between witnessing the savagery against Rodney King and the murder of George Floyd, I have experienced both. When we fall apart, our hearts can withdraw or lash out. An open heart is a beacon of faith to a world yet to be seen. An open heart can heal itself and others, reach out to others, and feel a part of the greater us.Since April 29, 1992, every day has been a choice for me. On my best days, I choose hope. It is hope and an open heart that allows me to believe that one day we will be free. To go home safely and be protected.

Please don't tell me the system works. It doesn't. We have witnessed crimes and are convinced of their injustice. And we know that sentences are rare and justice is even rarer.

The heart is where we ask our deepest questions and question our resolve. Are we on a new path? Can we rely on justice in this country to rebuild the security of our people? Can we reduce the role and power of policing and abuse in our communities?"; "Can we dismantle this system?"

For days, and even as I write this manuscript, I wonder if my heart is strong enough for what lies ahead. Will the next generation be able to keep the faith for another 30 years of struggle for justice?

We must. Enough is enough.