The grandmother and nine-year-old granddaughter watched TV in Ferguson. In the street on the TV screen that night flashing red lights atop police cars vied with white lights from stores with shattered windows and smashed in doors and black men, women, and children who raced into the stores and ran back out with clothes piled high in their arms; other men and women hauled away furniture and TVs and cases of whiskey in pickup trucks.
"Why they acting so wild and ig'nant, grandmaw?" the granddaughter asked, her long hair in plaits, her black eyes wide.
"It don't mean nothing; jes somebody tell some lies and these po' ig'nant thangs start breaking and entering and lootin' and talking that civil rights stuff. Like I always tell you, don't ever git involved in that foolishness. That's why I moved away from 'em. Po' ig'nant thangs still ain' got no culture to civilize theyselves. They got no leaders who'll tell 'em the truth 'bout theyselves . . . got these leaders who make excuses for 'em using violence, using 'em to git mo' money from white folks. That civil rights mess always make these po' ig'nant thangs think they got a right to riot and loot and destroy stuff.
"I don' go 'round 'em and don't want 'em coming 'round me. Listen to what I tell you, 'Birds of a feather flock together.' 'Sociate wit' intelligent people -- ain' no intelligent people mixed up in that kind of mess . . . these ig'nant thangs ain' gonna change 'till they have leaders who tell 'em they need to change instead of always talking 'bout other people need to change -- turn to another channel, I'm sick of looking at 'em."
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