PROTEST: They Are Killing Me

The silver-haired old man, tall but slightly stoop-shouldered, rocked back and forth in an ancient chair at the center of the stage. His desk near by was piled high with printer's galleys and papers. He was finishing a dreamlike trip through his childhood, the final moment in a two-hour monologue on slavery, war and American history. From a packed audience at New York's Town Hall, a voice asked, "Mr. Douglass, what do we do? What do we do now?"

The aged figure of Abolitionist Douglass struggled out of the chair. "Agitate!" he cried....

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