For African Americans, it feels as if we are all gathered together in the path of giant steamroller. We shout up at the driver to put on the brakes, but he keeps shouting for us to get out of the way. But there's no place to go. We keep backing up and backing up. In Baltimore, it felt as though everyone's back was against the wall, and there was no place to back up to anymore. If shouting doesn't get the driver's attention, maybe something more drastic will.