Five years ago today, Derek Chauvin arrested George Floyd Jr. in Minneapolis for using a counterfeit $20 bill. Chauvin pinned Floyd to the ground, knelt on his neck for nine minutes and 29 seconds, and murdered him. 

I photographed the protests that followed in Seattle. 

It took me weeks to stop panicking just touching my apartment door handle. Months to stop jumping when I heard the dumpster slam shut outside. Five years after George Floyd’s murder and the protests that took over Seattle’s streets, I’m still unpacking the trauma I carried from covering the frontlines — fighting for my right to live here as a Black man.

I didn’t have a choice but to document it. As a Black photographer, I felt a moral imperative to be there, to capture the raw truth. I saw a man get shot five feet in front of me for stopping someone from driving a car through a crowd. I watched cops tear-gas a child — a child — because they didn’t know how to defend themselves against a five-year-old holding flowers. I watched peaceful protests escalate under the heavy hand of the police, only to be twisted into “riots” for the cameras.

But I also saw something I never expected: a movement that transformed from trauma into community. I stopped focusing on the fear I felt at the frontlines and started focusing on the people who stood shoulder to shoulder, who kept me safe, who kept me coming back. We were terrified — but we were together.

My photos were never just about documenting the violence. They were about capturing the resilience of a community that showed up, day after day, to resist it.

Five years later, I’m not sure what’s changed. Things might honestly be worse now—I got slurred on the train three days ago. Police killings have continued to rise. But here’s what I do know: these photos aren’t some congratulatory souvenir of a moment we survived. They’re a reminder.

Five years later, the fight is still happening. And it still needs you to show up.