Photos of lynched bodies have always given me pause. My body has a very visceral reaction to seeing a lifeless form hanging from a tree. More than the body, the white faces that stare up at it in contentment, contempt or fascination haunt my mind for hours, and sometimes days after seeing a photo of a person that has been lynched. My stomach churns, my heart races, my gut wrenches, my eyes close and I immediately turn away. I’m unable to stare, to analyze. I find myself paralyzed by an odd mixture of fear, sadness and disgust. My reaction seems completely opposite of those white faces in the pictures.