David Broussard figures he was 6 or 7 years old when his parents sat him down for the talk many African American parents feel compelled to have with their sons.

They told him in the most pragmatic terms that not everyone is treated equally. They told him that the color of his skin could make him a target, even by those sworn to serve and protect. They told him to be conscious of his attitude and his actions when, perhaps inevitably, he would be stopped by authorities suspicious of his intentions. No sudden movements, they warned.

“I’ve been pulled over,” he said. “I’ve had interactions with cops and had to be conscious of how I act. I know that if I move too fast, they might draw their weapon, and it might be my last time being pulled over. That’s not something that they should have had to teach me, but they did.”

Photo Gallery: Honolulu vigil held for Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, George Floyd

Broussard was among about 200 people who turned out Sunday evening at Magic Island for a candlelight vigil memorializing George Floyd — the 46-year-old Minneapolis man whose death May 25 while being forcibly detained by four police officers sparked a wave of national protests — and other African American men and women who have recently died at the hands of current or former law enforcement officers.

“I wasn’t expecting to see this many people here,” Broussard said, gesturing to the surrounding crowd.

Organizers billed the gathering as as a “family reunion” that promised a “space of restoration, reflection and connection.” Participants brought handmade signs and candles to honor Floyd; Breonna Taylor, a 26-year-old emergency medical technician who was shot and killed at her Louisville, Ky., home March 13 by police searching for a suspect who, it was later discovered, was already in custody; and Ahmaud Arbery, a 25-year-old Georgia man who was pursued and shot to death Feb. 23 while jogging by a former police officer and his son who said they suspected him of recent break-ins in the area.

“A lot of black people here are in deep mourning as we watch what is happening in North America, and for many of us there are not other opportunities to see other black people, so we wanted to have a place for people to check in, see each other and be seen, and collectively grieve,” said Popolo Project Executive Director Akiemi Glenn, one of the event’s organizers.

“This space is also different from other protests that we’ve had here in Honolulu that are more about signs and appealing to folks,” she said. “Most of us here are black, and we know what this is because it’s happened to us many times before. What we need is a space to be resilient and to heal, and we do that by being together, not necessarily being in the streets and appealing to people who don’t always care about us.”

The gathering drew a mix of mainland transplants, military families, locals and tourists for a brief program of speeches and song with a dazzling sunset as a backdrop. It was a stark contrast to the massive, angry demonstrations across the country that have resulted in violent confrontations, property damage, looting and alleged infiltration by extremist groups. Yet, participants said, the underlying sense of anger, frustration and sadness is the same.

“Because we’re more isolated, there may not be the same sense of urgency to take action as there is in New York, L.A. or Philadelphia,” said Ayana Flowers, 27, who moved to Hawaii from New York in September. “But the support is there.”

As the sun lowered toward the horizon, the mood shifted from low-key conviviality to solemn reflection. Speakers acknowledged a shared sense of weariness and urged courage and resilience. Victoria Salter, another of the organizers, offered the song “This Too Shall Pass” and encouragement for those numbed by the seemingly endless litany of outrages against black Americans. On the ground beside her, dozens of candles flickered from within short paper bags inscribed with personal messages of consolation and encouragement.

“I’m a black man, so of course this hits home for me,” said Gerald Darden, 37, of Kakaako. “What brings us out today has been happening for so many years. All we want is to be recognized as human beings.

“This,” he said, raising his forearm, “is just an external organ color. It should not separate us.”

Darden recalled a one-week period back in his native Georgia during which he was stopped by police in three separate incidents, each supposedly triggered by reports of a suspicious character in the area. In one, Darden said, he was surrounded by what seemed to be an entire police squadron.

“I was just walking,” he said. “I had just come from Walmart. I had a juice.”

Darden called the Floyd incident “the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

“Black people across the nation are saying we’re tired of fighting for our survival. We’re tired of being set apart from the rest of human society. We’re tired of being the ones persecuted and then told, ‘Don’t talk about it,’” he said. “There is only so far you can back a person into a corner before they snap, and in my opinion this is that snap.”

Darden said he didn’t know what might happen next, but that he was encouraged by what he saw at Sunday’s vigil.

“This is a fantasy to me, people of different hues, different backgrounds all together,” he said. “This is how it should be.”