Allow me to first say: I write this as a middle-class, white, privileged, female. I say that first to note to anyone that reads this that I know the pain and feelings I have are very different than those of my friends and other peoples of color. I also understand that the feelings I have in regards to our police, and situations like that of George Floyd, come from an incredibly privileged place. I also want to note that this is not necessarily a "call to action," either. But after spending this week in thought, I honestly just needed to speak - to feel like maybe someone else relates to my thoughts and feelings, and my pain.
So I as one human feel it is important to note all of this prior to discussing something that in many ways is not mine to discuss, however still in many ways is - we are all human, we must all be allies. With that...here we are.
Today I sit on my couch, reading, drinking black coffee, and listening to Bob Dylan. This is one of my favorite activities, normally. But today, I feel pain. I write this with tears in my eyes and an ache in my soul that has been truly revitalized this week.
Prior to watching the news, I had already been having what I would call a "bad mental health week." Covid-19 has stretched a lot of peoples' mental health in new ways that we don't always "prepare" for, so I think my baseline is lower than usual to begin with. But this week is different.
This week I turned on the news. And there is some heavy, heavy shit.
This week I find myself getting quickly overwhelmed watching it. And I find myself asking, "What Can I do?" while I pour another cup of coffee, or my second glass of wine.
I quickly get discouraged.
I am one human.
It is so easy to either: share a quote to my story and call myself an ally, or shut myself off from the whole thing.
We cannot afford to do either.
So I brainstorm, right? I can share an Instagram post, I can call a senator, I can donate, I can educate myself, I can support Black business, I can tell my friends and other people of color that I honor and respect the hell out of them and their communities.
But the big one for me, how I feel I can do the most right now? I can call out my biases, and implore others to do the same. I can talk to people. I can question my own thoughts, and encourage those I love to question, too.
This, too, is grassroots work. And frankly, it should not have to be. I cannot emphasize that enough. Thousands of peoples fought for this, and have continued to fight for this, not for the last four years, or even the last sixty. For hundreds of years we have been oppressing our friends of color, and feigning surprise when a reaction occurs on the other end. So LA happens, and then Ferguson happens, and then Minnesota happens, until what? The next city that we have to cry over and mourn and #hashtag because our society refuses to grow?
I went to college in Mississippi, where the racial disparities shocked me. And they shocked me not because they don't exist in my hometown (they do), but because they were so overt. It is in Mississippi where I realized that staying silent about racism doesn't mean you don't harbor those feelings. It is in Mississippi I learned not only about the large racial implications in this country, but also where I learned about covert racism, implicit bias - our thoughts and ideas that we don't talk about so they must not exist. I have Mississippi to thank for my beliefs today.
We so often believe that we could never do the things we see others do. We say that we don't see color, or if we do it's only sometimes, and even then it's only when we discuss the positives. None of this is true, obviously, but we can't face our own moral failings, and we can't comprehend the idea that we are not the people we often trick ourselves into thinking we are.
We as a society focus on ourselves. And when we do this, we never want to see how we impact others. And we sure as hell don't want to see how we could negatively impact them. So when we discuss our biases, we are often quick to do one of two things: pretend they don't exist, or pretend they're not that bad. When we do this, we might feel a bit better for a little while, but they always come out. They ALWAYS come out.
Sometimes they come out in fear, when we find ourselves walking a little faster through a certain neighborhood. One step further, that fear turns to anger - we yell at someone we don't understand or can't relate to. Another step? That anger turns to violence. And we end up where we are today.
So when we look at the situation in Minnesota, it honestly just feels like a microcosm for the rest of our nation today. And that sucks. And it begs the question, how do we fix a broken system, when so many people feel it isn't broken? How do we approach our friends who believe their jokes are harmless because people are still laughing? How can we go toe-to-toe against a swarm of angry people who feel they have done nothing wrong? How do we tell our own parents and grandparents that what they've done and believed their whole lives is wrong?
How can I, one human in a sea of billions, do anything in this situation? Well, we start to do so by talking to one human. And then another. And then another until everyone in our circle not only knows what we stand for, but what they should stand for too.
When we discuss race, people get uncomfortable. People do not want to address their biases, their fears, their pre-conceived notions. But we have to. We have to talk about what our parents taught us that we now know is wrong. We have to talk about thoughts we've had that we hate and terrify us. We have to talk about the hard stuff, because that is the important stuff. The same way I feel about our feelings, I feel about this - if we do not address hard things, we will not overcome them.
So when we go into a conversation, we ask questions. What are your beliefs on Black Lives Matter? On police brutality? On mass incarceration of peoples of color?
And when they answer, we ask more. Where did this belief come from? Why do you hold it so closely? How do you think your opinion impacts others? And keep going. Until they know what you know. And they come back to educate us.
Again, I write this from a knowingly privileged place. I write this to pour my heart out so it's not as heavy. I write this to tell my friends and family and humans I know: I want to be more than a bystander. I want to show love, and share love.
I know that people may disagree with me. That's half the conversation. We disagree and we discuss and we open ourselves up, and that is how one person effects a change.
That is how our society breaks wide open, and that is how we sow it back together.
That is why Black Lives Matter.
Stay safe.
Comments