A friend posted on Facebook yesterday about her fear for her husband, a black male, and her fear for the entire black community from being targeted just for being who they are.
She said, in part, this: “To all our non-melanin friends, stop just saying “I’m sorry” or “I hate it” and start being a voice.””
That stopped me in my tracks. And after a moment of thought, I commented this: “I am a person of words. And yet, in this time, I find it hard to speak because I have no words. Because how do I have the words to speak into something so deep. And so, often I stay silent because I am afraid to say the wrong ones, and by doing so, cause more damange than if I just kept my mouth shut. So thank you for this. Thank you for making me question my silence. For giving me the impetus and the bravery to try to put the feelings that are in my heart into words, so that even though they may not be the right thing, they are at least some thing.”
And then I spent the rest of the day in back to back hearings, listening to the sad stories of children who have been harmed by their parents, and by the system, parents and their struggles with addiction and other demons. And amidst that heartbreak which soaks into my soul and saddens my heart, I thought of the words of my friend from that morning, which has done the same.
And I tried to find the words to speak into the injustice and the inhumanity of yet another black male whose life was taken because he was born with skin darker than mine. And yet none would come.
Because it is hard for me to know how to speak into something that I cannot understand.
I cannot understand how in 2020 we live in a country where it is all too common and often unquestioned when a person of color loses their life because of the color of their skin.
I cannot understand the fear of each day sending a black son or a black daughter or a black husband into this work and fear that they might not come home because of the actions of someone who regards them as less than because their skin color is darker than mine.
As I continued this morning to try to find the words to speak, I came across the following quote by Ben Franklin: ”Justice will not be served until those who are unaffected are as outraged as those who are.”
And I thought, yes, that’s it. And then I thought yes, that is it. But no, that actually isn’t it at all.
Because while I may be unaffected in that my husband or my sons are highly unlikely to ever be stopped by the police because of the color of their skin, or chased after and shot because they are jogging in a neighborhood they are judged to not belong in, or deprived of air to the point of death by a police officer kneeling on their throat, over their begging and pleading for air, I am affected each time that happens to someone else.
Each time a person of color is assaulted, or killed, or abused because their skin contains more melanin than mine, I am affected.
Each time that happens and I remain silent because I lack the right words to say, I am complicit in the creation of a society that allows for their death.
Each time I suppress my outrage and my grief because I feel that I have no right to speak into something that I do not understand, I tacitly approve of the actions that are taken.
Each time I fail to speak out because I am afraid of offending someone, or appearing that I am not supportive of law enforcement, or that I am being unpatriotic, I lose a piece of my humanity.
My friend was right. It is long past time for me, and all of my other non-melanin friends to start being a voice.
To become informed on those things that my white privilege has protected me from knowing.
To learn from those who do know rather than having the arrogance to believe that I can understand things I never truly can.
To risk doing the wrong thing, for the sake of doing some thing.
May I be that voice.
