Black, White and Blue

Black

I recently watched as another African American man was murdered by a policeman. To me, it matters not whether George Floyd was a sinner or a saint, he is a fellow citizen, and a child of God. He was killed by a police officer that used his uniform, position, power and force to harm rather than to protect. I am using my voice to say, #blacklivesmatter. We can support this movement in many ways. But as a person who writes down her thoughts, and as a memory keeper for my family, my support begins with the written word. 

White

I share my writings because I fear that otherwise, my silence will be viewed as indifference. I am not indifferent. I am a white, privileged female. Have I worked hard to better my life? Yes. Did I have clear opportunities to better my life? Yes. Did I meet with obstacles? Yes. Have I ever been threatened or suspected of wrongdoing because of the color of my skin? No. 

White & poor, yet privileged. 

My dad, Pa, was dirt poor. Especially during the Great Depression, his family suffered from poverty. To help feed their family, his parents rented their home to another family. My grandparents and their 3 sons lived in a school bus behind their own home. They survived. My grandparents had an 8th grade education. When my Dad decided he wanted to go to college, he worked to pay for his continuing education. He hitchhiked the 2 1/2 hours back and forth to college. He told me, in those days, it was easy for a white person to catch a ride to school. To me, this is where white privilege plays a role, when the color of your skin alone opens doors, and in his case, provides a ride to a better life. I have been given access to doors, pools, schools, cafes, and the front row seat on the bus for my entire life. I have a head start toward making a better life for myself and my family. 

Are there Caucasian people who are still suffering from poverty and abuse? Absolutely. Am I responsible for helping others, of every race, who are being abused and misused? Absolutely. Do all lives matter? Absolutely. But, this post is intentionally focused on the #blacklivesmatter movement, because I agree with the sign I saw at a recent protest march, “All Lives Don’t Matter until Black Lives Matter.” 

Blue

I love my country. I respect my flag. I support the vast majority of our police and security forces that are using their position and power to protect our citizens. I am grateful for them. I reject the dualistic notion that if I support the #blacklivesmatter movement, I cannot support our security forces. This dualistic, either/or thinking is a false choice. I am not turning a blind eye to the harm and destruction of lives and property that is currently happening across our land. I must find a way to use my voice and actions to bridge these divisions. Is the subject complicated? Absolutely. Should these complications render me speechless and impotent and drive me back into my corner of safety, silence and privilege? No.

Moving forward… 

A few years ago, an African American friend of mine had an experience in a local restaurant. She began choking and motioning for help. Not one person came to her aide. I have an underlying assumption that if I were choking in a local restaurant, someone would come forward to help me. I would feel safe and protected in a similar environment. My friend does not. Fellow citizens of color are choking, both literally and figuratively. It is time for me to come to their aide. 

One way I can aide the #blacklivesmatter movement is to write this post, and to speak with my adult children and grandchildren about this important social issue. Perhaps, most importantly, I can reach out to my African American friends and co-workers and ask them, “How are you?” And then I can listen. And I can keep listening and learning. Otherwise, once the fervor of this moment has passed, I might easily fall back into the ease of my comfortable lifestyle, until another horrific loss of life crosses my screen. 

What are ways you have found to support your African American community?