Week 11: Ablaze

May 31, 2020

Photo by Adonyi Gábor on Pexels.com

It’s late, and I should go to bed. But it’s hard to close my eyes on our burning nation.

Look, I’m a white lady from a white neighborhood. I’m not sure what right I have to my opinion, on the murder of George Floyd, on the protests, on the riots or the looting. And I’m not writing this because I believe what I think is important or necessary at this moment. There are so many more important and necessary voices than mine tonight.

But I’m confused. I’m shocked, and embarrassed that I’m shocked. And I’m appalled at myself, because I know by doing nothing so far to affect change, I’m complicit in perpetuating our racist system.

I also want to apologize to everyone who doesn’t enjoy my white privilege — apologize because I know I still don’t get it, and I’m sorrier than I can put into words.

I’m almost always someone who gets almost all her news from print. But today seemed like it demanded video, so I watched my local CBS station and then CNN, for about an hour, until my stomach hurt and I turned it off. I saw so much yelling. So many menacing officers marching forward (though I’m sure, underneath those helmets and bulletproof vests, many of them are terrified). I watched things burn.

First I watched it in L.A. Then Long Beach. Then Santa Monica. Then Philadelphia. Then Washington, D.C. Then New York City. It seemed like our nation itself was on fire.

But the head of our national fire department? Our Commander in Chief? Where was he? Where were the calm words? The call to our better nature?

Nope. Except for an occasional rage tweet, he was quiet.

I’ve lived through national crises before. But we’ve always had a leader who believed he answered to all Americans. I don’t know how a leaderless nation stops convulsing once it starts. I’m scared to find out.

P.S. Here’s a video I watched on Twitter tonight. It brought me to tears. I just had to share it.

2 thoughts on “Week 11: Ablaze

  1. I can relate totally to your post. I too am a white woman who has enjoyed (taken for granted) privilege. I never once had to worry about a child of mine being killed simply because of the color of his skin. I live across the river from Portland OR and the policemen over there got down on their knees in support of solidarity during a protest. A sign of hope!

    Like

  2. That IS hopeful! I’ve heard about that in a few places, actually. And the sheriff in Flint who marched with the protesters. And the black woman protester who hugged the white cop. There is some light out there. Let’s hope it can outshine the darkness.

    Like

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