What Will I Do?

[Sorry, the world has become too real to talk about home renovation projects right now.  I promise I will return with some new projects soon.]

We are now in the second week of nationwide protests following the murder of George Floyd by former Minneapolis police officer Derek Chauvin.  What does that mean to my life?  My initial reaction is to hope that the growing movement does not lose momentum, but that movement can seem pretty far from my life.  I am a middle-aged (have I previously admitted that even to myself?) white man living in the whitest state in the America.  I have barely left my home over the past three months.  I “participated” in the social media blackout yesterday, and as I read what I wrote next to my all-black image, even that seems self-indulgent and privileged.  “I will be taking time for self-care…”  And what did that look like?  Retreating into my home amidst the forest of southern Maine, listening to the birds, taking in the sunlight, breathing, and trying to catch up on my end-of-the-year grading for my day job as a high school teacher.

Protesters yearning for the equal rights that were promised by the Constitution, clarified by the Civil Rights Amendments, and further codified by the various civil rights laws passed since the 1950s and 1960s?  They are still out in the streets.  They are still shouting as I breathe in the late spring air.  They are still marching while I sit down to write words that will be seen by few, and sway even fewer.  I believe that most in my audience already think a lot like me.  Why would I have racist friends on social media? 

I have felt powerless for most of the week since Mr. Floyd’s death.  I fought the urge to magic myself to Minneapolis (because there is no way I’m flying – it’s a pandemic) to participate in peaceful marches and bridge gaps, to make the unaware see the urgency and the pain that people are feeling.  I have been heartbroken, I have been angry.  Soothed and inflamed.  From my safe perch on the Internet, I have seen beautiful protest and heated riot.  I have seen attempts to sway the conversation in certain directions, some downright misleading and sinister.  I have been uplifted by images of kneeling police, of black citizens hugging white uniformed officers.  I found hope in the words of the Chattanooga Chief of Police David Roddy who said, if you are a cop and have no problem with George Floyd’s death, turn in your badge right now.  I don’t want you.  Powerful.  Turn in your badge.  What a bold vote of support for racial justice from a person of power in the system that is the subject of all this criticism. 

Yet I feel powerless.  I am stuck in my house, and I do not wish to risk my own health or the public health in this pandemic.  Watching protesters walk the familiar streets of the Old Port in nearby Portland, Maine, I could only think of how many people were unknowingly spreading the Covid-19 virus.  Will this pandemic suck the life out of this latest episode of marching against injustice?  It would seem the opposite actually, that there was so much pent-up energy from the quarantine that when something bigger popped the bubble, many burst out in response.  Perhaps it is a blessing that the pent-up energy is being aimed at injustice and not some capitalistic commercial venture marketed to the masses in a timely grab for cash or market share or attention.

And still I feel powerless.  Worse, I feel comfortable in my privileged life.  I understand racism.  I understand injustice.  I abhor both.  I am disgusted by unwarranted police killings.  My stomach turns at the endless tragic stories of “insert present-tense verb here” while black.  Recently we can add going to the neighborhood market and bird-watching in Central Park (NYC) to that list.  Driving.  Walking.  Running.  Not running.  Driving a crappy car with a taillight out.  Driving an expensive car (that is clearly stolen from a wealthy white person [this is sarcasm, Internet]).  Playing on a playground.  Pleading your innocence.  Being a successful pro athlete.  The list really could go on for paragraphs.  Every one of these things are activities I could do without fear of being killed by the police.  It wouldn’t even occur to me.  And yet I know that it is a constant on the minds of black Americans and other minorities, as well.  I know that proud black mothers try to teach their young sons to somehow walk the line of being proud of their heritage while also doing nothing to put themselves in a potentially deadly situation.  You know, like walking down the street looking black.

Awareness of all these things does not make me special.  It does not make me an ally.  It does not save anyone’s life or change anyone’s biases, or fears, or mis-educations.  All I can do is pat myself on the back.  I have seen exactly one black person since the death of Mr. Floyd.  One.  A teenage boy was in the checkout line at the Ace Hardware with a middle-aged white woman.  How does one actively be anti-racist when out in the community?  Should I have shouted, “I’ve got your back, buddy!”  Should I point out that it’s safe for you here, most of us 97% white people in Maine are pretty nice?  Do I rush over and give him a big supportive hug?  No, that’s a bit creepy and it’s a pandemic.  But that is what I felt like doing.  All I could do is look while trying not to look like I’m staring as a pondered my role in it all.

It is clear to me that there is no one way to do this.  I can be fairly criticized for growing weary of scanning the news and social media for the latest updates, positive and negative.  I can be fairly criticized for participating in a “blackout” day that basically says I’m going to honor this movement by not saying much today.  And while “self-care,” a term I hate for its self-indulgent connotation, is very necessary for all, it sounds horribly self-indulgent.  But we can’t all do this in the same way.  My path is not to march down to the Portland Police Headquarters and shout insults at cops that I do not know, as I watched from the Internet last night.  I am not aware of their racial transgressions.  I do not have anger at them.  I have the hope that they do the right thing when they put their badge on each day.  To some, the officers lined up to protect the police station may merely be the closest image of the law enforcement system, and it isn’t personal (although it sounded personal to me).  I would like my anger to be more narrowly targeted.  I imagine that it must be pretty difficult to stay calm when hundreds of voice are yelling “YOU are the problem.”  Actually, I cannot imagine.  I do not think I would handle that well.  It must be difficult to know (or at least hope) that the “you” they are shouting is the system, not you the individual.

What will I do? 

I will write because I like it.  It helps me process.  Maybe, just maybe, it helps others frame their thoughts or even sway them, but I am not so self-indulgent to claim that. 

I will actively seek out black-owned businesses in this area and work to support them. 

I will look for meaningful opportunities to volunteer my time, energy, and whatever intelligence I have. 

I will try to find a meaningful way to influence the political system.  Ultimately, we live in a republic where we hire people (I almost said professionals and then thought of the misogynistic, hateful fraud that found his way into the White House) to do the work of government for us.  This is not a democracy.  It was not designed that way.  We do not ALL get a vote on everything.  That is too complex and so we hire fellow citizens to do that work for us.  It is a democratic (note the adjective) republic in that we can vote on those people.  We can freely make our opinions known to those representatives.  But democratic is only an aspiration, not a defining characteristic of this form of government.  Therefore, we as individuals need to influence those we have chosen to do the work for us.  Or we need to become one of those representatives and do our best to represent all of the people. 

That may be the biggest letdown in America right now, and possibly for quite some time.  Despite glowing platitudes penned on parchments, engraved into monuments, and proclaimed in bold speeches, our government does NOT work for all the people.  It picks winners.  If it does not actively pick losers, it certainly relegates many to less fortunate positions.  Sometimes that means a heavy tax burden or a poor public education.  Sometimes that means being killed by a hateful human masquerading as a police officer who has sworn to uphold one of those parchments, sworn to serve and protect all the people.

I will, in my position as a high school history teacher, continue to teach about bias, racism, genocide, injustice, inequitable distribution of resources, and other negative themes that course through history like a pulse that hardly seems to weaken over time.  I will hope that my profession can shape the next generation of leaders, and more importantly, of voters, to be more compassionate, to have the interest of all people in their hearts and actions, and to live their lives not as bystanders or quiet beneficiaries of a system of privilege, but as active participants in the path towards justice for all.  Opportunity for all.  Kindness for all.  I will never understand the patriots who wrap themselves in the flag and demand freedom is for them individually, with no obligation to the larger community, and certainly not to anyone not resembling them. 

I will teach.  One class at a time.  One student at a time.  One personal relationship at a time.  I love doing that.  It is frustratingly slow.  Teachers do not always see the end product of their collective efforts.  We are an educational assembly line, each using our talents and interests to work on one specific part of the young human for a limited amount of time.  Frustratingly slow, like using the fictional Andy Dufresne’s rock hammer (Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption, great Stephen King book--read it, then see the excellent movie) to try and alter the path of plate tectonics.  Why do we do it?  Faith.  Faith in our community.  Faith in our collective future.

I will be kind.  I will try to spread positivity.  I will work to call out injustice where I see it.

What will you do?  Let’s all talk about it.