Like most white Americans, I like to believe I understand the anguish and rage that is daily fare on cable news channels. Blacks are coming forward and expressing their collective anger at police and the white power structure in uncomfortable ways, including violence and looting in the wake of George Floyd's death. I think I get it, but I'll never walk a mile in their shoes.
I took a stroll outside of my comfort zone and attended a Black Lives Matter protest and vigil on Saturday evening. It was a modest affair in Plattsburgh with a few dozen people standing quietly as the organizer asked black and white folks to speak to their experiences. The whites who spoke up tried to express solidarity with the goals of the movement, but some of the blacks got right to the heart of the matter. One woman spoke of her 24/7 vigilance in her interactions with any white people and the possibility of violence inherent in each encounter. Another told of the police arresting her father when she was 5 years old and having a gun put to her head during the proceeding.
After exhausting the rhetorical possibilities we marched through the streets, chanting "I can't breathe", "remember his name" and "No justice, No peace". I would like to say it was liberating, but as my daughter, Merry, who also attended said, it felt like we were not entitled to utter these phrases because we have never endured what these people have for hundreds of years.
I'm glad I went to the rally and will probably attend others. Hopefully this is a turning point and a new generation may be able to succeed where most of the others have failed. Maybe my four grandkids will participate in a color blind society, but in this era of intense tribalism, I wonder...
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