Last Sunday, I changed my Facebook photo to Colin Kaepernick and shared Dan Rather's reflection on the next way in which the current resident at the White House divides us. While hardly daring, my rare expression on social media does make me feel less helpless in trying moments. As Monday rolled in and reflection after reflection was posted, I found myself filling up with anxiety, hovering at near post-2016 election levels. Why?
I was panicking about racism. Not just that it's been exposed, but also because I fear a new generation of racists is rising. With Obama there was progress, but racism didn't go away. Indeed, Mitch McConnell and his band of racists fucks made it clear that they would at every turn further institutionalize it. Nevertheless, it felt we were beating it and now it doesn't. It's been festering all along...
This morning I listened to a lovely white male sportscaster eloquently state the issue at hand. Many have. This isn't about right to protest. Or how to protest. This is about people of color stepping out of line. This was a racist reaction to a peaceful protest by THEM.
He used a phrase that immediately named my agita. He said that 45's tweets and the corresponding booing cretons at ballparks was a dog whistle.
Yes. Exactly.
People are using "freedom" and "disrespect" as a substitute for "black lives DON'T matter." And worse, some people are now emboldened to go beyond dog whistles and demurred hate by simply being racist out loud and proud. E.g., the disgusting comments from the horrible fire chief in Pittsburgh.
People who are saying Colin and others can't protest are really saying, "stop acting out of line, black people." And the dog whistle scares me, because so many people are answering it and waking to it. Racism is happening and new racism is to come...
My bike got this week stolen. It feels terrible. As I walked up to the bike rack at eastern market station I noticed my helmet and bike lock on the ground. I stared at the rack, and then around as if perchance to glimpse it misplaced somewhere in the vicinity. I looked for a police officer...a patrol car was going by but I'd have to run to catch it. I looked in my phone for a regular number of a nearby station. I couldn't find one. I called 311 and got a series of irrelevant extensions. I started to dial 911. What?! This is dc. You do not call 911 for a bike.
Time was ticking. I needed to get Austin in 10 minutes. I picked up the lock and helmet and started walking away, slower than I needed to, my eyes futilely darting around.
I hailed a taxi and unloaded my sadness on him. "My bike was stolen!" I declared before I got my seat belt on. His reaction was the instant validation I needed. "What? Oh, no! That's terrible!" Yes, ok, I thought...maybe it was ok to feel as bad as I did.
He continued to pontificate about how horrible the person was who stole my bike. "We make," he said emphatically, "and they destroy."
Then, of course, I felt bad. "It's only a bike. It was not even worth very much (I don't think). He must have needed it more than I did."
I miss my bike. It had Austin's baby seat on it. Just that morning I wondered how much longer he'd be in it, because his latest pair of sneakers didn't fit in the little feet holders.
As I contemplate my bike, I reflect on privilege. My privilege in particular. My privilege to feel bad about my missing "thing" when so many others struggle to eat or stay safe. My privilege to live a life so comfortable that a stolen bike can make me feel so bad. My privilege to afford to start looking for a new one.
Finally, I tie it back to my privilege to live in such a bubble that I was hoping against hope that we were moving beyond racism. I know racism is a constant presence in people of color's lives and I see it in DC daily life. I have deluded myself, however, into thinking we were moving away from it.
Hence, this is my repulsion to those who disagree with the NFL protests. I didn't want to think we are sliding back. Quite frankly, I didn't want to think about racism full stop.
As a biracial person with light skin, I have far more of a choice to dip in and out of the pain of racism. These recent events remind me of that. That choice should not opt me out of action against racism, toward healing and eventually prosperity through equality. Lofty, yes. Yet, if masterminds of hate can lay forth their malignant goals, surely it must be met by an attack plan of love and equality.
Together we must rise indeed.
