Cue, Madness!
The waves of grief have washed over me as soon as I heard of George Floyd’s death. It seemed that all the work I had done to get to a place of hope again, fell to pieces with the words I heard over the news. Studying black theology in college, made me keenly aware of the privilege I have as a white woman, to be able to turn off the radio and choose to think on other things. I remember in college the profound white guilt I had, that all of us white kids had in our black theology classes, asking what can we do, how do we fix this? I remember the answer being, “just be aware.”
Well, almost 18 years have passed and I have lived abroad, I have traveled far, but I have been on food stamps and watched my Mother pass. I have had wonderful highs and terrible lows. I have been placed on medication I will have to be on for the rest of my life, but I am still white. I still get to fall asleep at night, roll over on the days news, of another person of color dying at the hands of people my color, and wake up without fear. I get to drive to work without fear of being pulled over, without fear of getting shot for taking out my wallet, and the list goes on.
When George Floyd died, I felt an uncomfortable blend of terror and hope. I thought, surely this time they won’t get away with it. Surely this time there will be justice. I cried for 2 days straight after I got the news because of the fear that justice is really just for people my color. I cried and begged my higher power for justice. I had put my classes on the back burner because I could, but the memories of my own paradigm shifts came on strong. It is my reality that I do not have to deal with topics of race and injustice every day.
I went to Goucher College for a reason. I majored in Religion for a reason. I learned about the culture of those around me, those who were people of color. In college I also studied Black Theology because it brought a part of me to life that had never been taught the truth. I had never been taught about what this country was built on, or how it was built. It seemed to be a white washed history in my younger years and in college everything was uncovered. Truth was laid out for me in so many different ways, there was not a single way of denying the fact that, yes I have struggled with mental illness and yes I have been abused, but I am still white and I still get to choose what news station I watch and when I get to turn it off. I still get to live into a privilege I was born into, one that if I choose can assist in educating others as well as myself.
Tonight, as I write this, I am left with a heart that is heavy but held in the truth that I will never understand what it is like to have black or brown skin. My job is to educate myself and those who want to learn, because you can not make anyone see anything they do not want to see. I see the injustice, I see my country being ripped open, but the seams have been bursting for over 200 years. Finally, the whole world sees it and no one can do anything about that, unless they choose to sit in the ephemeral warmth of denial. As the waves of grief come over me, I grieve for all that is in me and all who have lost hope. I believe there is hope, I just can’t see it right now.
