How 8 minutes taught me more than 33 years
“Listen carefully — this is important,” a Black man said through his facemask into the megaphone. “That pickup truck that passed by and made those disgusting comments... I’ve just been told he’s parked up the block here,” he said calmly, pointing to his left. “So please, to avoid… anything… to be on the safe side, when we exit, can we please go that way?” he asked, motioning to his right.
“We’ve been avoiding for 250 years, why should I avoid a pickup truck?” yelled another man from the crowd, also Black. “We have to change our path for him?! I’m not talking about violence, I’m talking about fear. We have a right to walk down that street!” As the second man got louder, so did his cheers of support from the other protesters gathered in a circle around a stone monument in honor of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
“Okay, okay,” conceded the first man with a sigh, “we can exit that way and I’ll go with you.”
Allow me to rewind precisely 8 minutes. I was gathered around the MLK, Jr. memorial monument, along with other protesters of every race and age, where we were ending a peaceful march through the town of Lake Worth, Florida in honor of George Floyd. The stopwatch was set for 8 minutes of silence, leaving us to realize how long 8 minutes must feel with hundreds of pounds kneeling on your neck. (On May 25, 2020, George Floyd was killed while three police officers knelt on his body for 8 minutes -- the first 5 of which he pleaded that he couldn’t breathe, the last 3 after he had lost consciousness.)
We didn’t make it through the 8 minutes in silence. Not because 8 minutes is a long time, which, for the record, it is. (It’s also beyond comprehension to think about how excruciatingly slowly time must have passed for Floyd on the day of his murder.) We couldn’t get through the 8 minutes because some asshole in a pickup truck drove by the park, screaming the worst racist expletives you could imagine out his driver’s side window.
So there I was… 8 minutes later, witnessing this exchange between these two Black men about which direction to exit the park, knowing the racist driver of that truck was parked just up the road. One was in favor of what he felt to be the obvious “safer” choice; the other sick of having to change his path out of fear.
It was in that moment yesterday that, for the first time in my life, I began to understand how terrifying it is for so many Black people in this country to simply exist. How so many of them can’t walk down the road without fear that some racist shitbag might be waiting for them. Because this White girl was scared and uncertain about which direction to leave that park last night. Had the man in the truck purposely sought out that protest with the intention of doing more than yelling? Why had he decided to park nearby vs. continue on his drive? Was he armed? As my boyfriend and I walked back to our car, carrying signs displaying the messages “Black Lives Matter” and “Convict Guilty Cops”, I held my breath each time a pickup truck drove by. And whatever amount of fear I had, I can promise you it’s a fraction of the fear Black mothers experience for their sons every single day. My heart broke into thousands of pieces thinking about the fear my Black friends are forced to carry with them every time they leave their homes.
I’m embarrassed it took me so long to “get it.” (I suppose as much as a White person could, because can White people ever truly “get it”? Of course, the answer is no.) Here I’ve thought that because I have Black friends and Black relatives whom I love that it’s been obvious that I’m not a racist. But here’s the thing: the world isn’t binary and to simply categorize people as “racist” or “not racist” is to radically oversimplify. We all sit somewhere on a spectrum where being “woke” is somewhere on the left and a member of the KKK is somewhere on the right. For other White people like me who would place their dot on the left side of the spectrum if asked to identify where they fall, I’m here to tell you, as so many others are right now, that being “not racist” is not even close to enough. A bunch of “not racist” White people disgusted by the hatred they see, but too scared of saying the wrong thing too speak up, will force yet another generation of Black people to fear for their lives for simply existing. We all share the responsibility of taking steps towards becoming the “anti-racist” members of society this world so desperately needs.
To all of the Black people reading this, I’m sorry it took me this long. I thought of myself as an ally, but I’ve been far too quiet to earn such a title.
While this is merely a starting point, here are 4 commitments I’m making to begin the journey of becoming actively anti-racist:
1. I will reflect upon and confront racist ideas I didn’t know I held
This Pyramid of White Supremacy graphic is a powerful starting place to become aware of how my own indifference has perpetuated racism. Awareness, of course, it’s merely the starting point for action.
2. I will support on-the-ground BLM activists
It took participating in yesterday’s protest, hearing the pain in the Black protesters’ voices, and experiencing the fear about which direction to leave the park for me to wake the fuck up. I’ll continue to be an active participant whenever I feel safe to do so (lest we forget we are still in the throes of a global pandemic, which in many places is TWICE as likely to kill Black people than White people.) I will also be donating to bail funds to help protesters who are being arrested. For more ideas on how to support activists, please click here.
3. I will purposefully support black-owned businesses whenever possible
If you need help knowing how to identify black-owned businesses in your area, this article recommends 5 apps that can help.
4. I will become a more informed voter in local and primary elections
We have a systemic problem with racism in this country and I will be doing everything I can to make sure I’m electing officials who are deeply committed to changing it. Voting for Democratic candidates in general elections isn’t enough, and I’ll be the first to admit I haven’t done as much as I should have to ensure the right candidates win the nomination at the primary and local levels. I will start treating this as the obligation it is, and I hope others reading this will too.
I’m going to end with a quote that was engraved on the MLK, Jr. monument I was standing next to last night, because these words carry so much more power than the man’s in the pickup truck: “Sooner or later, all people of the world will have to discover a way to live together in peace.”
Update: since publishing this post earlier today, I joined another protest in West Palm Beach Florida. Please see photos from both events below.
At one point, all traffic stopped (for our safety and for support.) The man you see in the second to last photo got out of his Porsche and knelt on the ground with us in solidarity for 20 minutes. Multiple protesters thanked him and all he could manage to say was “I’m just so moved.” Two hours later, in a completely different part of the city, there he was. He’d gone home, changed, and come back out to join us. He’s the man you see in the last photo behind the mom with the heartbreaking sign.
If you’d like to hear the exchange I describe in this article first hand, you can do so 0:35 seconds into this video.
This is a video I took during the protest in West Palm Beach, FL on May 31, 2020. If you’re listening around kids, now is the time to throw in some headphones.
