Black Lives Matter – Postcards from Retirement

I had a socially distanced visit with my friends Bettina and Gabriele, who volunteer with me at White Rock Center of Hope. Bettina is still working but the other two of us are not. It was great to catch up with them after several months of just staying in touch by text and phone call.

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It’s been really hot so we haven’t walked much lately. But one day it was coolish post rain so we got out in the AM before it warmed up too much. There’s a little community garden nearby and Rich wanted to go check it out. We really miss having our garden plot.

The Black Lives Matter sign is new in our yard and it has garnered a little bit of attention. A neighbor that we don’t really know walked by one day and commented that she liked it. I told her I had one more if she wanted it. She said she did, so now there are two signs on our block. That makes me happy. Another day a delivery woman brought a package. She was African American and told me “thanks for the sign.” It made me uncomfortable that she was thanking me. I told her I was sorry for all that our society has made her endure. She thanked me again. Honestly, I want to be an anti racist and a good ally but I don’t want praise for it. It makes me feel like a fraud and like I am doing something for attention. Friday I was sitting on the porch reading a book when the city refuse guys came to get the trash. Again, they commented on the sign and thanked me. The driver was hanging out the passenger side window hollering at me. It brought me to tears. I stood there yelling back at them, “I am so sorry for our racist society!” I probably looked like a lunatic.

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I’m still writing postcards to voters and went out hanging flyers on doors in my precinct to remind people to vote. We have a runoff election coming up in July. Rich and I ordered our absentee ballots and mine came in. Although vote by mail is up in the air in Texas pending court decisions, we are already able to mail in due to our age. Then I spent most of one day watching a City Council meeting via the internet. Recently I found out that an asphalt batch plant was proposed for my city council district, not too far from our house but in a predominately Hispanic neighborhood. Of course. What else is new?! A group of citizens had organized in a very short period of time and someone added me to their Facebook group. I was super impressed that they were able to get 20+ speakers scheduled for the council meeting in no time. The meeting dragged on for hours and hours and “we” were the last agenda item. I’m sure this was by design also. Meanwhile I found out all kinds of other interesting things going on in our city that are too time consuming to recount here but maybe another day. Finally at 9 PM, our agenda item was addressed. Our speakers were given one minute each. To their credit, instead of everyone basically saying the same thing, they coordinated their efforts and each spoke to a different aspect of the neighborhood’s opposition. They were well prepared, passionate, articulate. Very impressive! A 9 year old boy stole the show when he spoke about his asthma and his fears for his fellow neighborhood children. One by one, the City Council members agreed and voted no, “with prejudice,” which I found out means that the asphalt company cannot request a similar zoning change for two years. It was quite a victory and so nice to see that you can apparently fight City Hall and win sometimes.

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I have had a very hard time making myself sit down and write since the murder of George Floyd under the knee of a cold hearted white cop. A white cop who left his hand in his pocket and stared into the phone camera held by a 17 year old girl who did not turn away. If not for her courage, we would be unaware and going about our days. To see a grown man feel that he still has to call the cop “sir” as he is killing him, to see a grown man cry out for his mama as the breath is squeezed out of him, to know that he knew in those last moments that his life counted for nothing in the United States of America–I don’t know what to say except “enough.” And it wasn’t just George Floyd. It was Breonna Taylor, shot 8 times in her bed because the cops broke into her apartment on a no-knock warrant. The wrong apartment. Looking for a man who had already been arrested. Breonna Taylor’s boyfriend thought their home was being invaded (which it was). He was a licensed gun carrier. He was scared and still had the wherewithal to fire only a cautionary shot into a cop’s leg. He probably could have killed the cop but he didn’t. And yet these cops shot his girlfriend 8 times as she slept. She was an EMT helping people in medical distress. Dead for no reason except her black skin. And her boyfriend arrested for shooting the cop. The cop who did not identify himself and broke into their home. (Thankfully he has been released by now but the cops have still not been charged). Shall we discuss Ahmaud Arbery, jogging in a neighborhood not far from his own, chased down by white men in a truck, cornered, killed? For no reason except he was black? Here in Dallas, Botham Jean, a young professional black man was shot “by mistake” in his own apartment by a white cop who somehow thought she was entering her own home and HE was the intruder. His college degree did not save him, nor his beautiful voice singing in the church choir. Shall we go back over the years to 12 year old Tamir Rice, playing with a toy gun? Has any 12 year old white boy ever been killed by the police for playing with a toy gun? Please point me to the police report if so. How about Trayvon Martin, shot for wearing a hoodie and carrying skittles while black. Not by a cop, but by a security guard wanna be. Shall we go all the way back to Emmett Till? Shall we go all the way back to the first slave ships arriving in an American port?

This is a racist country, pure and simple. We cannot deny it, even though some will try. If I am tired of it, imagine how Black people feel. If you can. Because I don’t think we really can. But we can try. And we can ask. And we can do better, can’t we?

I am both encouraged and discouraged right now. Encouraged by action in the street and calls for change, young people taking the helm and maybe doing what our generations failed to do. I am hopeful. Discouraged because we have a man in the White House who is so racist, so divisive, so corrupt, so downright evil that he will do his best to stand in the way of progress. Encouraged because there is an election coming. Discouraged because I think he will do all he can to subvert the election. Not just him, but all his minions who protect him and do nothing to correct his basest instincts.

I feel like I want to write down a summary of all that has happened in the last two weeks, just so I will have the history here on the page. But it’s too much.

I’ve been really wanting to attend a protest in Dallas–they have been happening every day and every night since George Floyd had his life brutally taken on May 25. The virus is still with us, and in fact, increasing daily in Dallas and in Texas. I am a little worried about crowds, even with a mask. I have also jokingly said (and maybe I shouldn’t be joking) that the cops in Dallas have been somewhat aggressive, tear gassed protesters the first couple of nights, and I am a little afraid if I had to break into a run, I might stumble and break a hip. That would not be good. But, yeah, white privilege that I can make that decision and stay home. Many people feel they have no choice any more. They are willing to take the chance of getting a deadly virus because they can’t be silent about police brutality and systemic racism any more. They are willing to take their chances in front of the police and in front of the virus. Rich and I tried to go to a small protest in our own area one day last week. Unfortunately when we showed up, there was no one there except the police. We waited a bit and no one came. I am not sure if they just got a really late start or what. One of my friends has gone out every night. I admire her! She tells me the virus is real, be safe, there are other ways to be an ally. I am trying to do my part from home. Is it enough?

(And I’m so proud of my daughter Bonnie and her three kids who attended a rally in Amarillo, TX. Next generation activists!)

Artists have been decorating the boarded up windows downtown. Rich and I went to see them the other day. They are beautifully heartbreaking. We met a talented artist named Jesus who was painting the remembrance of Botham Jean. I keep thinking of a U2 tune that says “how long, how long, how long must we sing this song?”