When the pandemic hit and weekly blogging became a thing, documenting and sharing a sample of photographs each week helped me process while also serving as a reminder of the many gratitudes. Everyday nuance kept reminding me to look for snatches of light, momentary wonder. That’s one way I’ve seen beauty, even as COVID-19 continued it’s destructive path.
And then on May 25 George Floyd died at the hands of the Minneapolis PD, and the world bore witness. “Again?” we asked, after Michael Brown and Freddie Gray and Eric Gardner and Philando Castile and Sandra Bland and Botham Jean and Ahmaud Arbery and Beonna Taylor and so many more. George Floyd couldn’t breathe, his airway blocked by the knee of a cop. His death sparked outrage. Black communities took to the streets to protest, joined by allies. I don’t know that we’ll ever know exactly why his death in particular caused many corners of America to stop ignoring the systems built to oppress Black people. I do know that last week I realized I needed to stop, to listen, to believe, to learn, to protest. I and we whose skin is white need to become anti-racist. White supremacy begets white privilege, and both are written into the fabric of this country. They must be dismantled. It’s not enough to have a few weeks of unrest. Laws and policies and people must change. And I have to start with me. You, dear reader, have to start with you. My audience is primarily white, and we have a responsibility to make individual and systemic changes. Silence is complicity. We may make missteps and mistakes in undertaking this work, but we must do the work.
Before George Floyd’s death I did not know it was possible to consider defunding the police, nor was I aware of the implications of qualified immunity. I knew American history is largely white-washed. I knew red-lining was a thing. I knew about mass incarceration. I knew Black women and babies die at vastly higher rates. I knew without making myself KNOW. That is privilege at work. It’s not okay. The work we must do begins with learning with open hearts and ears and eyes: the stuff of being a good listener to an entire population we’ve long marginalized. And as we learn, I hope we can transform the shape of this nation to reflect life liberty and the pursuit of happiness with equity and equality.
For me, that looks like Ty and I participating in an anti-racism course. I’m planning to work through Rachel Cargle’s The Great Unlearn as well. I’ve read I’m Still Here by Austin Channing Brown and am planning to read White Fragility by Robin DiAngelo and How to Be an Anti-Racist by Ibram X. Kendi. I’m following more Black artists, educators, athletes, and influencers on Instagram. I’m committed to learning. And taking action. Elections in November are too far away to be the sole way change is brought about, though voting is essential. Listen, believe, learn, give. Support Black businesses. Celebrate Black voices. Believe Black experiences. And commit to change. What I will work hard not to do is asking the Black people in my life to help me understand; they are not responsible to facilitate my growth. I share these as ideas in case you don’t know where to start. Police brutality needs to end. Racism’s roots need to be pulled out and destroyed. Black lives matter.
Here are my photos from the last two weeks: a mix of everyday cornavirus life and may-we-never-be-the-same-after-George-Floyd-died. I opted to leave everything in one big post, two weeks of photos, because life is chaotic and messy with beauty right in midst of that mix. And they are my process. I hope maybe they help you with yours.
