#blacklivesmatter
Sunday after church we loaded up in my car and drove down to the Columbus Police Headquarters to join in the demonstration and march.
In the End, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.
-Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
Because of the words of one of my biggest, if not my biggest, role models MLK I had to do something. I've shared articles, I've tweeted hashtags but more needs to be done.
I thought about Alan, Ellen, Brian as I stood at the rally. I thought about the kids in my preschool classroom. I thought about the race conversations I've had with their parents. Their fears for their four year old children.
I stood there next to Carla and I couldn't help wonder what this must be like, what the world looks like through the eyes of a black person in America.
I felt awkward, this isn't something I do. I don't get political, I don't like the anger of the crowd, but it really isn't about me. It's about my brothers and sisters. It's about their everyday lives and their frustration, their anger, and their fears. So I stood among the crowd awkward and uneasy.
After Henry Green's mother spoke and a few others we started to march down the street. The crowd was shouting chants and it felt so strange joining in. Silence wasn't an option my voice needed to join theirs but I'm not one to yell down the street. Again, this isn't about me, my comfort.
Or maybe it is, maybe that's exactly the problem with this country.
My comfort
The white man's comfort and the effort to keep the country this way, comfortable for me and those who look like me. We don't like to yell down the streets, it's uncomfortable, we don't like to see the protests in our cities. But we need to. Because black lives do matter.
So there I marched awkwardly joining my voice with the mix of protesters.
As we marched down the street immediately no less than a dozen police officers on horseback trotted beside us, a very intimidating presence, no doubt their intent.
I started to get scared for Carla and Rachel I marched close beside them with a sick comfort knowing as a white man they won't hurt me or those around me therefore my black friends were safe.
This thought only made me realize how much more this march needed to happen.
I wonder if my friends feel unsafe when they see cops surrounding them where I feel safe.
Along with the mounted unit the bicycle cops rode beside us quickly yelling if anyone marching stepped off the curb.
How strange, a group of people gather to petition for a more peaceful and helpful police force and the response is to contain us to the sidewalk with horses and bikes. There wasn't even that many of us, had to be less than a hundred.
I wonder what my parents would think of me marching with these protesters.
I wonder what the police thought.
we reached the end of our march and I turned to my friends. They started making plans to get ice cream afterwards. I was fully prepared to unpack and express the emotions and the feelings of this experience they were on to the next thing.
Like nothing out of the ordinary had happened, was gathering and voicing concerns about the police an ordinary thing for black people? I felt selfish that I wanted to talk about it and I wanted to express how I felt. Sure I wanted to hear their thoughts and feelings too but the fact that they weren't offering to open up made me feel so strange.
I want to understand.
I want to see and experience this country, this city from a different perspective.
But there we were, singing, dancing, and laughing at graeters with ice cream cones.
I'd only ever seen the mounted police unit in college when I was drunk jumping into mirror lake during Michigan week but that's a huge event with thousands and thousands of people this was less than a hundred people walking down the street sober and there they were mounted police towering beside us as we walked. How strange.
But I suppose this is only the beginning for me. How can I go to one demonstration and say to myself, "meh I was there in solidarity so that's good enough." The change the protesters want hasn't happened yet. So I guess I keep going.
Sunday night after I got home I sat on the couch relaxing and reflecting. I looked at my snapchat and instagram several black friends had sent me messages thanking me.
That was powerful. All I did was stand in a crowd. I didn't speak, I didn't even touch a sign. I just stood there downtown on a Sunday. My presence, my standing, it meant something to those friends, more than I think I will know and that doesn't feel right.
They were thankful because one of their many many white friends stood downtown and by standing downtown I was admitting that this country has a problem. Just by acknowledging the problem my friends were grateful.
How far we still have to go. I know God, I'm a white person expressing my feelings about an issue and a topic that my voice shouldn't be heard and we should be listening rather than speaking but hey, it's my journal and this will probably be interesting to look at 10 years from now. My first demonstration who knows where this will lead me. But this is how I felt and what I experienced during my first march.
uncomfortable and awkward.
It was good. I pray for more of this and as sad as it is I pray that my white male presence will get the attention of my friends who don't seem to get it when black people talk about it.
The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice.
― Martin Luther King Jr.
No Justice
No Peace
No racist
Police
God, I pray that Bea finds her honesty and I pray that she finds peace in that.
Thank You for the time I've had her in my life and I ask for much much more time.
I miss her and I love her very much so, oh God.
Please once more, oh God.
Hammock - Sinking Inside Yourself
Sunday after church we loaded up in my car and drove down to the Columbus Police Headquarters to join in the demonstration and march.
In the End, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.
-Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
Because of the words of one of my biggest, if not my biggest, role models MLK I had to do something. I've shared articles, I've tweeted hashtags but more needs to be done.
I thought about Alan, Ellen, Brian as I stood at the rally. I thought about the kids in my preschool classroom. I thought about the race conversations I've had with their parents. Their fears for their four year old children.
I stood there next to Carla and I couldn't help wonder what this must be like, what the world looks like through the eyes of a black person in America.
I felt awkward, this isn't something I do. I don't get political, I don't like the anger of the crowd, but it really isn't about me. It's about my brothers and sisters. It's about their everyday lives and their frustration, their anger, and their fears. So I stood among the crowd awkward and uneasy.
After Henry Green's mother spoke and a few others we started to march down the street. The crowd was shouting chants and it felt so strange joining in. Silence wasn't an option my voice needed to join theirs but I'm not one to yell down the street. Again, this isn't about me, my comfort.
Or maybe it is, maybe that's exactly the problem with this country.
My comfort
The white man's comfort and the effort to keep the country this way, comfortable for me and those who look like me. We don't like to yell down the streets, it's uncomfortable, we don't like to see the protests in our cities. But we need to. Because black lives do matter.
So there I marched awkwardly joining my voice with the mix of protesters.
As we marched down the street immediately no less than a dozen police officers on horseback trotted beside us, a very intimidating presence, no doubt their intent.
I started to get scared for Carla and Rachel I marched close beside them with a sick comfort knowing as a white man they won't hurt me or those around me therefore my black friends were safe.
This thought only made me realize how much more this march needed to happen.
I wonder if my friends feel unsafe when they see cops surrounding them where I feel safe.
Along with the mounted unit the bicycle cops rode beside us quickly yelling if anyone marching stepped off the curb.
How strange, a group of people gather to petition for a more peaceful and helpful police force and the response is to contain us to the sidewalk with horses and bikes. There wasn't even that many of us, had to be less than a hundred.
I wonder what my parents would think of me marching with these protesters.
I wonder what the police thought.
we reached the end of our march and I turned to my friends. They started making plans to get ice cream afterwards. I was fully prepared to unpack and express the emotions and the feelings of this experience they were on to the next thing.
Like nothing out of the ordinary had happened, was gathering and voicing concerns about the police an ordinary thing for black people? I felt selfish that I wanted to talk about it and I wanted to express how I felt. Sure I wanted to hear their thoughts and feelings too but the fact that they weren't offering to open up made me feel so strange.
I want to understand.
I want to see and experience this country, this city from a different perspective.
But there we were, singing, dancing, and laughing at graeters with ice cream cones.
I'd only ever seen the mounted police unit in college when I was drunk jumping into mirror lake during Michigan week but that's a huge event with thousands and thousands of people this was less than a hundred people walking down the street sober and there they were mounted police towering beside us as we walked. How strange.
But I suppose this is only the beginning for me. How can I go to one demonstration and say to myself, "meh I was there in solidarity so that's good enough." The change the protesters want hasn't happened yet. So I guess I keep going.
Sunday night after I got home I sat on the couch relaxing and reflecting. I looked at my snapchat and instagram several black friends had sent me messages thanking me.
That was powerful. All I did was stand in a crowd. I didn't speak, I didn't even touch a sign. I just stood there downtown on a Sunday. My presence, my standing, it meant something to those friends, more than I think I will know and that doesn't feel right.
They were thankful because one of their many many white friends stood downtown and by standing downtown I was admitting that this country has a problem. Just by acknowledging the problem my friends were grateful.
How far we still have to go. I know God, I'm a white person expressing my feelings about an issue and a topic that my voice shouldn't be heard and we should be listening rather than speaking but hey, it's my journal and this will probably be interesting to look at 10 years from now. My first demonstration who knows where this will lead me. But this is how I felt and what I experienced during my first march.
uncomfortable and awkward.
It was good. I pray for more of this and as sad as it is I pray that my white male presence will get the attention of my friends who don't seem to get it when black people talk about it.
The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice.
― Martin Luther King Jr.
No Justice
No Peace
No racist
Police
God, I pray that Bea finds her honesty and I pray that she finds peace in that.
Thank You for the time I've had her in my life and I ask for much much more time.
I miss her and I love her very much so, oh God.
Please once more, oh God.
Hammock - Sinking Inside Yourself