#AltonSterling

I have spent the better part of this late afternoon listening to mothers go live with their raw emotion and fear imploring us to say something. Brandi Riley, Amber Dorsey, and A’ Driane Nieves; by mothers I mean black mothers, by us I mean white people. By say something I mean, they mean, what has been true for decades of change must be true now. Only when the people opposite of the oppressed speak up will anything change. It was true when men spoke out for women, it was true when straight people spoke out for gays it will be true when whites speak out on behalf of blacks.

Had you thought the civil rights movement alleviated these issues you would be wrong. I learned much listening to these women bear their frustration and fear and anger and desperation and pain. Not so much for themselves but for their children.

I’m not a mother but I can recognize heartbreak when I see it. To applaud these women for breaking from the sending of prayers and cliché comments and emoji and moving to the “proverbial” cyber streets is to applaud acts of desperation. There is something inherently wrong with them needing to do that. Why? Why? This is the question they ask over and over. Why is it necessary to take to the live tearing of one’s clothes in agony? I don’t know. I don’t know what I don’t know, I admit. I can only feel their pain by watching and bearing witness. By bearing witness I must say something.

They speak of white privilege, rightfully so. When my niece and nephew are with me I don’t think about it. When they are with me, they are with me. I’m not naïve I know what that means, I know that guarantees a certain amount of security. When they are not with me and the news is teeming with one after another after another lost the fear rises in my throat.

When my sister’s God son is bullied and pushed around and harassed the fear rises in my throat. What do I do? I stay close, I listen, I do what I’m asked; please share, take to the internet. When it’s resolved what do I do? I remain mindful. I represent what I want all my people to be, kind, inclusive, loving.

There is little bigotry spoken around me as I’ve long ago made it clear that I can’t listen to it. When it starts I remind people “I’m in the room…” and it stops…in front of me…but does it stop? Likely no. It’s only a small thing I can do.

This past Independence Day I reread Night in honor of Elie Wiesel. The New York Times said it was a slim volume of terrifying power, they were right. It was filled with grief and the reality of not intervening, bearing witness and the lament of so much still to be done. Listening to my heart break at the sound of these women I must do more. I don’t know what I don’t know. I can’t do anything for Alton Sterling but I hope someone will trust that I will learn more and do more. Will you?