Tonight, I am lighting a candle for George Floyd. I am lighting a candle for him and so many, many others who have been victims of racism in America. I am lighting a candle for their families who suffer the grief of loss. There were a hundred articles today about how many things have changed in this last year that has felt like seven. All of them will end by noting how far we have to go, at least, that’s my hope: that we collectively realize how far we still have to go in this country to right these old injustices. But that’s not what I want to write about.
I want to get a lot closer to home. We white folk have the privilege of waiting for that amorphous, ephemeral, collective “we” to do something. “They” will handle it, whoever the hell “they” actually are. It’s time — no, it’s long past time — for us to sit down with all the shame, the guilt, and the confusion at how we arrived at this moment and contemplate what our ancestors and we ourselves have done and failed to do. We, collectively, need to realize how far each of us still has to go in our part to put things right.
I am lighting a candle and pondering how I can live in a way that uses the privilege I have to lift up others, to give voice to the voiceless, to aid the downtrodden. I don’t have a magic idea, or some list of things like so many articles might, I just have stillness. I just have silence. I have the memory of a man who was murdered in broad daylight by those that should have protected him. And I have this flame, flickering. And one burning question: How can I live my life in the service of justice?
I ask you, what will you do?