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I Know that I Don’t Know

A stream of consciousness, and a call for empathy: Written in light of racial tragedies

By Taylor MichellePublished 5 years ago 5 min read

I haven’t known what to say. I am heavy with the weight of the world, not silent to it. But I know my voice is not the most important one. I believe that harm to any of us, effects each and every one of us. I believe we need to stand up for the ones being harmed. Last night I fell asleep with the words “I can’t understand how the white man never understood how to handle the hue man properly”. And I just keep turning those words over and over “Hue man. Human. Clever, and real”. I don’t sleep at night when my fellow human is suffering, knowing violence and hate are so rampant.

I cried staring at the pictures of Breonna Taylor’s beautiful smiling face. She was my age. She had a life worth living. I marveled at the spiritual grace of Curtis Flowers, a black man who spent 21 years in a jail cell on death row for a crime he was never properly convicted of: processed 6 times by the same corrupt, racist D.A. When I heard his story I seethed in anger that they held him so long. But he wasn’t angry, he was faithful. He spoke only of his gratitude to be with his family, and his faith that got him through those years. I’ve had the words “mama” and the name George Floyd in my head since I heard the news, and I can’t think these words without a flood from my eyes. As so many of us, or at least myself has contemplated my immortality, surely we can feel his. I’ve always hoped my time would come with a chance to say a last goodbye to my own mama, to my own loved ones. George Floyd’s chance to say goodbye to his daughter was stolen from him.

I grieve for the little ones like Gianna who had her father ripped away. I grieve for the little girl on her father’s shoulders at a protest with a rubber bullet gun pointed at her face. For the little boys who are told at an early age how to watch out and protect themselves from becoming targets. They are not learning in vain, but I grieve for the lessons they have to learn so young. I wonder what their impressions of this world will be. What they will take into the next generation.

For many years I have taken the time to study systematic oppression, poverty, education and prison pipelines (if you haven’t heard the term pipeline, you may want to study too), history and privilege. I recognize that studying these things rather than experiencing them is a privilege in itself. History is a very long story with so much information that many (probably including myself) don’t understand. It’s difficult for people to understand because we are all so clouded by our personal experiences. Many don’t take the opportunities or the willingness to learn. To me, that is a grave part of the problem.

During this recent upheaval I’ve had to revisit the meaning of privilege. Sometimes I have felt injustices in my own life, and that’s okay to acknowledge. But it’s not about me and every life right now. It’s about the ones that need immediate support.

I am trying to humble myself. It’s possible I didn’t receive all of the privileges they speak of. After all, these issues are layered. But the privileges that I did receive based on the color of my skin are worth acknowledging.

I do grieve the atrocities law enforcement has committed. I watch the videos of officers committing horrendous, violent acts. The eyes exploded by rubber bullets. The tear gas. The protesting men and women seemingly shoved and beaten for simply standing and speaking up. The cars ramming into human beings. I don’t know what’s media, and what’s actually happening out there sometimes. But I see it, and it turns my stomach.

I also sometimes grieve for the good men and women in law enforcement, too. Some I have known personally, and others I suspect are out there. They aren’t all violent monsters that enjoy an excuse to exercise racism. They don’t all wish to harm others. Some are nerdy Star Wars fans, cuddle bugs, loving fathers, sons and daughters. Some are the people that you grew up playing Barbies and Kick the Can with. Some are people of color themselves. They don’t easily forget the calls when they have to respond to dead children, and many other atrocities that are a part of their jobs. They don’t use their real names on Facebook for their own safety. They aren’t immune to fear for their own lives, or the lives of their loved ones. They grieve and they mourn. Some call their neighbors to check on them. Some take underprivileged kids shopping at Christmas. Some worked hard for their careers. They believed they were doing the right thing in the name of justice. They are part of a broken and divided system that fails them. A system that continuously fails people of color, and has throughout American history. A system that is failing us all.

I took the time to learn the mission of Black Lives Matter. I signed petitions. I donated to causes I support, though my personal bank account is very low. I found an excellent organization “Campaign Zero” which outlines detailed, and well thought out proposals for police reform. They proposed some very viable solutions that should be considered. I blacked out my Instagram, and took that time to learn. That single black square will stay on my profile as a reminder long after the protests end. I still don’t feel like it’s enough, because I know this is not over.

I will continue to love, and I will continue to feel. I will vow to treat those in my community and everywhere I go with dignity, respect and kindness. That is what I believe in. But I know it’s not enough, and it won’t be enough until large-scale change occurs. Above all else we need solutions and we need to start immediately. That’s where I don’t have the answers I wish I had. How do we undo decades of damage? How many people will it take? How many generations will it perpetuate? How many people will have to die before we take the issue seriously? And if we take it seriously, can we also take it compassionately and empathetically?

The only thing I can say for sure in all of this, is that I know that I don’t know. And I hope to keep learning.

I believe that we are all deeply connected as humans...

I can’t sleep until you can sleep peacefully.

I CAN’T BREATHE until you have the rights and protections to.

I am not black, but I hear you.

I am not black, but I see you.

I am not black, but I stand with you.

I am not black, but I love you.

activism

About the Creator

Taylor Michelle

I've been told that writing is among my most successful skills. I disagree. Every writer needs an introspective heart, and a story to tell. Perhaps the true gifts are the experiences, and the ability to express the magic of everyday life

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