Our first day home in DC was the scheduled Unite the Right rally, where white nationalists intended to parade fear and hatred around our city.
Black Lives Matter DC and other organizations led by people of color had been gathering for days. In DC, training, education, and organizing filled the days leading up to August 12. People were prepared to defend the district from white supremacy. The resistance was strong, coordinated and alive.
Alive.
As I biked toward the rally in Freedom Plaza, my eyes filled with tears. This is the place I am supposed to be. DC is the place that keeps me awake and alive.
I am woke to the pain and struggle caused by racism, patriarchy and capitalism.
I am woke to the potential coming from organized black power.
I feel alive when I am in the throws of tensions that tug at the core and open up possibilities beyond what we can see.
I am alive in this city.
The pain is also palpable. I often struggle to cope with it.
A man came up to us the other day asking for water. He had been digging through the trash in our alley while I buckled the kids into their car seats. I’d seen him out of the corner of my eye, but I had places to go and we were running late. As I clicked Annabelle’s seat-belt, he came to the end of my driveway. Calling me Ma'am he asked if he could ask me a question. He first asked for food. I tried to send him to the free lunch spot down the way, but he then asked for water. It was 90 degrees and I could get him water in my house, which was right there. But the kids were already buckled in. I wondered, how do I keep my kids safe? I locked them in the car, cracked the windows and ran into the house. Fear overcame me. He was between me and my children. I left the door open and couldn’t walk away from it long enough to fill an entire nalgene. I had to keep checking on him. I was disgusted with my thought process and knew that the kids were taking all this in. I had given them messages that you can’t trust someone and these were not messages I wanted to give. But the questions Annabelle asked were about why he doesn’t have water. Why would someone not have access to the basic need of hydration? And why did he call me Ma’am.
We ended up in a conversation about inequality and how some people who don't have a home can't even get water without asking for help from others. And we talked about slavery and power and how Ma’am is a form of respect but how he may have also felt like he needed to call me Ma’am because I am white and have the resources he needs.
She asks such good questions and takes it all in.
This is why I want to raise kids in the city and why I am also challenged by raising kids here. As long as people struggle for their basic needs I want Annabelle and Ryan to know this to be true. I want them to use their creative power to contribute to a world that treats people differently and they can't do this unless they know how it is now. I too need to stay present to today's struggles. I can't work toward a more equitable world unless my eyes are open to the harshness that currently is.
My blind spots are why I struggled to trust myself.
When Trump was elected I was shaken. I did not think someone who was so explicitly racist and sexist could possibly win an election for President. I was blind to the degree that racism can still be used to divide and build power. In the wee hours of election night, when the verdict was clear I made Greg promise that we wouldn’t become complacent, that we’d figure out ways to stand for justice and support Blacks, Muslims, Latinx, women, LGBTQ and all the people under attack during the Trump campaign and who would be under attack once he began directing policy. We cried.
We sobbed.
I was scared and shaken to my core. How could my country elect someone who espouses such hate. I was not new to thinking about the damages of institutional and systemic racism. I had devoted my career to undoing racism and building structures and communities that shift power to people on the margins.
Yet I was blindsided. My white privilege kept me from seeing the degree to which racism is used to secure power in this country.
I was trying so hard to see and still I was blind.
It shook me. I became fearful of my every step. I lost my ability to trust myself. I wondered about the depth of my ignorance. I worried that every step I took meant more possibility to harm people of color. While I showed up to more organized forms of resistance, I was also shrinking. I felt the ground shifting below me. I was burnt out and didn't have the creative answers needed.
I had nothing else to give at work. I was co-leading the Racial Equity work and trying to uncover white supremacy culture that seeped into this well intentioned, thoughtful organization. There was so much to change, yet the platform seemed so small. I couldn’t stay there anymore. I left.
And I started mending.
I mended my relationship with my kids first. Last summer we also took off together and traveled around New England. My goal was to find the joy they bring. I found it! My home felt nourishing again. My closest relationships became guiding posts as I sorted through which pieces to put back together.
Intention.
Space for creativity.
Relationships.
I spent the past year raising my children. Loving on them. Allowing them to call me into the present moment. This summer was a beautiful culmination of this past year.
I realize that I need ways to get fed, rejuvenated and lost in joy.
White supremacy has misshapen our politics, our institutions, our culture, our relationships. In order to stay present to reshaping and re-imagining, I need to be grounded in who I am. This summer gave me that space.
It was fitting that I returned just in time to attend the resistance rally against white supremacy. A resistance that's strength and spirit and love shine bright.
I am in the place I need to be.
I learned to trust myself again this summer and my faith in people is renewed.
And it is good to be home.