Time to Speak Out

JUSTICE CENTER, Portland, OR; Don't Shoot Rally, July 2016

JUSTICE CENTER, Portland, OR; Don’t Shoot Rally, July 2016

My mind is going crazy with so much stimulation; I wake up these days feeling oppressed with the reality that much of the pride I have felt about America is simply a myth. There have been hints all along that America was not formed to be truly “the land of the free” for everyone. I remember years ago someone, at election season, put forth the perspective that the “founding fathers” intended that voting and leadership was to be pretty much only for the landed gentry.The founding fathers felt that only these people were intelligent enough to make decisions for the country. The other day I heard a book interview on NPR; Nancy Isenberg was discussing her new book, White Trash: The 400-Year Old Story of Class in America. She said, “We cling to the comfort of a middle class, forgetting there can’t be a middle class without a lower.” I was going to go into more detail about the book, but will not at this point. Our societal habit of always having someone at the bottom of the heap is long standing and definitely worth more thought and action.

Since starting this a few days ago, I have had some profound experiences which have forced me to ponder more about what I, as one lone person, can do. Last week activists in our city announced that there would be a “Don’t Shoot” rally in Pioneer Square protesting the recent atrocities. One of the local leaders in this movement is a neighbor; I have been telling her I was supportive and wanted to join her. Last week was the first I have seen an announcement ahead of the event and the rally was in a couple of hours. It was rainy and cold outside and I was hungry; I also had this gut-wrenching feeling in the pit of my stomach. For some time I thought about what I had to do, then moved forward, asking my husband if he would go with me. We decided to go and eat after. We donned our felt rain hats and rain gear, took an umbrella and headed out. Pioneer Square, called Portland’s “Living room”, is only a 10-15 minute walk from our home. When we arrived few were there, a small crowd. We stood on the steps in order to see. More people gathered. All  sorts of humanity nodded in agreement with the speakers; it was difficult to hear because many did not have bullhorns. How did it feel being amongst this mostly black population? I will admit that I felt very visible with my mostly blond hair. I had the feeling that others might think we were there just to gawk! I really doubt they would, but… that thought whizzed through my head. The square became filled with people. I got teary, as I do now, just thinking about the event. None of us should have had to be there for the reasons we were there. After some time of hearing leaders speak, we started walking. It became clear we were headed to the city government buildings. We stopped in front of Portland’s JUSTICE CENTER. Very suddenly, participants from the left of us started running in our direction and yelling. Wise or not, my husband and I stayed standing as we had been, not moving at all. We had no idea what was going on and actually, once the area was thinned out and calmer, we walked in the direction of the excitement. Protesters, arm in arm, were blocking off the street leading to the Justice Center. Still though, all was quiet but vigilant. The speakers started to again speak about heading to another location. At this point, we decided to head in the direction of home. In the end we learned that earlier a young man, with a gun and lots of ammo, had been waving his gun around; he was apprehended by police without further incident.

Did our attending this rally make even a tiny bit of difference? I have no idea; but, I feel glad that I, at least, made an attempt to show my outrage at the escalating horrific events. Will I do it again? Certainly! The time has come to speak and act. I know there are many really good, non-racist citizens in this country. We all must not be quiet and invisible any longer.

I don’t want to rant, but I do want to make it clear that every time some boy or girl is cut down my heart is ripped open with concern for my own family and friends. That is the simple story! Once again, I STOP-BREATHE-MOVE FORWARD, with hope!

 

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