My Words

Someone challenged me today to use my words, my white privilege to speak out for African American lives.  I don’t have any eloquence here, but as she pointed out, I do have my blog, so here goes.

It seems like every time I turn around a Black life is being lost where there should be due process, a legal course of action.  It seems traffic stops, too often, are ending in death.  What happened to arresting someone when they do something wrong, making sure they are safely transported to jail, and get safely to their day in court?

I fear a lot of things for my girls, I do, but I don’t have to fear their skin is the wrong color.  I don’t have to fear they will be assumed guilty before proven innocent.  I don’t have to fear those things.

Friends of mine DO fear those things.  Every day.  I see their sons as smart, funny, cute.  And that is how they should be seen. Always.  And my heart breaks for them.  They should not fear their gender, their skin.

I used to think, well, it seems these African Americans are always wearing hoodies when they are arrested, and things go wrong for them–they should just stop wearing hoodies.

Wait, back up, read that again.  Yup, my mind somehow decided it was their fault they got arrested and treated wrongly because of the style of sweatshirt they wore.  And then one day my brain stopped, and thought through that a few times.  Because of the style of sweatshirt they are wearing.

That is ridiculous.  They should be able to wear anything they damn well please, especially a sweatshirt…that of all things, should not get them in trouble.

I have white privilege.  And I’ll admit I am glad it works in my favor.  But my skin should not give me privilege.  All mothers should be able to raise their children without fear.  All women should know their husbands will come home safely.

We should all be able to walk, drive, run down the streets safely.