I Feel the Stress of it All

I don't know about you, but for me, today I'm feeling the stress of it all. I'm feeling the mental exhaustion of the COVID-19 pandemic. I'm feeling the strain of trying to maintain my professional and personal responsibilities. Heck, I feel the peculiar feeling of realizing it's June 1st already and I came home from work March 17th - and where did all that time go?! The Stay Home orders we've been under have robbed us of our usual markings of time. Monday to Friday passes in a flash with little to tell one day from the next. But, while it may contribute to what I feel, it's not the actual reason for the stress . . .

Our country is in a dire situation and something must be done. And I don't know what. Now, I'm feeling the weight of something I've only just begun to wrap my head around. My sisters and brothers of color have carried this weight - well, maybe forever. So, while I'm feeling it and you, white/non-black friend, may be feeling it, let's be clear, we have no idea. Not really.

Last Monday, George Floyd was murdered in an arrest. I don't have any clue if this was racially motivated or not, so please do not even go there. I know that to the people of color I'm hearing from, it feels like it all the same. I'm probably completely naive in even hinting that it could be anything other than race, I'll just own that. Either way, a black man was killed by a white policeman who gave no heed to the man's cry for mercy, for help, for his mama. The murder (and seemingly slow arrest of the officer) has led to protests and riots across the USA. I've seen reports of historic landmarks and churches burned down, both black and white business owners crying over the destruction of their businesses, torched police cars, abused animals, both black and white people terrified by what's happening in their communities, both black and white (and other ethnic groups) working together to clean up from the rampages. I've done my best to listen as objectively as this middle-aged comfortable white woman can to the cries of the oppressed and fearful. And I've begun to raise my voice. To speak to my "audience" for the need for those of us in the white community to say "It's not okay" and to come alongside our sisters and brothers with different skin tones and to stop judging everything. We're not the judge! We cannot understand.

Is everything that's happening right or good or the best way to create change? No. Of course not. But what are fed up people to do? It's a funny thing and I see it all. the. time. We expect people who are beaten down to be strong and make decisions from a place of strength. It's like when a person with mental illness is criticized for not tending to their mental health ... like a mentally healthy person would. What? That's not how it works. People who are tired and frustrated and feel oppressed and not heard will more than likely act like people who feel that way. And can we just refer back to paragraph 1 where  I discussed COVID-19? At this time, many haven't been with their normal support groups (family, friends, etc), may be out of work and at their breaking point. This is all TRAUMA. I'm not excusing anything but I am saying that so much of what we see is trauma-based. We have to develop some empathy around that.

Nonetheless, I'm feeling the stress. I feel tired. I want to go back to happy-go-lucky days. I don't want to watch the news. I don't want to feel the push and pull  of all of the arguments and "yeah, buts". I want to see the non-black community speak up against the killing without any "buts". I want to see Christian love on full display without qualifications. I want my black/brown friends to know that I love them even if I've been slow to understand these undercurrents. I want them to feel that from you, too.

I've never had to feel the fear of not having my child come home because of their skin color. I've never had to tell my children not to wear certain clothing because they might be mistaken as a criminal and shot "accidentally", I didn't have to train my children how to act were they ever pulled over or how to make a police officer (or anyone else) feel safe in their presence. To my knowledge, I've never been followed around a store to make sure I don't shoplift (though carrying a large purse does make me uncomfortable).

Dear white community, many of your well-educated, salary earning, successful friends feel scared and threatened just because of their skin color. That absolutely breaks my heart. I am committed to feeling this with them by having these less than rosy conversations. I'm willing to feel the stress and be uncomfortable with the strife around me in order to try, in my very small way, to bear some of the pain with my friends who look different than me. This is not an attempt to get you to look at me and applaud me (for what?!). It's an attempt to get you to stand with me as a white against racism and help hold up our friends during a really tough time. Let's see if we can learn something. Let's see if we can help make a difference. It's not really fair to ask the oppressed to free themselves. We have to do it. In love. In peace. In the name of Jesus.  Let's link arms and help "clean up".

Coffee for Two ASAP! (or risk arrest)

My heart actually hurts. My chest feels heavy, pressed on. I’m having trouble figuring out how I feel, understanding what happened and what I (honestly) would do differently given the opportunity.

I don’t think the police officers are to blame. . . necessarily. I mean, they had a complaint from a business. But, couldn’t they have just escorted the guys outside and talked to them? Were handcuffs necessary? See what I mean? I’m having trouble processing.

I’ll yield that I wasn’t there and accept that there may be things I don’t know. In fact, that’s my cop-out response. I count on that because then I don’t have to do one dadblame thing. Not one. I can just sit silently and let the world continue to rotate on its axis and revolve around the sun. Like Pilate, I can wash my hands of the entire sordid affair.

Picture your local Starbucks. You agree to meet a friend there. You get there before he does. Dude’s always late. You and your buddy that rode with you shake it off and decide to have a seat and wait on him. There are people there. You’re just hanging. Then you notice the girl behind the counter kind of looking at you weird. You’re actually used to that. It’s a thing. You look a little “different”. She picks up her cell between customers, makes a call. No big thing, but you keep feeling her eyes on you. Come on! You’re just waiting for your buddy, talking to your other buddy. Dang. Same thing you’ve encountered all your life.

About the time you’re really getting creeped out by the coffee chick, in walk 2 cops. They head for the counter. Coffee chick glances your way now and then while talking to the cops. They turn, look your direction and head your way. What in the…? This is a new one.

Soon after that, while cops are talking to you, your buddy finally arrives. Yeah, you could’ve used him sooner. Everyone in the place is whispering, looking your way, wondering what’s up. Then the cops put handcuffs on you and escort you out. I mean, aren’t you glad you acted cool? Responded “appropriately”? Good thing you watch the news!

Now, I don’t know if that’s exactly how it went down, but according to a witness it was something pretty close. Question: were the police called on these guys for not ordering coffee? For sitting in an establishment without paying for anything? Really? I don’t think so. I think it’s because they were black and didn’t order anything.

I meet people at Starbucks all the time. I often wait until they get there to place my order. Sometimes I never order. We may just have our meeting and leave. In fact, I’ve often pondered how cool it is that Starbucks lets people just hang there all the time without ordering. I mean, I see it, I do it. Often. But, then again, I’m a middle-aged white woman. I dress well.

Inside my brain, I hope hope hope that I am wrong. I want these men to be known problems. I want there to be an actual danger to their presence. Not because I want coffee chick exonerated, not at all. I just want us as a culture to not be this hopeless. This far gone. This shallow for crying out loud.

I understand fear. I’ve been victimized a time or two. I lived through 9-11 and even have some understanding of the value of profiling – to some degree – until I think of my Assyrian sister in law and her beautiful family, my nieces, her sisters, her brothers, their kids. ereHHere I sit, finding it hard to believe that someone called the police on two innocent people because of their skin color and I’m having to face my own issues. I didn’t believe it could be just what it was. I’d like to think I would’ve stood up for them if I was there, but should that even be necessary? Shouldn’t their word have as much value as mine?

I hate coming to grips with the fact that I may be part of the problem. I hate that parents of good kids have to worry about their children’s safety because of their skin color. And I wasn’t going to say anything either. I was going to go about my day. Then I read the account of a woman who observed the incident and felt the kick in my own gut. Then my pastor friend who adopted several Ethiopian children shared his fears. Another kick. I have to speak for others. I have to, in the name of the Lord I serve, say NO. This isn’t ok. He died for every single one of us. He delights in us. I am compelled to say, regardless of the details of this incident, but for all in general, it’s not ok to treat people like this. There’s a mountain of things I don’t know and I don’t understand, much to be learned but in this moment, I stand.

Note: This is not a commentary on Starbucks. It could happen anywhere.