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Yet Another Perspective on Black Lives Matters
I’ve been called a ‘camel jockey’ & ‘sand nigger,’ so you’d think I’d empathize. But only now am I truly beginning to get it.
I was heading out the door, mask donned, when I stopped. We were in the midst of the Black Lives Matter protests, and my daughter, who lives a 5-minute drive away, had texted that a “f’ing huge” crowd of protesters had just passed her house.
I wasn’t afraid — I’m a child of the 60s, plus a veteran of four marches within the past 3.5 years. Activism is an instinct. I’m a writer, for goodness sake. Writers want to be heard, to connect with and possibly persuade others; otherwise, we’d be accountants or ballet dancers and content keeping journals.
A spot of ‘forest bathing’ was long overdue. Time among my friends the trees to wash away weeks of spiritual sepsis, courtesy of the two contagions plaguing our nation, COVID-19 and racism. That said, if my walk intersected with the protesters’ — well, obviously, the Universe had other plans in Mind.
I returned indoors for my wallet, dropping it into my kit. I prefer to protest like I write, with an outline of the day’s work ahead. Obviously, today, this wouldn’t be the case. Still, having funds on hand for a bottle of water or bail was reassuring.
