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What I Heard

In the aftermath of the murder of George Floyd, a cry arose.  A cry that demanded to be heard.  A cry that had many stories to tell. Stories that mirrored the lack of respect of another person’s life just based on the color of their skin.  As this began there was a request that white people silence their social media accounts except to share what black or other people of color had created to share.  I respected this request for this was their story to tell and not mine.  It was, however, my turn to listen.

What I heard were mothers that shared the concern they have for their children.  This concern was not just about the happiness or success of their children, but concern about whether they would be alive the next day.  Would they remember how to dress, how to speak, how to present themselves so they would not become another statistic?  Fear for my children is something I understand but this was not a fear I had experienced once much less every day.  

What I heard were voices mourning the loss of loved ones in circumstances that I would most likely never encounter and definitely had never envisioned.

What I heard were voices expressing the love of their community but not trusting the people in leadership because of generations of  betrayals.  

What I heard were voices asking for respect of their differences.  Not allowances.  Not special treatment.  Respect.  

What I heard were voices asking to tell their stories from their point of view without being told they were wrong just because their perception differed from the main stream.

What I heard were voices asking to be heard.  Asking to be validated.  Asking to be told they matter just as much as any other American.

What I heard were human voices expressing their love, their pain, their concerns, their hopes, their dreams…reminding me how alike we truly are despite any surface differences.  

This was a novel experience for me, remaining silent and not offering my opinion, insight or judgement and it was not easy at times.  There were times I was angry and frustrated.  Times I felt I was being judged unfairly and not allowed to defend myself.  Times I could not offer my thoughts or suggest another way.  And in those times I would remind myself, what I was feeling, was only a small part of what people experiencing racism face on a daily basis.  

This part of the journey is not over so I will continue to listen as the stories are told, no matter the discomfort.  I will continue to learn so that I may understand and join my voice to those that are crying out against racism and injustice.  I will continue to have compassion and empathy for all people despite our differences.  For the truth is, there is only one race and it is through connection, understanding and compassion we can heal as a nation. 

Wishing everyone much love and compassion as we heal together on this heartfelt journey.  ~♥~