I wasn't going to write today. When the allegations about Bill Cosby came
out (he is not the topic of this blog, at all, so stick with me) I
instinctually wanted to defend him. He
was a part of my childhood. That child
inside me KNOWS he couldn’t be this person that women are accusing him of
being.
Of course, the adult woman that I am now, knows that he
absolutely could be. That he probably
is. A rapist. (I said it.)
So, I just didn’t want to talk about it.
THAT is the topic of my blog.
Recently, I updated my resume, and my writing portfolio
(it’s just a smart thing to have handy).
In my portfolio is a feature article that I wrote when I was 21 years
old. It was in a small magazine, and it
won an award. I was so proud of it. To me, it was the best thing I’d
written. I hadn't read it in years, so a
few weeks ago, I read it again.
The article is about me, living in a house with other
roommates, in an impoverished neighborhood of Decatur, IL. I thought I was shining a light on poverty
and racism in the city. What I was
actually doing was writing from the point of view of a privileged white girl
from a farm town of 10,000 people, who thought she understood and empathized
with underprivileged urban black people.
My biggest problem with Orange is the New Black, is that it
felt like I was watching a show where an upper class blond girl teaches Important
Life Lessons to poor black women, and it made me pretty nauseous. Now, that’s how this article, that I penned, makes me feel. The naivety of this article makes me
cringe. I included it here if you want
to read it to see what I mean.
That’s not the only reason I included it here. This morning I saw the news that the Ferguson
police officer would not be indicted in the shooting death of an unarmed teenager. I cried as I watched the riots. I thought to myself, “I won’t be able to
avoid this conversation today, but I am going to try to.”
I didn't want to talk about it. The feeling of despondency overwhelmed me,
and I wanted to ignore it. I arrived at
work with my eyes closed and my fingers in my ears, and I immediately ran into
a co-worker of mine. He didn't want to talk about it, either. He had to.
It was consuming him.
He’s right, you guys.
I’m wrong, and if you think you shouldn't talk about it, or just don’t
want to, you’re wrong, too. We can’t
just hide from it, or smugly (or violently, while we’re at it) insist that we
aren't part of the problem, because we are.
WE ALL ARE. This isn't someone
else’s mess to fix. IT BELONGS TO ALL OF
US. Are you human? Then you’re a part of this.
I don’t understand what it’s like to be the people I wrote
about in that article, and I didn't even TRY to understand them. What I DID do was exploit them to advance my
station, and I've been patting myself on the back for it ever since.
I posted this article I wrote when I was 21 years old
because I am a part of the problem. I
will talk about the Ferguson injustice today, because I am a part of the
problem. And while I agree with those who, at the core of their argument, are saying that these violent riots aren't the answer, it sickens me that you've chosen to care more about a burning 7-11 than you ever did about the murder of an unarmed human being.
And maybe, by talking about it, and listening to other opinions about it, whether I agree with them or not, I will understand. I might never be able to empathize, but I have to believe that the best way to extinguish fear (see also: racism, sexism, homophobia, classism, ageism) has GOT to be open conversation and understanding.
Just TRY to walk a mile in someone else’s
shoes. TRY to understand what it’s like
to be feared for a physical attribute that you cannot hide, or for an orientation you were born with. Hell, try to understand what it’s like to be automatically
placed at an advantage for a physical attribute you cannot hide, or an orientation you were born with. How that might put up blinders that you never
noticed were so damaging to other people.
Or just ACKNOWLEDGE THAT YOU CAN’T EMPATHIZE WITH IT! Admit that to someone today.
I am ashamed of the tone of this article, and after nearly 13 years, I've removed it from my writing portfolio.
