I had
a moment this past Sunday. It was a moment that was unlike any I’d had in my
sixty-three+ years. I’m still processing it because, as I’ve heard younger
folks say, it had all the feels.
It was
a moment of White People’s Privilege revealed, of Black Lives Matter amplified.
I’m not yet sure what it will become…
Father’s
Day Plans
Sunday
was Father’s Day. Our youngest daughter has been visiting for a couple of weeks
while working remotely and preparing to go to graduate school. Our middle
daughter, who lives nearby, planned a celebration with her sister, her
boyfriend, and My Bride to come over for a special lunch, carried out from a
local grill. This allowed me to get my favorite, the Unicorn Burger (combined
ground beef and bacon) for a rare treat.
Our
two older kids were unavailable for lunch, but I spoke with both via text
during the day. I also called my father for a half hour chat, too.
The
plan was to eat lunch, take a stroll over to the Lee Monument which is the main
site of all BLM protests in Richmond these days, and then saunter back home. On
the way, we’d pass by a local ice cream shop for a treat.
Sounds
incredibly white bread, middle American, doesn’t it?
Lunch
was a joyful hour with laughter and talk of good times, out in the backyard
under the shade of a tree that makes the place look like a French garden.
Life
changes
 |
| Leon Traveler - before |
After
lunch, we started walking the eight blocks to the Lee Monument that sits on Virginia
state land on Monument Avenue. (If you don’t know Richmond VA, it’s worth
googling all of this to understand the context.) The area is a grass island
about fifty yards across and, in the middle, sits a forty-foot tall pedestal
upon which sits a twenty-foot tall statue of Lee on his horse Traveler. (A guy
I know who was born and raised in Richmond was told by his father, every time
they passed it, “Look there’s Lee on Traveler.” For a long time, he thought the
statue was of someone named Leon Traveler.)
The
Lee Monument is a glaring tribute to Gen. Robert E. Lee who led the Confederate
Army in the Civil War. A graduate of West Point, he was considered a military
genius and great leader who resigned his commission in the US Army to fight for
his homeland, the South. (He was from Virginia.) After surrendering to Gen. U.
S. Grant at Appomattox, he returned to his beloved state to live out his days.
The statue to him was erected in 1890 to memorialize his efforts in the “Lost
Cause” of the Confederacy. It has been a sharp stick in the eye for black
people ever since as it essentially tells them that they’re lucky to no longer
be enslaved. But they could be, should the South Rise, Again! (Can you imagine
statues of Hitler, placed by his followers after the war was lost? Just to
remind people that they could still be Nazis?)
As we
got closer, we could hear up tempo music coming from near the monument. When we
rounded the corner, we were greeted with an amazing site. (I have been walking
or riding past regularly but weather had kept me away for the last week or so.)
 |
| Leon Traveler - with additional art |
The
entire circle had been surrounded by barricades (portable concrete things like
you see in highway construction) a few days before in preparation for removing
the statue which had been ordered by the Governor. The barricades had all been
painted in bright colors and covered with all manner of graffiti, most of which
having to do with the BLM movement.
 |
| New name |
As we
got closer, other things caught my eye. A banner had been erected on two posts
welcoming everyone to the Marcus-David Peters Circle. (He was a young black schoolteacher
who was having a mental health crisis 2 years ago. He was gunned down by a
police officer while running naked near the interstate. There is a call for a
law that requires mental health professionals to handle calls such as this in
the future, and it’s named for him.)
The
pedestal had multiple layers of graffiti on every available space, rising
almost to the top of the structure. Very little space had been spared the
artist’s work. My brain attempted to process all the messages as my eyes roved
slowly over the work. After staring for several minutes, and walking all around
the circle, I finally realized something. The memorial made sense; it finally
had context that had been missing for over a century.
The
statue seems to be saying, “We left our country and fought a war to allow us to
keep owning people! When we lost that war, the victors made an effort to build
the nation back together by allowing us back into the Republic but we no longer
had our slaves, people who had been our property. We built this monument to
someone who embodied and fought for what we believed in just to let you know
that we hadn’t disappeared completely. That given a chance, we’d enslave you
again because the Lost Cause isn’t really lost until we say so! That’s why we
still fly the Stars and Bars flag. That’s why we keep you down whenever we get
a chance, so you know your place.”
 |
| Artwork by Anger |
The
graffiti seems to be saying, “We have been victims of your biases, beliefs, and
actions for 400 years! Every time we’ve said ‘Enough!’ you’ve grudgingly given
us some tiny freedom but took something else away in return. And you’ve never
stopped killing us, harassing us, treating us as lesser beings. And we’ve taken
it for the last time. We’re going to point out systemic racism and we’re going
to keep doing it until you say ‘Enough!’ We want, and we deserve, equality and
justice. And we will not settle for less.”
MB and
I made eye contact. She said quietly, “It finally looks right, doesn’t it?” I
vigorously agreed.
The Gallery of the Dead
By
this time, I’d been walking around the circle for about twenty minutes. I
finally noticed dozens of small signs placed around the perimeter of the
pedestal, on the grounds, and some up on the pedestal itself. All of them
looked nearly the same. On each was a small photograph of a black person. Next
to the picture was text describing them in detail. More importantly, it
described how they had died at the hands of police officers. In nearly every
case, the person in the picture had been minding their own business when they
were stopped in their car; or stopped while jogging; or stopped while walking
through their neighborhood; or doing something else completely legal. Smiling,
happy, young, beautiful, actual people all dead.
Dozens of them.
After
reading the fifth or sixth one, I suddenly realized that I was struggling to
keep my composure. My eyes were filling up, and I could feel a sob welling up
in me. My heart hurt. Before I ended up on my knees, I turned and walked a few
steps away and leaned against the barricades, at the perimeter, closed my eyes
and took some deep breaths. I began to calm down but as that happened, I could
feel something else coming on.
I
found myself filling with anger and despair and frustration and disgust. I’ve
tamped it down, a bit, since Sunday but it’s still there.
I’m
angry that after the war, so much work went into rebuilding in an effort to
“bind the nation’s wounds” only to be wasted when so many white people decided
that they “hadn’t actually lost” the war. And that those people managed to rise
into power, and created another way to keep slaves, just not call them that.
Laws were passed that allowed people who were arrested to be used as labor –
and guess who they made sure got arrested? And the people that did all that
arresting were the fore runners to today’s police departments. (Want to read about it?
I’m
frustrated this level of systemic racism still exists! That black people simply
don’t have justice or even equality in this country. That black people earn, on
average, less than 80% of their white counterparts with the same education and
experience. That black people live in neighborhoods with a lower tax base and,
therefore, worse school systems, so it makes it more difficult to get the same
education. That black people are far more likely to be arrested, jailed, and
killed by our penal system.
And I’m most frustrated with the fact that there is
a plurality of white people who don’t know this and really don’t care enough to
do anything about it. And aren’t even willing to listen because they aren’t
going to change their minds.
And
I’m disgusted with myself for not having listened before. Not taken the time to
learn. Not had the balls to stand up and say, “Enough!” Like most white people, I don’t think I’m a
racist. But if I’m going to say that a “good cop” who doesn’t say anything when
a “bad cop” is misbehaving is, really, just another bad cop, then I have to say
the same thing about myself.
I’ve
been a racist all my life and I must change.
Learning
is needed
What
is it going to take for white people to understand all this? How many more of
our black brothers and sisters must be enslaved, mistreated, imprisoned, even
killed before we all say, "ENOUGH!"?
What
will it take before everyone understands that we all share the same 99.9% of
DNA, that of homo sapiens, also known as humans? Scientists tell us that
we all are descended from the first humans in Africa.
In other words, we’re
all black! How do we get that across to everyone?
Where
do I go from here? To be continued…
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