Tuesday, June 9, 2020

Living history




I walked with my friend Kenza and her little sister, Jade.

Both are young enough to be my daughters.

I stood for Leonard Wells, my Mom's husband and one of my best friends, My Buddy.

I watched as people of all ages mixed and chanted.

"No Justice, No Peace!"

At one point I cried. After taking a knee.

But this isn't about me, it is about us all.

To feel us united, all over the world.

There was a lot of blatant racism in my Dad's side of the family.

When I was 15, I punched him in the chest when he pushed me too far.

I am the end of this particular line of the family.

And I am proud to be able to say, "This stops with me."

It may only be the beginning, but it is a start.

This is living history.

Black Lives Matter.












On the way home, I counted 13 police vans in front of the Sous-Prefecture. 



We can march, educate, donate, sign and vote.

Every voice counts.

And each silence does too.

"The change begins within me, the change begins within you."


With much Love and Gratitude from Provence,

Heather


8 comments:

  1. Beautiful. Thank you for showing us your part/experience in these historic, world wide demonstrations. Simple and elegant; not about you, but the experience, awareness and change that is happening with this powerful movement.

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  2. I am glad to see that people all over the world are coming together to speak up for justice. It also saddens me that a number of people who I counted as good friends have become so focused on law and order and are missing the point entirely. this is a time which has called into question whether I can in fact remain friends with them, even though our friendships go back 30 or even 40 years. thank you for your thoughtful and beautifully written posts. Darby

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    1. Oh Darby, that is so painful that you have to ask such questions. And yes, I understand. Please know that I am sending love and strength your way. With much gratitude. xo

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  3. From Rebecca: "I have a family story to share with you. My father and his father were both Baptist ministers. My grandfather welcomed Black members into his church, baptizing them in the same full immersion baptismal pool as everyone else. He had crosses burnt on his yard because of it. My father was called as pastor to a Black Baptist Church in Newark, NJ during the Civil Rights riots in the 60's. So you'd think they would never be racist, right? My grandfather LOVED telling racist jokes, which always made me cringe, but as a child in a strict Baptist home, one did not ever correct your elders. A few months ago, while I was visiting my dad, he started to tell me one. I stopped him and told him he could not tell me that joke (which of course I had heard before) because it was racist and wrong. He stopped, and said, "oh, you're right. My dad told those jokes, and I guess I always thought it was ok" He was quiet for a very long time after that. He's 92. Some things take a life time to un-learn, and because his memory is only sharp when it comes to the past, and not when it comes to what happened yesterday, I fear this is something he will never un-learn. Like you, this stops with me. Thanks for all your links and information in the past few weeks. We all have a lot to learn, and un-learn."

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    1. This left me speechless. Thank you for your courage. There is still so much to understand. So much love to you.

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