I’m on my second cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll – not my usual morning routine.
I’m baking cheesecake for my youngest child’s 16th birthday.
I’m on news overload, and I can’t stop scrolling, scrolling, scrolling, looking for something true.
My oldest was arrested in downtown Detroit Tuesday night, held with 126 other protesters in what was described by the city as a socially-distanced arena basement, but which – according to those who were there – was crowded and sometimes brutal (way to support the community, Ilitch family and Little Caesars). My 22-year-old was handcuffed with zip ties. They were loaded onto a bus. They lost their backpack, glasses and keys in the shuffle.
Pause.
You probably care about this because I’m telling you a story about my white, Jewish child – the artist, the one who may have babysat for your kids. The one who wins writing prizes and is thriving at a top university.
But what about all the others? The ones whose parents can’t just say, “Go online and buy yourself another pair of glasses. I’ll pay for it?” The Black and brown folks who walk through life being profiled every day?
Did you know that the protesters were loaded onto crowded buses, then lined up side-by-side on the floor of Little Caesars Arena?
Can you say Covid risk?
Did you know that some of the protesters left custody bruised and bloodied?
Did you know that officers in riot gear called for the group to disperse, but also surrounded them on both sides? And then, when the crowd did not disperse, arrested 127 people?
Yes, protesters were out past the 8 pm curfew, but really? How were they supposed to get past the armored police officers? Run and hope for the best?
Say what you want about cops only doing their job, about law and order and the protection of property. We can have that discussion another time.
I am not telling you this so you will feel bad for my child. They are part of a group working with Michigan Liberation, serving as jail support, documenting what happens as people are taken into and released from custody, posting bail when necessary, offering rides home to those who need a lift, taking notes and photos outside city jails.
While they were not planning to get arrested Tuesday night, they are fully aware of the risks.
I am telling you this because it is easy to comfort ourselves with words: “Isn’t it too bad… Isn’t racism awful… I care, but really, what more can I do?”
I have repeated those words to myself for too long.
If you’ve been living with and fighting racism your entire life, ignore me on my soap box. But if you live like me and look like me, it’s time to step up.
Here’s what I am doing instead of wringing my hands:
- Joining a family march on Friday in my very white town, a march that I hope will encourage the white folks among us, in our comfortable enclave, to recognize and challenge our privilege. And then to do more.
- Reading How to be an Antiracist by Ibram X. Kendi. This book has been on my list for a year, sitting next to my bed for two months. I finally cracked it open.
- Donating to The Bail Project, not because young people like my kid are getting arrested this week, but because I’ve learned that cash bail is just another manifestation of our racist criminal justice system. You can learn more here.
- Listening to my children. They think my left-leaning liberalism is pretty weak. That’s their prerogative. I taught them to hate inequity, but I didn’t really do anything about it. They are taking action. The least I can do is pay attention.
These are changes I’m making within myself – working from the inside out – and ways I’m trying to support change in the world around me.
How about you?
Scroll through social media and you’ll find lots of books to read, funds to support, slogans to shout. You don’t need me to make you another list.
I’m a little jittery from all that coffee, queasy from the sugary pastry. The top of the cheesecake burned, and I had to scrape it off. I’m feeling off-kilter, unmoored.
Good.
Time to do something about the injustice I’ve tolerated for far too long.
Writing It Down 