The Coronacation Diaries, Episode 97

What I Know Now

Photo by Zoe VandeWater on Unsplash

Being an activist is not what I imagined. I had imaged allyship. I had imagined that I would go, I would listen, I would walk in some marches, I would make some phone calls. I would be part of something bigger than myself.

But what I learned was that I needed to shut up. I needed to listen. I learned that I would make horrible, awkward mistakes, centering my own voice in a fight that wasn't about me. I learned that my good intentions can still cause harm. I learned that defending my good intentions really wasn't necessary and definitely wasn't valued. I learned that I needed to shut up and listen. I learned that accomplices were needed. Allies were all well and good, but accomplices, people willing to get dirty in the fight, were what was truly needed at the front line.

I'm not even on the front line. I'm not there in person. I'm not canvassing, making phone calls, sitting in. I'm not protesting; I'm not putting my life on the line for a revolution. There was a rally today, but I didn't go. I had too much on my plate. I held the worth of other things in my life above the worth of this fight. Instead, I stayed very comfortably at home, in my safe space, in my pretty little neighborhood.

But I also know there are things I can do, even when I don't show up to the physical fight. What I can do is use my voice, and my writing. That's what I have. That's what I'm good at. That's how I can be an accomplice, even if I'm not physically on the front line.

As I attempted to become an accomplice, I envisioned what it might be like.

I had envisioned that I would have difficult conversations. There would be angry exchanges on Facebook. There would be mandates from administration to tone it down. There would be accusations of an agenda.

There might even some tense moments during actual protests when I got a little bit nervous, a little bit unsettled. I've experienced police in riot gear. It is terrifying. Maybe I might end up there again someday.

There would be some imposter syndrome. I would feel like don't belong here, like maybe I'm just acting. Maybe this isn't really me, this is just who I wish I was. People might see through my act.

There would be some angry emails from parents because I was indoctrinating their children.

None of this is new. All of this is what I was already used to. These things that I envisioned, I knew I could take, no matter how uncomfortable they were. This fight is worth it.

What I hadn't imagined is that I would be ghosted from groups I belonged to and valued. I would be ghosted from many of my colleagues. I hadn't imagined that they would vocally, vociferously defend a racist white man over the needs and safety of our students. I hadn't imagined that.

I hadn't imagined that I would be talked over so many times by well-meaning white women who wanted to insist that their knowledge was more valid than the lived experiences of People of Color.

I hadn't imagined the latent racism that existed in so many white men, men who would try to hush me, belittle me, tell me to calm down, try to quote Morgan Freeman at me out of context.

And I am still doing so very little. I am not out throwing bricks. I am not out talking to our politicians. I am not out at that rally. I am just pushing back in little ways, on social media, in conversations, at my job, in my freelance work. I wear a Black Lives Matter t-shirt to the store. I dare you to "all lives matter" back at me.

This work is hard, in ways I hadn't imagined.

I was prepared to ask myself hard questions.

I was prepared to grapple with my own privilege, with my own biases, with my own racism. I was even prepared to face and admit the mistakes I made along the way.

I wasn't prepared to deal with the emotional and physical exhaustion of fighting day after day after day. I was so very naive.

I wasn't prepared for how truly empowered the white man is, and how truly self-important the white woman is.

This fight isn't even about me. Even in this blog post, I am centering my experience, my voice, in this fight. But this blog is about me, and this fight comes at a price I had not anticipated.

I have so much work to do. We all do.

If we want to be part of something bigger than ourselves, if we want to truly provoke change, then we have to take the risks head-on. It won't be easy. It never was. We just weren't really trying that hard before now.