IN RESPONSE TO THE COUP At Capitol Hill, BLM CREATED A LIST OF DEMANDSAnd you should co-sign! It's crucial that we let our lawmakers know how outraged and upset we are by their lack of action following the chaos at the United States Capitol building on Wednesday January 6, 2021. We must also make it clear how dismayed and shocked we all were to witness the lack of action and presence law enforcement took at the time the Capitol was stormed by armed and angry white supremacists. Or as President Joe Biden stated, "... the mob of thugs..." It's not enough that Steven Sund, former Capitol Police Chief, resigned on Thursday January 7 following the attack on the U.S. Capitol. It's not enough that Twitter permanently suspended former President Donald Trump's personal twitter account on Friday January 8 following the riots he incited in his supporters. It's not enough that only thirteen people have been charged in Federal court (and approximately 40 charged in the Superior Court) for crimes committed at the Capitol building when there were at least a couple thousand people present and hundreds of them illegally entered the U.S. Capitol. All the while, Walter Wallace Jr. was brutally shot on October 26, 2020 in front of his own mother because police officers were more afraid of his blackness than they were willing to help a man suffering through a mental health crisis. We must put pressure on those whom we have elected to serve us, hear us, and protect us to make the decisions that suit EVERY American, not just white people. If you believe in equality, and I mean truly believe in it, then use the voice you have to speak up and say something! Do not be passive. Do not be blind. And, most importantly, do not pass on the opportunity to make change happen because you assume someone else will do it for you. What happened on Wednesday was a direct attack on Black Americans. It was a direct attack on Muslim Americans. It was a direct attack on Latinx Americans. It was a direct attack on Asian Americans. It was a direct attack on LGBTQIA+ Americans. It was a direct attack on Native Americans. It was a direct attack on Jewish Americans. And it was a direct attack on American women. If we learned anything from the events that took place on January 6, 2021, it's that you are only safe from police force and the law if you are a white supremacist. The Mexican children who were deliberately kept from their parents for weeks on end whilst being locked in jail-like cages at the US-Mexico border were not so lucky. The 226 Black Americans shot and killed by police officers in 2020 were not so lucky, and neither were their families. The Muslim Americans who are banned from flying because they are not complying with "white culture" are not so lucky. The Native Americans whose land is being stolen from them still whilst being belittled, ignored, and not acknowledged for their importance in American culture and what they and their ancestors have created for us to all exist today are not and were not so lucky. So all I have left to say at this point is that we all need to be better and do better. And to make it easier, you can start right here by clicking the button below. But beyond that, the rest is up to you. You must do the research. You must do the reading. You must do the watching and the listening and the learning. Take action, take accountability, and make a change. To read the list and sign your name, please click the button below.
Edited on January 20, 2021
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Dear white people, Racial inequality has been an issue in America for a disturbing amount of time, specifically four centuries, and as much as some of us would like to believe that the abolishment of slavery freed all black Americans from the trauma they endured by the hands of white people, there's no escaping the truth. Slavery may have ended, but the deep, psychological fear and harm done to slaves hundreds of years ago has been passed down in black families from generation to generation. Given recent events involving black Americans and police officers in our country, many people across the world have become privy to the severity of racial injustice and abuse that enslaves the lives of all black Americans. And in some ways, this pandemic has been a blessing in disguise, because it has granted many Americans the time to fight for an issue that has been in the works for centuries. However, it is frustrating and disheartening to see just how many people have woken up to the reality of injustice done to black Americans simply because they were sitting at home with nothing better to do than finally notice the not-so-rare crime committed to an innocent person because of the color of his skin. In no way should the efforts of these white people be minimized as they are now starting to take steps to learn how to be better and unlearn their biased behavior, thoughts and opinions that have been passed on to them. However, I’d be remiss if I didn’t say how disappointed and confused I am at the people who have decided that now they want to care, and now they want to fight for equality and justice as if racism began the moment George Floyd was murdered by Derek Chauvin on May 25 of this year. I feel angry. I feel stupid. I feel irritated. But mostly, I feel ashamed. And I know, as a white person, that what I feel is nothing compared to how black people feel right now. And I know, as a white person, that my frustrations that have recently surfaced about racial inequality are not important until I am actively using them to make a change, because as a white person, I haven't suffered my whole life from discrimination based solely on the color of my skin. I feel embarrassed for myself and others who have taken a back seat to these issues, knowing full well that they have existed for centuries, and have decided now is the time to speak up just because everyone else is. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I’m writing this letter in light of recent events, and that if they had never happened, this letter wouldn’t exist. But that is exactly why I am writing this. I have contributed to the problem through my silence, and I don’t want to be complacent any longer. Having conversations over the years with my family and friends isn’t good enough, and I want to be better. As a white person, I am taking responsibility for my role in systemic racism. We all have to accept the fact that our silence and lack of willingness to learn about and acknowledge black culture has only added to the oppression of black people in America. "There comes a time when silence is betrayal." -Martin Luther King, Jr. I cannot understand how some white Americans may not have realized just how big of a problem this is in our country until now. I don’t care if you never watch the news or check social media or go on the internet. I don’t care if you have only ever lived in a white bubble, surrounded by white people and white neighborhoods, white schools and white walls. Those aren’t excuses for your ignorance – they can’t be, because not seeing the problem isn’t due to a lack of information fed to you. It is a direct effect of you actively choosing to turn a blind eye to grave injustices that are constantly impacting the lives of your fellow Americans and fellow human beings. We don’t get to just decide that now we should be concerned about racial inequality because something terrible has happened (again), and it seems “trendy” to post a black square on our Instagrams in solidarity. We don’t get to choose when racism is or is not a systemic problem in our country, because as white people, we have the privilege to walk away and exist in a world in which racism never touches us. But guess what? Black people can’t just stop being black. They can’t peel off their skin every time they get in their car to drive somewhere or walk into a store or even do something as menial as walk down the street. It is crucial that we fight alongside our black brothers and sisters one hundred percent of the time. No matter what. With all of that being said, as a white American, I am privileged. I am allowed a life in which I am treated with more respect, decency, and promise than those who in every aspect of their lives are my equal, but are not treated as such due to the color of their skin. White privilege is a tough pill for many white Americans to swallow, and the term, unfortunately, is widely misunderstood by those who need to understand it the most. But in order to do so, all biases need to be set aside, all guilt needs to be stored away, and all urges to defend white people need to be stifled. White privilege is not about how white people are bad or how white people don’t have struggles and hardships or even about how white people are higher up in the hierarchy of the racial totem pole, even though it has been made clear throughout America’s history that that is and was believed to be true by many Americans alive and passed. White privilege acknowledges the fact that white people get to live in a world that is more so catered to their needs, wants, opportunities, and desires because they have white skin. As a white person, I am able to walk into a store and find an entire wall full of shampoos made specifically for my hair type. I don’t ever worry about getting pulled over while driving my car, even when I’m speeding down the highway. I have never once felt paranoid when walking into a store out of fear of being watched, and I have certainly never had to make sure my hands were always visible so that no one thinks I am going to steal something. When I was a child, my parents never taught me what to do if I were to ever be approached by a police officer, because if I, as a white woman in America, were to ever be approached by a cop in my life, the chances of that cop arresting me or harming me because of the color of my skin are zero. White privilege is not about how white people live better lives than everyone else around them because they are white. It is a term that exists to explain to white people how privileged we are to live in a world where we are not unfairly judged, attacked, feared, assaulted, arrested, abused, wrongly convicted and murdered simply because of the color of our skin. Every life should be important and valuable. Every life should be precious and protected, and every life should be equally significant. But they’re not – not all of them. Mine is, because I am white. And that right there, is white privilege, and it is just as much a part of the systemic racism in this country as actual racism is. Our white ancestors chose hundreds of years ago to come to this country, but the ancestors of black Americans did not. They were captured like animals and ripped from their homes and their land. They were packed like sardines on disease ridden ships that took a treacherous journey across an ocean, a journey in which some of them didn’t even survive. Eventually, they arrived in a place where they were then auctioned off based on their physical strength or capability to bear children or ability to work the land or serve in a household. They were sold to white people who used them to profit off the very land we walk on every day. And all the while they had no freedom. They were stripped of their faith, religion, name, and history. As white people, we need to acknowledge what happened hundreds of years ago in order to fully understand the problems this country faces today. We need to learn about the events that took place in between slavery and George Floyd. We need to know about the people who fought and the people who died for racial equality. And we need to do our part to add our names to that list. It’s not enough to say, “I have black friends, therefore I am not a racist," because your black friends don’t exist as proof that you are not a racist. In fact, you having black friends doesn't prove anything about who you are as a person. You need to practice being antiracist regardless of who your friends are and who you know, and you can’t just be passively okay with yourself and your role in this movement simply because you treat everyone equally. Or at least because you think you do, because everyone is not treated equally. And most importantly, do not expect a pat on the back or a gold star for doing the work you and we should have been doing all along. No praise is needed for simply doing the right thing. "In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends." -Martin Luther King, Jr. Antiracism is a practice. It’s an effort that you have to make every day to actively choose to be a better person. You’re going to mess up, you’re going to make mistakes, and you’re going to say and do the wrong thing. But that’s just part of being human, and sometimes that is what it takes to be a good one. You can’t grow to be better until you’ve done something to grow from, and it’s what you do with the opportunity to learn that proves what kind of human you are. I know I’ve unintentionally said racist things before. How could I not? I’m human. We have all done it, regardless of the color of our skin. But that doesn’t make me, or you, or any of us a bad person. And I know that I have learned from my mistakes and won’t make the same ones again. I also know, however, that I will continue to make mistakes and say the wrong thing. All I can do is try my best one hundred percent of the time and know that with that, I will fuck up, because I cannot be perfect one hundred percent of the time. "You must never be fearful about what you are doing when it is right." -Rosa Parks I had to take time over the past month or so to process everything that is happening in the world right now. Not only are we dealing with a pandemic, but we are now faced with a civil rights movement that has rapidly gained [long overdue] recognition and acknowledgement. I’ve spent countless hours listening, reading, watching, and learning to better understand racism, the Black Lives Matter movement, white privilege, and much more. I’ve been silent on social media throughout all of this because I didn’t know what to say or how to say what I was feeling. I’m also not self-centered enough in thinking that the world cares if I post something online, and I never felt the need to publicly prove my allyship with the movement. However, I don’t want to be silent, and once I was able to figure out what I wanted and needed to say, I took the time (and hours) to do so. I have also always wanted to be genuine in everything I do, but especially with a matter such as this one, and that is why I didn’t participate in posting a black square on my Instagram. I understand the intention behind it, but at the time, it felt a bit trendy to me. It felt like a minuscule step to take in proving one’s solidarity with black people and the Black Lives Matter movement. Again, I didn’t personally feel like posting a black square on my Instagram felt genuine to me and who I am, so I didn’t do it. To say black lives matter is not to take away from the significance of other human’s lives, it is to say that black people’s lives matter too. When the Boston Marathon bombing took place on April 15, 2013, and the hashtag, “bostonstrong” developed, citizens of Philadelphia weren’t fighting back saying, “what about Philly? Don’t we matter too?” And if they did, they’d be rightfully chastised. Does every human life matter? Of course. But for too long, this country has made it clear that white lives are protected and seemingly more important than everyone else’s, and that is unacceptable. We need change. We need reform. And we need to do everything in our power to fight for equality for all humans, no matter their skin color, gender, sexuality, religion, or disabilities. Don’t be color blind. Don’t take pride in your carelessness. Acknowledge the differences amongst us. Recognize how the color of your skin impacts your life differently from someone else’s. Be willing to learn. And be ready to listen. Black Lives Matter. Period.
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