and she realized all that color blindness was a blade that stabbed again and again.
I stopped on the exit ramp. Emergency lights on. I never once thought about the dangers...
I stopped on the exit ramp. Emergency lights on. I never once thought about the dangers if my skin were dark. Or if I were a young man in a hoodie doing the same damn thing. That that would totally change the equation. I jump out and photograph and jump back into my white car. Into my white privilege.
I remember swirling a skirt just so. I feel it in my body...
I remember swirling a skirt just so. I feel it in my body. That time when that was a movement full of freedom. As a child. And I find myself recognizing I have not made that movement in my body. When was the last time? I am filled with an old lady's nostalgia. These embodied memories.
I think about a friend who has had to teach her dark skinned children what to do in a car when stopped by the police. Where to put their hands. How to make eye contact. What movements to make. Don't put your hood up. No hoodies walking home. Embodied memories required to keep them safe. I have not had to teach this to my children.
The candle was still lit. Police Station. Portland, Maine.
The candle was still lit. Police Station. Portland, Maine.
Resmaa Menakem on the embodied experience of race. So grateful to encounter his words...
Resmaa Menakem on the embodied experience of race. So grateful to encounter his words. He had me when he asks about diversity. What are we building diversity from. And that question was worth agonizing over and an answer worth owning.
https://onbeing.org/programs/resmaa-menakem-notice-the-rage-notice-the-silence/
Monument Square. Portland, Maine.
A beautiful day in the neighborhood. If I had had a baby pool...
Dear Anonymous,
A beautiful day in the neighborhood. If I had had a baby pool we may have all invited one another to roll up our pants and stick our feet in. And I would have loved that.
Another man living rough out here mentions that the BLM protest on Commercial Street last night was the most moving thing he had ever witnessed. Silent, he said.
'It was amazing....' as approximately 2000 people layed themselves down on this street we stand on.
'Amazing...' he says, gently shaking his head and walking his bicycle away.
Peony planet... and a message from Maine-Wabanki REACH.
Peony planet... and a message from Maine-Wabanki REACH.
https://d3n8a8pro7vhmx.cloudfront.net/mainewabanakireach/mailings/1120/attachments/original/Black_Lives_Matter_FINAL__6.4.20-w_logo.pdf
Full text of message from Maine-Wabanaki REACH:
“Black Lives Matter. We are Maine-Wabanaki REACH. We are a collaboration of Native and non-Native people. We condemn police brutality, state sanctioned violence, murder, and the dehumanization of Black people. We recognize that this crisis did not start with police violence, and that police violence is a tool of maintaining white supremacy. We recognize this is a moment of accountability for REACH and that we must do better. It is not enough to take for granted that, of course, a Wabanaki organization is pro-Black, anti-racist, antiwhite supremacy. We need to be vocal, deliberate, and intentional about all those things - in what we say and what we do. By not being vocal, deliberate, and intentional, we allow the killing of Black people with impunity and we are complicit. We acknowledge that Black and Tribal communities are not entirely distinct - many Tribal people are Black and many Black people are Indigenous. We know that Black people and Indigenous people have been impacted in different ways by the same forces of white supremacy and colonization. As Indigenous people, we must stand with our Black relatives and fight for their liberation. We acknowledge that white supremacy exists through strategies of oppression of Black and Indigenous people that benefits White people, particularly those of European descent. We know it is not enough to be passively non-racist, we need to be actively anti-racist, intentionally anti-white supremacy and pro-Black. As White people, we must acknowledge and repair the harms we have done and continue to do/allow to happen to Black people by the colonization of this country, recognize the lasting impact of these harms, and create a more just future through commitments and actions grounded in love, compassion, and generosity. We truly believe there can be no peace without justice, and we follow the lead of Black people, organizations, and communities in this journey of truth, healing, and change. We take responsibility for our own education and we figure out the best ways to act in solidarity with Black people. We act from a lens of decolonization, of undoing the ways in which we have been indoctrinated to devalue Black people and accept their systemic dehumanization. We support the Black Lives Matter movement and organization, we urge you to do the same. Listen to and support Black organizations with donations. Support Black businesses. Believe Black people. Care for each other. Black Lives Matter.”
Maine has quite a history with the KKK and not all in the conveniently distant past...
Maine has quite a history with the KKK and not all in the conveniently distant past. I am not comparing Maine's history with other states, other places. And let me be clear, I think we have to own our history so we can move forward. To examine it. To examine our relationship to race. To ask how this may impact people of color and as urgently ask how this in any way shapes us, shapes me as a white person. To begin to understand how this lives in our lives, in our culture today. I think we need to own our attempt at genocide of indigenous people HERE. To own our history of white supremacy HERE no matter how removed we may feel from white supremacy. So, that's why I post this. Maybe a few others, like me, unfamiliar with this state's history could be informed.
https://maineanencyclopedia.com/ku-klux-klan/
Outside Portland Police Station. Post Protest.
Outside the Portland Maine Police Station there was a sidewalk filled with protest signs. Not trash...
Outside the Portland Maine Police Station there was a sidewalk filled with protest signs. Not trash. Intentionally arranged. Signs that read: Black Lives Matter. Silence = Violence. There were signs from allies. Signs of frustration. Signs of anger. Signs of condolences and grief.
Around the corner lying on the sidewalk are two slightly wobbly looking, somewhat tattered and torn origami paper cranes next to a wilted lilac blossom. They appear wounded. I was wrong. They were perfect.
'IS MY SON NEXT?' The garden outside Portland Police Station. Fiercely tragic and condemnable, there has always been strange fruit in this land.
'IS MY SON NEXT?'
The garden outside Portland Police Station. Fiercely tragic and condemnable, there has always been strange fruit in this land.
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Strange_Fruit_(Billie_Holiday).ogg
Reporting after another night of protest from Portland Police Station. Portland, Maine.
Reporting after another night of protest from Portland Police Station. Portland, Maine.
He stands waiting. Cold. Hungry. Struggling. A pair of pants are clutched to his chest (thank you Dear Anonymous)...
Dear Anonymous,
He stands waiting. Cold. Hungry. Struggling. A pair of pants are clutched to his chest (thank you Dear Anonymous). He comments on the protests and broken windows of storefronts. He has nothing, he says, but what I see. His voice barely audible.
I am thinking about this phrase WE ARE ONE. And I think yes, yes, we are one. As long as this WE includes the staggering 'drunk' on the corner who has just vomited on my shoes, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand black with grime. And the young kid in active addiction behind my back desperately trying to steal my wallet or run off with a friends' backpack. As long as it includes the ragged and drawn woman selling her body because that's the condition for her survival. As long as it includes her pimp. And her children. And those that may decry her behavior. We are one as long as it includes that politician that turns my stomach or yours, whose voice comes on the radio and we slam the radio off. As long as it includes people who praise him or her. Yes, as long as it includes that 'idiot' on the highway who cuts me or you off, or gives us the finger for our latest transgression per them. As long as it includes me having the word 'idiot' even flash across my mind. Yes as long as this includes those that will mock mask wearers. As long as it includes the mask wearers. Yes as long as this includes that exasperated man infuriated about getting his coffee order wrong. And that barista just trying to make ends meet struggling with two young children at home without childcare. If it includes her critics. As long as it includes that cop who intentionally kneeled on a mans neck for 9 minutes, killing him. As long as it includes that man who is now dead and as long as it includes his entire community. And the people who are angry about that. On both sides.
We are one. But I sit with those words a bit. If we are one, I don't think we get to select what makes up ONE.
Next to the Police Station in Portland Maine at 5 AM the candles are still lit...
Next to the Police Station in Portland Maine at 5 AM the candles are still lit. There is no one here except for news teams. A wee street memorial for grief. Below it posters are scattered. Black Lives Matter. RIP George Floyd. Say Their Names. Silence = Violence. It's 5 AM and the candles remain lit.
There were flowers laying amidst the signs. Bouquets of roses, tulips, lilacs. They were limp. Some were trampled...
There were flowers laying amidst the signs. Bouquets of roses, tulips, lilacs. They were limp. Some were trampled. I think of those that thought to bring flowers. And of those that no longer can. Of the candles I see lined up here and there. Of names written out, George Floyd the most prevalent amongst them. But there are many names I can't even remember or recall, all dead. They are not on the tip of my tongue and have been lost down a congested sewerage like newsfeed. And how miserable is this? Thank you to those that wrote those names. Who removed silence.
Portland Police Station, Middle Street Portland Maine.
Portland Police Station, Middle Street Portland Maine.
I know him from the streets. He stops in front of the police station, the site of a protest last night...
I know him from the streets. He stops in front of the police station, the site of a protest last night. The area is full of signs and makeshift memorials to George Floyd and others. He stops at the base of the steps and looks up at me, tugging at his hat which is something he does, and states, 'There's nothing funny anymore. Nothin'.'
A police officer approaches the steps, says good morning and the man repeats his comment. The officer nods his head politely responding to the comment. So do I. But in that split second we were together in a tiny, fragile moment of civility.
The officer enters the building. The man walks around the corner.
Outside Portland Police Station. All is quiet at the moment. The sun has just risen...
Outside Portland Police Station. All is quiet at the moment. The sun has just risen. There is a bit of trash on the sidewalk. An overflowing trash can. A ripped open package of water bottles near the steps. A news team just finishing taping a segment across the street. And RIP GEORGE FLOYD spray painted on the brick wall of the station.
They wanted to be photographed. But I don't have direct permission to reveal their identities. They were unable to attend the protests yesterday. The feeling, and it is feeling based only on a few sentences of communication, that they wanted to be part of this moment. Wanted to be seen. A certain pride in making this stand, perhaps? An urgency to speak up? A mix of deep distress and relief, like an exasperated unspoken 'Finally...'.
Speculation on my behalf?
I leave their faces blank. Not to rob them of their identity but maybe as a space for us to place ourselves. A space to place ourselves in if we have not already tried on the cloak of our injustices. Our uninvestigated racism. I leave the space. White. Open. Making a stand.
Strip away the privilege. The entitlement.
There is no where to go back to. We are all from away excepting the Indigenous community that has survived our genocide. Yes, genocide. Only here to go from. I wonder and implore, how will we be?
I thought when I was 10 and struck in the chest by the grief of Martin Luther King, Jr.'s assassination that we'd get somewhere in my short lifespan toward holding the truth of our racism.
I thought when I was 10 and struck in the chest by the grief of Martin Luther King, Jr.'s assassination that we'd get somewhere in my short lifespan toward holding the truth of our racism.
Blood red. Like his. And hers. And theirs. Spilled Native blood supports the land I stand on. Slave blood too. But that makes it sound like it's only in the past. And it is not.
Blood red. Like his. And hers. And theirs. Spilled Native blood supports the land I stand on. Slave blood too. But that makes it sound like it's only in the past. And it is not.
Beyond capacity for one more WTF
Beyond capacity for one more WTF