This Mother’s Day, Sit Down and Weep

What I hadn’t done for racial justice.

“Love takes off the masks we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within. I use the word “love” here not merely in the personal sense but as a state of being or a state of grace — not in the sense of being made happy but in the tough and universal sense of quest and daring and growth.” James Baldwin, The Fire Next Time (digital art, S. Stribling 2019)

I went to bed the other night unsettled. I had just read my friend author and activist Tamara Lucas Copeland’s post entitled “White People: Step It Up.” It is a response to the killing of Ahmaud Arbery and in it she envisions a million-person March for Black Lives on the Washington Mall — led by white allies. She imagines our signs: “I am marching for Ahmaud Arbery” “I march for Trayvon Martin” “I march for the thousands of black men and women imprisoned who simply can’t pay bail to get out” “I march for quality grocery stores in black and brown neighborhoods” “I march for the black people who white leaders don’t listen to.” She asked if we could see it too? I felt guilty. I wasn’t sure I could see that happening — and even more so, clearly we hadn’t done so yet and I felt guilty over the limitations of my sense of urgency as an ally.

As a white person and the long-term leader of an organization which offers housing, shelter and supportive services to women experiencing homelessness most of whom are African-American, I think and talk about issues of race, justice, leadership, and white-responsibility a lot. I you asked me how comfortable I am in talking about race I’d probably give you an average of 4 out of 5 on the comfort side.