One Last Time
This will be my last post about politics for awhile. In my 20s, I wasn’t nearly as vocal about politics, racial injustice, gender inequality, etc. I mean yes, I joked with a dear friend about how I couldn’t believe GW Bush got elected because he’s kind of goofy, but that was about it. But then, well, a real estate mogul, turned reality TV star ran for President, and ‘won’and a whole slew of other mind-blowing events occurred.
As I have watched the past few months unfold, I’ve become increasingly aware of the divide in our country and the divide amongst myself and friends, acquaintances, former coworkers, classmates, etc. People that I thought were more progressive in their beliefs turned out not to be and others that I thought would be more conservative were more progressive than me. It’s been a surprising, interesting, frustrating, and often disheartening series of events.
When we first married, my husband would always tell me that my expectations for people were too high. That I expected and assumed that all people wanted the same things I did – equality, respect, and love for all people. I would get so upset with him because I never wanted to be viewed as naive. But I was. I assumed that people who worked with children of color and those from impoverished backgrounds actually understood the systematic racism that oppressed those students. That people I studied with believed that we all deserved equal rights. That people I laughed with and called a friend, understood that my struggle as a black female was real.
And it wasn’t just about the election. It was about Black Lives Matter, Colin Kapernick, Flint, Charleston, Orlando, San Bernadino, Syria, Planned Parenthood and so many other instances of hate and ignorance that was shown by passive-aggressive comments, social media posts, or worse, silence.
Here’s the thing. I don’t really care who you voted for or what type of organization you think Black Lives Matter is. But if you’re reading this, and you still believe that racism, sexism, homophobia, xenophobia, and classism don’t exist, aren’t real, aren’t hurting the future of our children – I can’t help you. And you can’t talk to me about hoping for the best. Because in order to have hope, you have to be able to see the problem, be prepared to really talk about it, and be prepared to fix it. I took my blinders off. Will you?
Until next time…