Black Lives Matter? All Lives Matter? What's the "right" thing to say?
I was raised in California. Sacramento to be exact. We weren't exactly in the best neighborhood but my mom worked hard to get me what I needed. She was a single mom and she used government assistance as a tool to help her keep her head above water.
Because of the neighborhood we lived in I was friends with people from ALL walks of life and all ethnicity. We had Asian people, white people, black people, European people, middle class, retired, poor, the drug houses, the fun houses, and the houses that you never visited but the kids always came to your house.
My mom was an elementary school teacher so our house was the fun house on the block! Kids from all over the neighborhood came to hang out. There was no prejudice in my house, there was no racism in my house. It was probably in the streets right outside my house but I didn't see, I didn't know about it and I wasn't raised to be a part of it.
The church I grew up in, Warehouse Christian Ministries, was a non-denominational, people loving church. I remember one part of our sidewalk being filled with huge Harleys because we had this motorcycle gang, tattoos and leather and all, that would attend our church. As a kid I thought the spiky purple hair was just cool but as I got older I realized how out of the norm this really was. I didn't truly grasped that worshiping God with white people, Mexican people, black people, leather clad people, suit wearing people and homeless people just wasn't what ALL Christians did.
Like I said earlier, racism was happening and I am sure it was happening closer than I knew. However, my upbringing surrounded me in a melting pot of diversity where all lives matter. Even the black ones.
My rude awakening came when I was 25 years old. I moved from California to South Carolina. Not just any place South Carolina but to tiny town South Carolina. I moved to help take care of my paternal grandmother. It was like stepping back in time. I was not completely ignorant. I had been to school. I had read history books. I knew what black people had been through. What they had escaped from and what they had fought hard to be free from. And I was familiar with that part of the country's history. I just didn't know that they were still fighting LIKE THAT.
White people were calling black people racist names. They were talking down to them. They were treating them badly. They were treating them as if black lives were worth less than white lives. I had never been so appalled and shocked in my life. I had also never been so ashamed in my life.
I was ashamed because I am white. Because white people represent white people. I was ashamed because these people claimed to be Christians and I am a Christian. People who claim to be Christians make reputations for all Christians. I was ashamed because these people, these white Christian people were my family. And my family was treating black people in a way that made me ashamed to call them family.
I really didn't know where to go from there. When I brought it up to them they shrugged it off. I didn't know what to do or who to talk to. They acted as if it was normal. But this wasn't normal. This was racism. All I could do was pray and seek God and constantly act the opposite of these people. I never let the racism change me negatively or my love for my family. But it did change my respect for them and it did change the way I viewed racism. I learned racism didn't have to be big. It could be subtle and it was all ugly.
From my experiences in South Carolina to this day I make it a point to smile and be kind to all people I meet. But especially black people. Maybe this sounds cliche to you. BUT I DON'T CARE. There were so many black people that were hard workers in tiny town South Carolina. And I have no idea if they were appreciated for their work by these white people or if they ever felt loved or glad they had been born. But black lives matter. And I wanted them to know that.
Every chance I got I thanked them for their hard work. Every time Ms Michelle cooked for my mamateen I was in the kitchen learning the recipes. Man, she was the kindest lady! She was a real person not just a hired help. Her life matters. Every time Earl the gardener came I would take him cold water to drink. His life matters. The little boy who was sitting alone at the ropes course last week watching his cousins climb. I asked him if he was too scared to climb and he must have thought why is this old white lady talking to me! But he said yes and I talked to him for 10 mins until his family came back and then they looked at me crazy LOL But you know why I didn't just leave him alone and sit at a different table with the other white people? Because his life matters!
My point is not that I am doing it right because for every opportunity I did get right I have probably missed a dozen. My point is that life is hard for all people but for reasons beyond their control it is harder for black people. And there is nothing wrong with recognizing that. There is nothing wrong with supporting BLACK LIVES MATTER.
Jesus asks me to be His hands and feet. Not anyone else's. And I know that Jesus loves ALL people. I know that He created ALL LIVES TO MATTER.
So Until Black Lives Matter, All Lives Simply Can't.
Comments