I am a little embarrassed to admit that today’s march was my first march to participate in. Stein and I joined the front of the march at 5th and Cherry in Downtown, walked to the International District, and then back to the SPD Headquarters. People were chanting, “Black Lives Matter,” “What’s his name? George Floyd,” and “No peace, no justice.” As I called out the names of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and Ahmaud Arbery, I thought of their faces, their loved ones, their memories and aspirations. I thought of the deep pain of leaving life and loved ones behind that they must have felt as they were taking their last breath.
We only experienced about one hour of the march, but it was peaceful throughout that time.
There were many reasons for us not to go today. Kids, the possibility of violence, the possibility of arrest, the possibility of having to go to the hospital, the risk of being in a crowd where social distancing guidelines may not be followed, doubts about how “effective” marching is. All of this in the midst of a pandemic. But I was sick of doing nothing. I had made up plenty of excuses for my silence and inaction in the past. So what if I’m not a US citizen and can’t sign petitions or vote for officials? So what if I didn’t grow up here and my ancestors did not create White supremacist systems? It does not change the fact that my Black brothers and sisters are being threatened or killed on an almost daily basis in this country.
I must admit to benefiting from the racist structures of this society. Asians often are described as being “white adjacent,” being more accepted by the majority group and in the majority culture than Black and brown people. And I’m married to a white person, which gives me access to the benefits of white privilege. We hardly know anyone who has died even gotten sick from COVID-19 in our social circles. When I hear the statistics of how Black and brown populations have been disproportionately affected by the virus, I feel guilty of complaining about homeschooling. I feel guilty that I can choose to stay in my safe bubble, letting other people do my grocery shopping. I feel guilty that I can choose to keep an emotional distance when I hear the evening news. But I can’t let guilt freeze me into inaction.
I wholeheartedly support white people’s efforts and actions to face white privilege and dismantle racism. And I want to join in. At the same time, I feel that I am in a slightly different position because I am not white. To be honest, I don’t know exactly what that position is or how to navigate it, probably because I haven’t had many chances to discuss it with other people like me who feel like we occupy the “in-between” space. There have been many horrific incidents of violence against Asians in the U.S. during this pandemic. Once again, I am reminded of our other-ness as well as the racial tensions among different POC groups.
This makes me wonder, are there unique ways that I (and other non-Black POC groups ) can uplift, support, and fight with my Black sisters and brothers? How do I join in with the whole community in fighting racial injustice?
The first question is one I am still very much working through and don’t have an answer for yet, but I think I have at least the start of an answer for the second. On our way back to the car this afternoon, a group of police officers on their bikes passed us. I prayed as they passed that they would be agents of peace and justice in this city. I think praying is the first step and the vital ACTION that we need to be taking all throughout everything else that we do -- listening to and learning from people, educating ourselves, protesting injustice, demanding changes in legislature and culture, and much more. It must all be grounded in prayer.
Lord, help us to listen to your voice. Make our hearts break as yours does. Give us the wisdom and courage to do your will to make our world a better, safer place. Guide us through concrete actions. Equip each of us to be agents of peace and justice. Amen.
Sayuko Setvik