EA Origins: I Wasn’t Doing Enough…
For a long time, I felt guilty about not attending public protests - even for causes I cared deeply about. My best intentions often went out the window in the flurry of daily life. My schedule, my health, and - let’s face it - my ennui all combined to keep me from joining marches and events supporting social justice.
Then came November, 2016. Along with millions of other horrified Americans, I watched a proven racist, misogynist liar become President. Five months later, thousands of white people - mostly, but not all, men - formed the Unite the Right Rally in Charlottesville, VA. They marched through the streets carrying torches reminiscent of the KKK, wearing uniforms and using hand signals inspired by the Nazis, and shouting slogans borrowed from both. These hate-filled people took over an American city for two days and night.
They felt perfectly safe in doing so - and they were perfectly right to feel safe. After all, it’s not as if they were thousands of Black people shouting “Death to Whitey.” Or Jewish people promising “We WILL replace you!” Had that been the case, the marchers would have been greatly outnumbered by white Christians protesting against them. And the violence against the marchers would have been horrendous.
I have done anti-racism and social justice work all my life, though my activity grew less after I retired. But those aforementioned events made me realize in a more visceral way than ever before that the people in my society who are shat upon and spat upon are living it every single day. It’s not only the big, attention-grabbing events that cause damage: it’s the every day-ness of it; the need to be constantly on guard; the micro-aggressions which color every minute and sap the soul.
Likewise, it’s not the parades and rallies and street protests by the Left that make meaningful change. Those are important; make no mistake. When a huge number of people come together to say the same thing at the same time, there is a power and energy which cannot be over-estimated. But that energy quickly dissipates. And we all (or most of us) return to our regular un-shat upon, un-spat upon lives - and our ennui.
These thoughts coalesced into the uncomfortable knowledge that I wasn’t doing enough: I needed to be doing something every day to push for social change. People who live with minority status are put on the line every day. I needed to put myself on the line, too, albeit unlike them, I would be doing so willingly. However, as an obviously white woman in my 50s who looked at a glance like the demographic who elected a Russian proxy and marched through the streets threatening genocide, I needed to find a way to mitigate that first impression. And that’s when I decided to become a One-Woman Freedom March, every day.
Next, I asked myself two questions: what were my goals, and what could I do on a daily basis?
The first question was one of philosophy. What could I hope to accomplish this way? The answer was three-fold.
Making myself feel better. Because, let’s face it, everything I do is ultimately for myself. By taking daily action I could assuage some of my guilt over the unfair advantages I have as a middle-class white person. Focusing on racism would put my obvious whiteness to good use. And it would help level the playing field, because (paradoxically) it would erase some of my white privilege at the same time.
Making other people - people of color - feel safer and less alone. Am I racist? Hell, yeah. But I figured that making a very public, very visual anti-racist statement would at least let the potential targets of racism know they were not alone. I hoped they would figure they had at least three-fifths of any ally in me.
Making other white people more comfortable about exploring the history and daily effects of racism, and what they could do about it. I didn’t expect that the truly resistant would change their minds. But maybe those who were already open to the ideas…who were ready to do something but weren’t sure what…maybe those folks would.
The second question- what I could actually do - was a matter of logistics. I knew it wasn’t realistic to add something to my daily schedule; I needed to use what was already a part of my routine. So what did I do every day? I got dressed, I walked my dog, and I drove my car. So…
I made sure to wear a Black Lives Matter t-shirt or button wherever I went.
During the Covid years, I took to writing “Black Lives” on my facemask - that got noticed!
I put five inch high letters in the back window of my car: “Undo White Supremacy”
And I made signs* to carry on my daily dog walks
Now I was ready, willing and self-enabled to “make good trouble.”
Eight years have passed. I still carry signs everyday; they have been the catalyst for wonderful, intriguing conversations with all kinds of people of all ages. I’m known in my neighborhood as “The Sign Lady” and that pleases me greatly.
It is my humble hope that by sharing my journey you will be inspired to share your own as well. So…what are your reasons for performing social justice work, and how and where do you do it when you do it?
Oh and if you wanna go ahead and copy some of my signs for your own use (non-profit only, please), I would love it!
From the Soapbox,
Sandy
* Signs: Using 24”x18” make-your-own-yard-sign blanks, I cut letters from brightly colored shelf paper and stuck them on. That got stapled to a 4’ wooden pole, which rested in the cup-holder of my fanny pack. Voila! A sign that towered over my head, that I could stabilize with one hand without having to support its weight.
