| I have done a lot of writing over the course of my life. The act and art of writing is a gift, which is why I became a volunteer at The Literacy Center almost five years ago. My grandfather was illiterate; that great man could not read, nor could he write. When I was born, he struggled to pronounce my name: Sakénya, so he decided that he would call me “Kiki”, a lovely name for a small, dark girl. For many years, I was the youngest of his grandchildren and Grandpapa and I would spend a lot of time together. I would often sit in his lap when he watched a Cubs game or follow him around the kitchen as he made cornbread. When I was about 6 years old, I asked him if I could have a cup of coffee. He smiled and said that coffee would turn my hair gray. I did not believe him but then he said the reason his hair was gray was because he drank a lot of coffee, but my grandmother’s hair was black because she never drank coffee. Years later, I found out that my grandmother did, in fact, drink coffee but that she dyed her hair black for years!
I have many stories I can share about me and him but one I will never forget was the time I was playing with some neighborhood kids in the front lawn of my grandparent’s house. Grandpapa came to the front door of the porch and stood there silently which meant that it was time for me to come in the house. One of the kids looked at me and snarled, “Your granddaddy is white!”. The other kids started to laugh, and I found myself embarrassed and angry. I knew my granddad was biracial so that was no surprise but what was surprising was the notion that having a “white” grandfather was something worth ridiculing. In other words, I should be ashamed that his skin and my skin were not the same. That was one of the first times in my life that I became aware that the color of one’s skin was, to some, a justifiable reason to be hated. I remember glaring at the boy that was insistent on laughing at my grandfather and feeling a level of anger and frustration that cut through me like a blade. Almost 40 years later, that haunting feeling has found me again.
I have always considered myself to be a peaceful person and usually exercise peace through silence. I’ve never been prone to engaging in endless debates or frivolous arguments because the less people know about your thoughts and opinions, the less damage they can do, right? Wrong. While silence can be beautiful and healing, there are times where it can be deadly. As Audre Lorde observed, “your silence will not protect you”. Now is not the time for silence because what is happening in this country is indicative of a sickness that is older and more insidious than COVID-19. That sickness is hatred. People of color, queer folk, immigrants, and persons with disabilities have been relentlessly targeted by some of our nation’s leaders and the law enforcement system for hundreds of years. The pressure is enough to transform people like me into diamonds yet, to some, we are still considered worthless.
We have stood by, like my silent, but dignified, grandfather on the porch, while enduring rape and torture, having our land and privileges stripped from us, and the denial of fundamental human rights, such as access to education, housing, and medical care. This global pandemic, COVID-19, has shone the spotlight on the social injustices and inequities in this country while the public servants that have been elected to positions of power choose to look away because, let’s face it, they believe there is nothing to be gained by uplifting others when it feels so satisfying to suppress them. As a result, I have become righteously indignant while jammed between this rock and hard place; how much longer will I remain silent? How much longer will you remain silent? How much longer, white folk, will you remain frugal with your words, your actions, your commitment to DO something? Silence is a luxury we can no longer afford. Inaction in the face of injustice is not peacekeeping; it is complicity.
I implore you, learn to sit with your uncomfortableness the same way that I have lived with uncomfortableness for over 40 years. If you are confused about what is going on, that means that you don’t know enough about the history of systemic and institutional racism in this country; take the time to educate yourself. Please, do not ask me to recommend a book or a resource on how to be an anti-racist ally or condemn the activist who are looting, burning, marching, shouting, and demanding justice. Remember it was Martin Luther King who wrote from a Birmingham Jail, “I submit that an individual who breaks a law that his conscience tells him is unjust, and who willingly accepts the penalty of imprisonment in order to arouse the conscience of the community over its injustice, is in reality expressing the highest respect for law”. Refrain from inviting people of color to speak about their experiences for free; pay us for our time and experience because our knowledge is priceless. We are diamonds, remember? While we are all learning how to live with each other with tolerance and respect, we should be patient and kind but also, relentless in dismantling oppressive systems rooted in fear and oppression. If we can remain resilient and unified in our local efforts to dismantle systems of fear and oppression, there can be no more hate, only more love. We all have work to do. Now, let us get to it. |
