I've not been sleeping well for a few weeks. Last night was another such night. The sleep aides aren't really working. When they do work, I wake up the next morning groggy and irritable.
Today I awoke itching for a fight. You know, that underlying feeling of discontent when you just hope that someone will say something really stupid on Facebook, and then you will be justified eviscerating them intellectually. And if you can publicly shame then in the process, even better. That's the kind of mood I woke up in.
I had left my sign from earlier in the week in my backpack so I pulled it out: No turning back. This group was marching towards my home, both literally and figuratively.
So I partook in my morning coffee ritual and looked at the morning news. I try daily to watch a little bit of CNN, MSNBC, and Fox. Yes, all three. I find all of them have glaring biases anymore, and it gives me a good idea of what people are being fed and from which silo they choose to feed--especially when I see them posting polarizing opinions on social media.
After a few minutes of hearing more about Trump than I care to hear in a whole day--both pro and con--I turned it off and got about my day. Having not worked for well over three months, establishing some normal daily routine is essential to keeping my psycho-emotional wellbeing intact.
My Friday ritual for a couple of months has been to volunteer delivering meals to New Yorkers who can't get food on their own. I have developed a little community with my Friday volunteers. Most of us lost our jobs during the pandemic. So we share a bit of a trauma-bond. We also are starting to get to know each other better. I look forward to seeing these faces every Friday, including the people who peer behind their doors retrieving the bags of food I leave at their threshold.
In times of pandemic and civil unrest, it's good to know your neighbors and even count some of them as friends. We really are all in this together, whether we feel it or not.
After I had dropped off my last bag and descended from a three-story walk-up, I was shvitzing from the heavy air. I turned onto Minetta Lane from MacDougal. It was then that I heard the familiar chants: No justice, no peace! Know justice, know peace!
I scurried up the block and joined with the march. It was a smaller one than the ones I've seen from my balcony or actually participated with in-person on the street. Perhaps only about fifty people, we were black, brown, white and probably a few other shades in between. Parents were marching with their kids in tow on scooters. Older adults were pushing their bicycles decorated with rainbow streamers and signs calling for police reform.
That's because the home of my heart has always beat to the rhythm of justice. At the age of fifteen, I was serving in one of the poorest slums of Port-au-Prince, when a Haitian man read my mail. He told me I was a prophet and to always use my voice. It was an inflection moment in my life that I've never forgotten.
About ten years ago, a minister visited my home church. She called me out of the congregation and told me that when she thinks of me she thinks of the Fourth Beatitude, "Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied." She told me I was called to lead a life of justice, to speak out for the poor and oppressed. And as my brother recently reminded me, what are we called to if anything but to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly?
So how could I not march? How could I not let my voice be heard? How could I not join the throngs of those crying out for justice? For it is goodness and mercy that follow us when our hearts bend towards justice.
This particular protest today was not as somber as some of the others. We chanted but we also danced. We celebrated all that Juneteenth meant and means today. We hoped for the realization of emancipation--not just in our hearts--but also emancipation that carries with it actionable policies and equal justice under the law, not just for a privileged, white few.
As I neared the end of my portion of the march, I stepped out of the street onto the sidewalk to wipe the sweat from my brow. At that moment, I heard a gruff voice to my left growl, "Mother-f*cker, get out of here with your f*cking bullsh*t."
My head jerked in his direction, and suddenly, this wave of compassion flooded my soul, emerging from I-know-not-where: Sir, bless you. God bless you. My voice was so tender in that moment, even I didn't recognize it. I was surprised by this overwhelming sense of grace.
HIs big, burly white frame buckled a little. He backed down and went quiet. My mind immediately went to the words of Dr. King, "Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."
In that moment I felt this profound sense of compassion for man who was cursing us from the sidelines, taunting us from the cheap seats. It's as if the eyes of my heart were opened, and I could see the condition of his soul. I didn't want to curse him in return. He's already living a life full of curses. He didn't need mine. He needed to know we can live from a place of blessing instead of cursing. Maybe I needed to know that too.
Now I recognize that there are many people who oppose these protests. I recognize that there are a many good-hearted, sincere, Christian people who even oppose those of us crying out that black lives matter. They find this too political or too extreme or too radical. They discredit the whole movement because agitators spew hate or rioters loot in the streets. Perhaps in discrediting, these naysayers feel more justified about their personal inaction or just don't want to be roused from their seat of comfort.
But all I can tell you is that today, I woke up itching for a fight. And after I went out and let my voice be heard, after I proclaimed sight to the blind, liberty to the captives, justice to the oppressed, my heart was softened. My heart was broken and in the best sort of ways. Not just for the systemic racism against black and brown lives, but also for those white souls bound up with prejudice, fear, and hate. I no longer needed to tangle with foes on Facebook. A deeper work of transformation had been accomplished in my heart.
A few people have asked me, should I go out and protest? I can't answer that question for you. I can only tell you to listen to the still, small voice within you, pointing you in the direction you should go. Then do your portion, and have faith that good will follow.
You may be changed for the good in the process, and in so doing, change the world.
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