The Library Annex

After George Floyd’s murder, my wife and I gathered our two children for a “family meeting”. We rarely convene in this sort of official capacity but the kids already knew what we would discuss. They had overheard my wife tell me not to comment on the event since I had not watched the video. They heard the fear in her voice as she directed my focus away from the moral and ethical issues and towards the real threat our son will face; or rather already does face. They heard my sleep depravation after watching frustration spill into the streets. They heard our pride when watching the world’s reaction. They heard us say, “That’s my Minneapolis” when the peaceful protests persisted.

During this “family meeting”, I watched my son try and compute how prejudice and bigotry could be the reason for this death. After all, it was the police. Surely George Floyd deserved what happened. Everything has a logical string; an upright cause and effect. And, with horror, we watched him try and understand why the death of another black criminal mattered.

Say I failed. Judge me. Say I don’t have the stomach to show my children the truth. Say I disservice them by not holding their faces to this fire every day. I wouldn’t necessarily argue with you.

But I’m learning. I get that I don’t get it. But if I get a call to come identify the body of my son because his hands weren’t on ten and two, I will hurt; as anyone would. That I get. And that is what my son has been digesting since our family meeting. Not the ethics. Not the morality. Not the history. But his reality. He will come to understand the other pieces. But only if alive to do so.

I need to “get” more. I vented frustration at friends and family members who praise government wins from Governor Walz and attorney general Ellison. I said the government can’t change this. I imagined that it all stems from the hatred and illogical bigotry on the ground. I wanted to fight bigotry with reason. Yet this only brings anger and frustration; like fighting fire with a dry tree branch. It would only end up burning me.

What I failed to realize, and what this book has challenged me to consider, is how the economic powers of our society have sold discriminatory policies using racist ideas so the masses propagate their agenda and fuel their prosperity. Hatred is not the cause of this racist filth in which we wallow. Hatred and bigotry are the result of racist ideas which help us swallow the absurd and inhumane policies that discriminate against citizens of this country.

Kendi spends over 500 pages highlighting the thread of racist ideas from 17th century American history to President Obama’s campaign. He clearly defines his thesis in the introduction and proceeds to defend it using characters from different historical periods. I admit I cringed when he referenced WEB DuBois’ racist thinking; when he outlined President Lincoln’s racism; etc. For Kendi, racism doesn’t change with the skin color of those espousing it. Often times, they don’t see their own racism. It is not only something manifested through hatred. It is simply judging a person and passing sentence onto the group. This practice didn’t die with slavery or Obama.

I continue to ponder my role in combatting racism; how to instill this urgency in my children. And I say this: America promises an ideal. Perhaps the ideal cannot come to pass. But the arduous journey towards attaining the unattainable strengthens us; distinguishes us; forges our character and compels the world to follow. If America fails that promise to any of her citizens, then all her citizens are responsible to act. We may not share personal experiences, but we share a “personal responsibility” to each other to stand up to the powers that seek our exploitation. If one group is exploited then we all are. We are weaker divided. Without equality, we are all cheated out of prosperity. All the while those in power thrive as they watch us rip each other apart.

My children deserve better. Your children deserve better. I’m tired of fighting others on behalf of the powerful. I’m tired of arguing in their terms. I’m standing up.