Scenes from a Protest
I kind of struggled with whether to write this at all. It’s the fear of screwing things up, saying the wrong thing, and/or making people mad. And the world certainly doesn’t need another white guy waxing about a Black Lives Matter protest. The whole point was for us to shut up and amplify the voices of others. But maybe these thoughts will help or challenge my fellow white people. Maybe not. It’s all vapor anyway. Here we go.
The first thing you must know is that you need to hear the stories. You and I cannot begin to understand, but their stories help. You need to hear of the deep wounds; not for your edification but because you need to know this is happening. You need to feel the heat from righteous anger. You need to hear the exhaustion. A child should not be so tired yet when you hear the stories you know why they are tired.
A child. That was one of the reasons why we felt drawn towards this protest; that my co-worker Jenny and I told our youth that we’d be there if they were there. This protest was organized by six high school girls: Jade Fuller, Nya Collins, Zee Thomas, Kennedy Green, Emma Rose Smith, and Mikayla Smith. Six young women dreamed this and it conjured 10,000 people to downtown Nashville. These young women led. They shared their hurt. They bared their souls. They told a crowd of thousands that this would be a peaceful protest and thousands followed their lead. These six want peace. They want justice. They don’t want to see one more death.
You need to hear them. You need to listen to the catch in their throat. You need to hear the spoken word performance from a young man in which he shares what it is like to grow up in this country as a black man. I wish I had his name but I could not hear it over a PA system that was meant for a much smaller crowd. His words would nearly rip your heart out just as it did mine. The only thing that kept it tethered to my chest was this young man’s beaming friend standing behind him full of pride. You need to hear that the world is vastly different for him than it is for you. Maybe you know that, but knowing and hearing are two different things. You need to hear these young leaders map out something better than what was handed to them.
I did not know what to expect when I came. I wanted to learn. I wanted to listen. I wanted to be a presence for my neighbors, my students, my church. I wanted to take a small first step. And even though we took many steps in scorching heat then pouring rain, it was all just one small step. It’s a beginning that needs followup.
There were signs. Black Lives Matter. Justice for George Floyd. Justice for Breonna Taylor. No Justice, No Peace. We chanted those words as we marched through city streets, past gridlocked traffic—some cheering the march on and others impatiently waiting for us to move by. Nearly everyone was wearing a mask. Social distancing is tough when you’re in a massive crowd moving down the street, but we’d at least try to take care of each other.
It was kind of awe-inspiring to be in that current of people. You look ahead and behind and it is just a sea of people. It’s kind of a miracle that a protest that size was peaceful. All credit to the organizers and to everyone involved—again, 10,000 people—for being committed to that. Even with that commitment, being in a crowd like that made me realize how fragile that peace can be. I understood how things could so easily go sideways. It would only take one protestor or one cop to topple the dominoes. The wrong word to the wrong person at the wrong time. Again, the whole day was kind of a miracle but one grounded in commitment and discipline.
We passed police in riot gear. We kneeled with arms aloft and chanted hands up, don’t shoot. It is all a weird mix of defiance and hope, rebellion and decency. Some signs and chants that people started were not safe for work, but nor was the violence that brought us there. We were all together very different people but united as this force pulsing through downtown. I don’t know how to do what I saw close to any sort of justice.
At War Memorial Auditorium we sat in the street for 8 minutes and 46 seconds; the time that George Floyd had a knee on his neck as he begged for breath. The names of Black women and men who lost their lives were read: George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, and the list went on. At one point a woman on the sidewalk near us begged people to listen to the names because she is sick and tired of black people dying.
While sitting there, I looked at the quote carved above War Memorial Auditorium. It reads: “America is privileged to spend her blood and her might for the principles that gave her birth and the happiness and the peace which she has treasured.” That quote is about those who have lost their lives in battle, but it lands differently when you are sitting in the street listening to the names of people who have lost their lives at the hands of a system stacked against them.
I thought about the spent blood of George, Breonna, Ahmaud, and countless others and sitting with that reality made me question anew the principles that gave birth to this country. It forced me to ask hard questions about whose happiness and whose peace this country is treasuring. We like to tout the proclamation of this nation’s Founders that all are created equal but you do not need a history degree to know that “all” was white, property-owning men. Everyone else has had to fight tooth and nail to simply be part of the conversation.
And I thought back to Breonna and George and farther back to Emmett Till and to so many more whose names have been lost to history. Was their blood shed to preserve the supposed happiness and peace of white America? And because there is no peace when there is no justice has that supposed prosperity of America just been a kingdom built on quicksand? The “great” that people seemingly want to get back to is an illusion or the willful turning of a blind eye to how bad it was/is for so many others. Has there been a secret war that has left so many dead and exposed the less pure principles that birthed this nation?
I feel kind of foolish writing all of this. It’s obvious. These thoughts are not new nor original nor eloquently stated. And I know that history and people are complicated. There are actions and intentions. There are individuals who will act in good faith at times and bad faith in others. There is goodness in this country, but to become a better nation for all people we’ve got to grapple with what we’ve done wrong. And listening to those names in front of that quote chilled me to the bone. You need to hear the stories and wrestle with the shadow side of history. You have to square yourself with a system that has long favored white individuals over persons of color.
One last thought about that quote that talks about the peace that America has treasured. It reminds me of Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount telling the crowd that “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” Where is our treasure if we’re okay with this system? If we wring our hands over looting (which to be sure there are some out there not associated with the movement doing some looting also) yet not dead people? Where is our heart?
About the time we stood up, the heavens opened up and we got doused with a late spring shower. I left my jacket in the car, but it was a welcome respite from the heat. And I immediately hear the words of the Church. Remember your baptism. Remember that you have been saved, are being saved, and will be saved. I need to be saved for the parts I’ve played in this system, when I haven’t loved my neighbor as myself. I need to repent and believe the gospel.
A few hours before the protest, I decided to go for a run in Bicentennial Park where the march was slated to begin. As I finished up, I noticed a couple of teenagers and their parents struggling with a tailgate tent. Having a fair amount of experience with how much of a pain these tents are, I asked if they needed help; promising I wouldn’t breathe on them since I don’t run with a mask.
They accepted and I found out that they were two of the young women who organized the event. They and their parents were so kind. And they were so normal. Not the kind of people that you would expect to lead 10,000 people in just a few hours. They could have been girls in my own youth group; all of which makes them even more remarkable. You forget how much good trouble is caused by regular people.
After helping them with the tent, I thanked them for their courage and heart. I told them that I wished that I had the conviction and bravery that they have when I was their age. I hope that I can have that kind of courage and heart even now.
