We talked about Viet Nam and those protests, the fact that it was young people who were marching and protesting and shouting down politicians. In my opinion, this got the attention of the leaders in the US and around the world.
I also encouraged him to look at the photos, the videos, and the broadcasts. Lay aside the looting and robbing and all, because, in my opinion, those are opportunists taking advantage of the situation. Though they may have legitimate unexpressed hurt, anger, and rage at the machinations of the day and of the long history of this country, still, violence is not the way to go.
If he looks at the photos and all, he'll see a lot of young people, young men and women and even children, and all races, Black, white, Latino, Asian, and on and on. He'll also notice that these people show up daily for lengthy periods of time. There are other demographics as well, in college, college graduates, work a day folks, and on and on. He'll see a lot of older folks, middle age and older, but especially notice the young men and women and children. These are not fly by night show up for a photo op like some are prone to do these days. They look like they are here to stay.
This is a wide-spread movement. I, personally am inspired by the young and old white people who are carrying signs like "Black Lives Matter." I am grieved when I read signs that say, "Am I Next?"
There are different ways of fighting for justice. Yes, march, protest, make signs, and all. Those things are desperately needed and will stay at the forefront of our consciousness. Speak up, write up, talk up these issues.
That's where I come in.
Several years ago, my extended family was sitting in a restaurant having lunch. One of my grandsons asked me, "Poppie, why are you working with Black farmers?" That question stunned me. He was only six or seven or so and was asking a profound question. So, I tried to explain it in words that he could grasp. How do you, though, talk about years of discrimination, land loss, loss of health, livelihood and all? I did the best that I could. My explanation was not very long. Then, he pulled out a piece of paper and wrote a short little poem addressed to Black farmers. He had gotten the drift. And he still gets the drift. Although he is now a grown man, he knows why his Poppie and his Mema do what they do. He registers excitement when he hears of our latest ventures. Yes, he gets it.
And that work goes on and on and on. The wheels of justice grind slowly, all too slowly, but still we work.
Then, this morning came another heart-moving moment. Somebody who is a friend of the family had taken photos of the march the other day in the city where we live. Four high school young women organized a march that numbered around 400 or more. But, there in the photo is a little white kid, walking alongside his dad who is pushing a stroller with the younger children. The little white kid has an intensity on his face. He must be chanting, I suspect. His sign? BLACK LIVES MATTER. Yes, that little guy is now growing up in a world in which he can know that Black Lives Matter.
So, I am deeply moved by this unique set of events. A conversation with a young man whom I hold dear, the remembrance of a conversation with a grandson several years ago in the restaurant, and, now, the photo of a little white kid holding the sign. That kid is one of my grandsons.
Yes, there is hope. Look into his face. Look into their faces.
Yes, there is hope.
This is a wide-spread movement. I, personally am inspired by the young and old white people who are carrying signs like "Black Lives Matter." I am grieved when I read signs that say, "Am I Next?"
There are different ways of fighting for justice. Yes, march, protest, make signs, and all. Those things are desperately needed and will stay at the forefront of our consciousness. Speak up, write up, talk up these issues.
That's where I come in.
Several years ago, my extended family was sitting in a restaurant having lunch. One of my grandsons asked me, "Poppie, why are you working with Black farmers?" That question stunned me. He was only six or seven or so and was asking a profound question. So, I tried to explain it in words that he could grasp. How do you, though, talk about years of discrimination, land loss, loss of health, livelihood and all? I did the best that I could. My explanation was not very long. Then, he pulled out a piece of paper and wrote a short little poem addressed to Black farmers. He had gotten the drift. And he still gets the drift. Although he is now a grown man, he knows why his Poppie and his Mema do what they do. He registers excitement when he hears of our latest ventures. Yes, he gets it.
Then, this morning came another heart-moving moment. Somebody who is a friend of the family had taken photos of the march the other day in the city where we live. Four high school young women organized a march that numbered around 400 or more. But, there in the photo is a little white kid, walking alongside his dad who is pushing a stroller with the younger children. The little white kid has an intensity on his face. He must be chanting, I suspect. His sign? BLACK LIVES MATTER. Yes, that little guy is now growing up in a world in which he can know that Black Lives Matter.
So, I am deeply moved by this unique set of events. A conversation with a young man whom I hold dear, the remembrance of a conversation with a grandson several years ago in the restaurant, and, now, the photo of a little white kid holding the sign. That kid is one of my grandsons.
Yes, there is hope. Look into his face. Look into their faces.
Yes, there is hope.
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