We Still Live In Mississippi c.1960

Dear White Friends and Family:

I recently watched a screening of “Eyes on the Prize: Mississippi, Is This America?” with two black friends. I specifically say black because it’s important to this story. Eyes on the Prize is a documentary series about the civil rights movement of the 1960s. This episode was all about the freedom summer in 1964, when three young organizers were killed in Mississippi trying to register voters. It was heavy stuff for a Wednesday night after a long day of work, but the reality of our world hit me again when the screening ended.

After the episode, we were asked to break into small groups to debrief and unpack what we just watched. My two black friends and I were seated somewhat by ourselves, and a white woman seated by herself in front of us in the theater turned around to join us. The conversation was pleasant enough, and we discussed the ways things have changed but in so many other ways haven’t changed from the 1960s. But as we talked more, I saw how tired my two friends looked as this earnest and well meaning woman described how much she didn’t know and was troubled by how sheltered her own young experiences were. When we all reconvened as an audience, one of the audience members said, “in many ways we all still live in Mississippi.” and I knew in many ways how true that was.

The group dialogue continued and my two black friends were quiet, which felt so rare to me. They were just exhausted at having to discuss this any more, as if racism was something new to our world, that the world has treated them so shitty.

I tell this story because my Facebook wall and social media has again erupted with people condemning the protests happening all around the country, that black people “shouldn’t riot, and would achieve things using peaceful means.” Well let me tell you, black people have been doing peaceful things, like posting Facebook statuses, making hashtags, and kneeling during the national anthem yet, somehow black bodies are still being shot and murdered.

I think — no I KNOW — my black friends are tired, exhausted, and beaten. They have almost nothing left, so at this point I am not surprised they are “rioting” as so many have called it. We are human and when we are stripped bare to nothing ,we have nothing left to bare but our rawest selves.

So I’m not sorry you are upset that there are black people in North Carolina bringing your attention to the fact that black people are being shot and killed. I’m not sorry my newsfeed and your newsfeed has videos of a man being shot and killed in between pictures of your friends babies and videos of the latest girls night out. That discomfort you feel for 3 seconds before your scroll down to the next cat video is nothing compared to what my black friends live and have lived every day of their lives.

To my black friends and family: I can only imagine how you feel and what a day is like in your shoes right now, but know that I am here with you, there are others here with you, and while there are loud voices yelling at you, many of us stand with you.

That is what allyship means to me. Seeing my friends exhausted and knowing I can do something about it. So I will use my voice and this damn thing called the internet to keep attention to the fact that we all still live in 1960 Mississippi, and it’s 2016 so we all still have a lot of work to do.

Author’s Note: This was originally written on September 21, 2016 for another collection.

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