On May 25th a black man named George Floyd was murdered by Minneapolis police. There was one officer who knelt, with his full body weight, on Mr. Floyd’s neck as he lay on the concrete-covered ground, face down. This one officer did the physical act, but there were three additional “peace” officers present who did nothing to stop the assaulting officer. Additionally, there were citizens present, witnessing this incident who shouted, captured the moments to their phones, yet not ONE stepped in to physically stop this murder. There was not ONE human present willing to put their physical safety, their life, on the line for Mr. Floyd. Mr. Floyd died on that concrete calling out to his dead mother for help.

I’m 62 years old. One of my clearest memories is the assassination of John F. Kennedy. I have seen racism in action for my whole life. The farthest back I can remember is seeing riots on the news in Newark, NJ and Detroit, MI. I think I was eight or nine. I remember the protests in Chicago at the 1968 convention there. That year, I remember hearing the Martin Luther King was killed, and Robert Kennedy calling for peaceful protest, and committing to change. And then I watched as Robert Kennedy’s bleeding head was cradled in that hotel kitchen as his life drained onto the floor.

When I was in high school we lived in the suburbs outside of Detroit. In 1975, my church youth group hosted vacation bible school for kids who lived in the inner city. To spread the word, we were taken down to the neighborhoods we were targeting, let out of the church van and in pairs, walked the streets knocking on doors and giving out flyers with information on the summer camp. We were sending two school buses down to the area to pick up the kids, taking them to a large park to teach, sing and goof around. We were providing lunch and taking them all to the lake for some water fun and then loading them back on the buses to take them home.

That first Sunday afternoon when we were taken down to canvas the area, we watched out the windows to see another world. We were all privileged white kids, sons and daughters of auto company executives and engineers, successful business owners and VP’s of other corporations. What we saw as we stepped out of the bus was a neighborhood of burned out houses and a few occupied homes. There were no areas for the kids to play, no kids out in the street and yet there was evidence of children living there. Almost ten years had passed since the Detroit riots, the burning of the city and surrounding residential streets, and still they were gutted. We didn’t understand how this could be.

Now I understand that the city offered no assistance in recovering the area and those who still lived there didn’t have the means to either repair or to leave. Now I understand this was part of the systematic negligence meant to tear down any pride left to the residents. I suspect that eventually the city claimed eminent domain on those properties to build more highways, putting families on the streets or to force them into subsidized housing.

This weekend, the riots broke out nationwide again, in protest of Mr. Floyd’s death, police brutality against people of color, particularly black men. Businesses were burned and looted. When the riots began in Minneapolis, the individual who lives in the White House posted to his favorite social media outlet, “When the looting starts, the shooting starts”; further proof, as if we needed more, that he and his chosen lemmings care more for property, business and money than lives. I cannot help but wait for him to say, “Let them die, and decrease the surplus population”. Charles Dickens knew this type of person. They are not new to our world by any means. They are now just more visible, the light of day shining on them via social media and a government which encourages them.

I have been so angry before that I broke my foot stamping it on the ground, trying to make myself heard. And that was about me, and my children. When I see the anger in the streets now, I cannot identify completely because I have not had to continually stamp my foot, scream out of frustration and still be ignored. I know some frustration and anger, but not every day of my life. I have not feared for my children being out “in the wrong place” and possibly being harassed because of their color. I have prayed that my kids get home safe, but it was never as real as it is, on a daily basis, for our black citizens.

I’ve seen this all before. The poor are still poor, the poorest of the poor are still black and brown people. It seems we (privileged whites) get our knickers all in a self-righteous knot and march with our brothers and sisters of color to show solidarity and in a few days the fervor lags on our side of the fence and we’re all back in our cocoons. Until the next black man/woman is murdered and then we do it all again. We cry, gnash our teeth and tear at our sackcloth and shake our fists at the sky. We’re great at theater. When will we be great at taking that show on the road? When will we take that anger and actually DO something productive with it? We must give until it hurts or it’s all for nothing. And I don’t mean just financial support although that is needed as well. I mean find something we can actually do; start a reading group to learn how to be anti-racist, start a meet-up with people who don’t look like us, but ARE us. Canvas in an under-represented neighborhood, maybe your own neighborhood, to remind people to register to vote. Offer to drive people to vote. Show up to help get the word out for the candidates who think like us; let’s flip the Senate and hang on to the House. Vote in every upcoming election to be heard. Volunteer for a candidate, make calls, send text messages, knock on doors. See, this is OUR country; they work for US. For ALL of US. See, it doesn’t matter what we look like, we are all US. We must take action. And we all must do it now. @votesaveamerica @blacklivesmatter @equityforall @crookedmedia @adoptastate