How Black Lives Mattered to This White Boy
And how I gained a brother in the process
Chosen for further distribution.
A new friend
About five years ago, a man stepped into my life. Attractive, well-spoken, with a sense of humility and lack of bravado, which drew people to him, as it did me. For the sake of this writing, I will refer to him as RL.
Our friendship developed gingerly, without haste, and with mutual respect for each other’s past and possibly diverging beliefs. And over time, as I learned more, I found the great hurt this man suffered. The kind of pain that knows no medicine, that time won’t heal ― a hole in his soul, bottomless and dark, eating away and offering no hope for the soothing grace of solace. So all I could do was look on and listen.
Of course, I had heard of BLM and seen their activities portrayed on TV, with altering biases depending on the station. My opinion of them was influenced by the fact that I’m a white boy. As such, it didn’t touch or matter much to me. And why should it?
The plight of any group to which I do not belong is hard to identify with. It’s not my suffering, not my problem. And as far as I was concerned, I didn’t cause any of it either. I had no reference point, and it was easier to dismiss than to find a…
