On empathy, social media and Black Lives Matter
Author’s note: I originally intended to submit this piece to Femsplain’s previous prompt about authenticity within social media. But given everything that happened in early July, I needed some time to pull away from the news and so the draft was never submitted. I started the draft the day the news broke that Alton Sterling was killed. I had no idea that less than 24-hours later, another black man’s life would be brutally cut short, caught on video, and consequently subjecting yet another excruciating blow to the black community. Still hours later, more violence erupted in Dallas resulting in the death of 7 police officers, and it became nearly impossible to be online and function without feeling overwhelmed by grief and rage. Below is a culmination of my thoughts on social media authenticity as it pertains to the Black Lives Matter movement and addressing the recent, (but not at all novel) violence the black community has been subjected to by way of police brutality.
Many regular users of various social media platforms understand that overall, some level of inauthenticity exists in social media. Some would argue even that social media is wrought with inauthenticity, and posts are largely staged by way of filters, video editing and omission of the less favorable aspects of one’s life. We have the ability to pretty up how we’re perceived to portray an image that likely does not include our struggles in life. I also believe most of us understand there is an underlying level of censorship we should remain cognizant of and adhere to. Some thoughts and opinions we should just keep to ourselves. Some conversations and opinions are better off had IRL rather than online.
But with the implosion of violence, racial tensions, and the divide caused by the impending presidential election, that sense of censorship and the awareness of possible consequences can arise from saying what you really want to say has almost completely disappeared. At least this is the case for MY platforms. And it’s become increasingly difficult not to voice your opinion on these matters. Sometimes, as I have found in the last two weeks, social media is the only outlet you have to keep you from screaming.
Two weeks ago, the world literally stood witness to the murder of 37-year-old Alton Sterling at the hands of two Baton Rouge police officers, as his shooting was caught on video and immediately went viral. I went to work in a quiet rage that morning. I’m sure it was visible in my expression. I certainly was not feigning a smile or extending my usual “good mornings.” I was heartbroken, and at the same time absolutely fed up.
The hashtags that started popping up on my timelines (#RIPAltonSterling, #BlackLivesMatter etc.) annoyed me more than anything. This was not the time for a filter. As I approached my office I found myself genuinely wanting to throw something or punch a wall — anything to release the anger that only increased as news spread online that yet another life had been cruelly cut short by an officer who took an oath to protect and serve the people. But as I’ve seen time and time again when going to work after seeing or reading about the deaths of folks like Sandra Bland and Eric Garner, life offline seems to proceed as normal as though nothing heinous has occurred. And if I’m to keep my job, well then I’d better follow suit right?
And then less than 24-hours later, 32-year-old Philando Castile was murdered by police, which was also caught on video. I woke up and wrote the only thing I could think to write: “I’M FUCKING TIRED OF THIS SHIT.”
Waking up to this news is always traumatizing.
Let me say that again: waking up and seeing yet another human being was murdered by police, another black or brown face — like mine, like my families, like much of my friends, my colleagues and likely, my future children — is numbingly traumatizing. Feeling what has become an old, tired explosion of rage, fear, sadness and a sense of powerlessness because we’ve been here so many times now, and wondering if and when it will ever end is traumatizing.
It’s heartbreaking to watch any human being lose their life in such an inhumane and disgusting way. It’s even harder when you see it repeatedly, which reveals the truth of an underlying pattern rather than an isolated case. It is harder still when it sinks in that it could be you that’s next, or it could be someone you love next. And if these people who are just like you have so easily lost their lives for doing mundane, everyday things like walking home from the store, selling CDs, or insisting on answers when they were approached by police, who will you call then?
Understandably so, the question of how much things have really changed in this country since the abolishment of slavery and the accomplishments made through the Civil Rights Movement up until our present day has been a constant topic throughout communities of color. Here is where I’ve seen the difference: I thought social media and my inner circle would be the only places I could release my feelings on July 5th and 6th. I thought that yet again, I’d have to hold back tears and avoid Facebook like the plague, at least until 5 o’clock anyway.
Surprisingly, I was wrong. A coworker-turned-friend of mine, who is white, made it a point to check in on me. She asked how I was doing in the midst of all this. And then, despite my very best efforts (because I HATE crying in public), tears burst from my eyes and I could no longer contain what had been building up in me all morning. And after listening to my thoughts on how unfair it all was, on how terrifying and enraging it feels to live in this society when these things occur….she cried too. She told me she didn’t understand what it felt like to feel targeted or relate to these atrocities on a personal level, but that she was pained to see my own pain. We hugged. We cried some more, and then took a coffee break together and sat outside. The next day, she brought me a card that read “you are amazing and loved” and my eyes filled with different kind of tears. Those seemingly minute gestures and moments of empathy from someone who could choose to remain silent on these issues, like many others have in the past, revived whatever feelings of hope I’d lost for this country.
I offer this personal story to shed light on some of my emotional aftermath of these killings as a path toward (hopefully) understanding and empathy for those who still may not understand the point of the Black Lives Matter movement. As I’m sure many readers have now seen, there are a plethora of explanations circling the internet dismantling the idea that this movement promotes one life over another. In reality, the movement fights the idea of standing by and idly allowing black lives to continue to be massacred, and furthermore allowing justice to go unserved for those responsible for the lives lost.
What my coworker did was an act of kindness and empathy that we should all strive to offer in these instances, regardless of our personal connections to the group that is directly affected. When the Orlando shooting occurred, I made it a point to reach out to my LGBTQ family and friends online and off. As a cisgender straight female, I have never felt what it feels like to be targeted and dehumanized because of my sexuality — but I reached out and empathized anyway. I was horrified to learn that another coworker, who is a gay male, hadn’t heard from his family or his friends in the days following the massacre, and that we were the first and only people to even ask how he was doing. Watching him cry that day gave me a level of understanding I hadn’t previously had and a higher level of empathy. Now, a month later, as I’m being given the same gift, I have yet another level of understanding and a sense of hope.
In being able to express my own rage, grief, and thoughts online and off with other people of color as well as white people, I am extremely lucky. I know that many people see the news and stifle these same feelings or hide them with smiles throughout their work day. But that should not be the case. Empathy should be the norm, not the exception.
If you are reading this and don’t know how you can help because you’re not black, or maybe the conversation feels overwhelming or uncomfortable, I urge you to fight past that. In times like these, we must remember: we may not be connected in our religions, our skin color, our sexual identities, or our political beliefs. But we are always connected in our humanity. If we lose our ability to validate and mourn over the unjust loss of human life, then we really will see a day where an All Lives Matter movement will be necessary. Our collective ability to stand up for justice and care for one another in the face of tragedy in real life and online is not something we should filter, edit, or censor. It’s not something we should opt to log out of.
