‘Say their name’: A tale of healing
I remember it like it was yesterday: June 3, 2020. Anger and frustration filled the streets of L.A. right in front of my eyes. The anger that stems from African Americans, including myself, having to continue explaining why our existence and lives still matter. Frustrations come from not being listened to and given proper justice when innocent voices and people are murdered, left and right, due to police violence.
“Say his name!” shouted the crowds of people who marched in solidarity and allyship for George Floyd, who was killed at the hands of the police. “Remember their name louder!” yelled the person in front of me with the megaphone. Such passion and anger ranged from their eyes as they yelled those words to get the crowd to repeat it back, to raise their voices to be heard finally, a release. These yells and screams being shouted in the air through masked faces as protested angrily yet also in the middle of a global pandemic.
June 3 was a hot and long day. Four days before the big protest for the Black Lives Matter protest, I was hopeless and felt helpless watching the streets of L.A. burn from the rage of anger after years of being turned down, murdered, and with no justice. It all took a mental toll on me watching people who are simply outraged and just demanded justice being tear-gassed arrested with excessive force from police officers angered me, it angered me not only people were being severely hurt for fighting out against the unjust, but because the people whose names are being shouted look like me, similar ages as me, and are a reflection of me.
This protest had a deeper meaning for me in that all of them have taken a toll on me being an African American woman, and it feels as soon as we make progress, we take a million steps backward. Not only to add the stresses of all the names that don’t even hit the media with the coverage they rightfully deserve.
During this time I felt hopeless, outraged, and saddened that once again, life was lost. It hurt seeing the pain in people, the cries coming from mothers’ eyes, as the streets where
Wanting to do more for the people protesting on the front lines but left with the feeling of being hopeless. There was so much out of my control to put an end to the burning streets of L.A. everything hurt seeing my people tear-gassed, burning eyes, the pain, the look of defeat, and to add more to everything that was going on in the streets of L.A., all of this was happening in the ..middle of a global pandemic.
People in the streets of L.A. were doing all they could to have their voices heard when it comes to demanding social justice and change while also trying to protect themselves from COVID by being double masked and holding signs of names and demands marching in the hot June sun. I wanted to do more to help out, I wanted to be out in the streets voicing what I believed in and stand for what’s right, but my mother had concerns about how the police were treating people by tear-gassing them, shooting them with rubber bullets and let alone my safety and health from contracting COVID-19.
With keeping that in mind and not having many resources or funds to do anything, I remember sitting wiping my tears watching people scream in pain from the gasses thinking, “there’s got to be something I can do; these people are in pain and need aid.” I then came up with the idea that I should start a mini fundraising campaign to bring awareness to the issues.
With it just being me, I reached out to all of my digital artists to see if they would be willing to collaborate with me to make digital flyers that I would be collecting funds to make care packages for protesters doing the hard work for social change. With this and the pilots being reshared throughout the internet, going virtual in seconds with 20k shares on Twitter and 70 shares on Instagram, I had overwhelmingly positive responses from people asking where they can help.
People overwhelming responded offering, anything they can do for e or help for the act I was doing. I remember shedding tears as I had to shut down the donations because I had gone over my goal — reaching over three thousand dollars towards the protest care kits.
Doing this act made me feel good because I was able to help out, and it was something that I did on my own and took me to new heights that I never thought I would be able to reach. Who would have thought that my tears from being upset about all that was going on would lead me to have my fundraiser? Who would have thought that the connections I made during that time would have led me to have lifelong relationships with some of the most extraordinary people in L.A. working every day in social justice work?
Some would say June 3 was chaotic, an act of violence, a riot, but for me, it was an act of bravery, an act of resilience from all that we continue to endure. Still, most importantly, history was made, and when our voices synced together that day and the people I’d helped with protest kits history was made, they say that there are three types of people during a protest or everything an act of social justice work and those people being, the ones on the actual front lines giving it everything that have to lead the way and making sure they are heard, the documenter te one who documents everything for historical aspects and lastly the healer, the healer plays an essential role because without the healer their wound be the balance between everything that goes on. The healer makes sure that everyone is okay so that they can continue the works on the lines, and I chose to be a healer because I wanted to help people, show love in a world that can be full of negativity by adding a little bit of kindness and healing.
