The Path of Resistance

I enter the wrist of this raised fist, the Black Lives Matter labyrinth. I travel along the path up into the hand, wind through the thumb, and meander through fingers. I then zigzag downward through the palm and exit the wrist where I began. As I stand and gaze upon the labyrinth, I ponder the power of a symbol to unite the oppressed and their allies in a common cause. This symbol of resistance against systemic racism, inequity, and racial violence moves me in unanticipated ways. I gather my emotions and slowly breathe.

“Hey, Chocolate!” a white girl shouts to a black boy across the classroom. As a third grader, I sense that this is wrong and yell, “That’s racist!” Time stands still for a moment, long enough to cement the memory in my psyche forever. This experience as a child was a defining moment in the formation of my sense of justice.

Fast forward 46 years as I participate in a 4th of July Black Lives Matter protest with my adult daughter. While still in the midst of a pandemic, hundreds of people have gathered, lacking social distance, but donning protective masks. They line sidewalks and fill the main street, blocking the flow of traffic. Young black organizers lead the crowd in chants, Black Lives Matter!, No Justice, No Peace!, and call out the names of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor, recent black victims of police brutality.

The experience to me feels suddenly momentous, like witnessing history unfold. I feel a strange mix of hope, power, and unease. Then everyone kneels together, one knee to the ground, and raises their fist in solidarity and resistance. I am gripped by emotion I cannot explain, holding back tears as I kneel unsteadily on the concrete sidewalk. I hold my fist aloft, a salute to all that is good, whole, and just.

After a few minutes, we rise and begin walking together, signs in hand, young and old, a few parents pushing strollers, and a couple folks in wheelchairs. The crowd is a mix of white people and people of color, the majority appearing to be members of Generation Z.

People driving cars and trucks try to pass through the mass of protesters. Some shout in anger. Others honk their horns in support. Some, in their disapproval, are reckless and endanger people as they accelerate their vehicles. Some protesters narrowly escape harm, and a nervous mother pushing a stroller rushes toward the sidewalk.

I walk with my daughter in the “safe zone” near the edge of the street, but I feel anything but safe. As a white person, I do not experience the concerns or fears that a black person has as they face discrimination or violence because of their race. However, in the moment, I feel like the potential target for an act of terror.

In protest, we push the boundaries of the status quo and “push the buttons” of those who are enraged by our solidarity, resistance, and vision for change.

I stand with Black Lives Matter in the fight to abolish systemic racism and to create racial equity.

For all that is and all that can be,