On Friday night, I dreamed I was in the midst of a 70s sitcom, something like Three's Company. One of the characters was in agony over the fact that his father fought in the Vietnam war and had killed people. There was another character who entered the scene who represented the lives lost. The aforementioned son was in tears, crying "I'm sorry" over and over. Soon everyone in the scene was taking turns saying, "I'm sorry." I joined in. "I'm sorry." As I began to awaken, my mind was immediately translating the dream to my shared guilt as a white person in America, the guilt I inherit from generations before me, the guilt from my own racist thoughts and conclusions. I am sorry. I am sorry.
In the aftermath of George Floyd's murder this week, the latest in a long line of black men and women who should still be on this earth, I've felt waves of defeatism - that nothing I do or say will solve anything, no amount of apologies, books I read, voices I listen to, will be tracked toward progress that we can see. It's the frustrating part of inner work. And then I am overcome with the conviction that my actions do matter. I can't stay silent. I can't stay home. Even if my black friends don't see what I'm doing, maybe my white friends will. Even if they don't, it still matters because black lives matter. And as long as I uncomfortably recognize parts of myself in people like Amy Cooper, the work will always need to be done.
Please consider matching my $50 donation to the Minnesota Freedom Fund, or to other local organizations working to end racial injustice (the Minnesota Freedom Fund pays bail bonds for those who can't afford it in an effort to end discriminatory jailing). Read Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates. Follow Rachel Cargle on Instagram. Keep going. I promise I will.
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