Here are some things I observed.
Almost every single person there was white. Not all. The gregarious mother who chatted with us about how there were only four people on the sidewalk when she first got there with her kids was a woman of color. And one young Latina stood near the back. She didn't have a sign. She didn't have anyone with her. She did not put herself forward, which meant that all of the folks chatting and waving at the cars driving by did not see her. She stood still, arms at her side, with her bleach blond hair, her thick turquoise eye shadow, her dramatic fake lashes. I couldn't shake the fact that no one spoke to her.
Almost all of the cars that drove by honked and waved, gave us thumbs ups, or solidarity fists. Not all. Two people flipped us off. A huge red truck—possibly fueled by straight testosterone—turned left up Napa Street, idled in front of the crowd, and revved his engine, pouring thick black exhaust smoke onto the retirees in lawn chairs holding their signs of solidarity.
We arrived at Noon, and stood and waved for an hour. Rick and I stood together, cringing at the near misses unfolding in the intersection in front of us; protests are excellent fodder for distracted driving. We took turns holding our cardboard sign lettered with: RESIST FOR PRETTI, RESIST FOR GOOD.
At a few minutes to 1, people started peeling away. The young mom promised her restless daughter lunch at Burgers and Vine. We had all given up one hour to stand on a sidewalk and hold a sign. Just one hour to stand, because Alex Pretti and Renee Good will never stand again.
I sort of expected a bit more chatting amongst the crowd. That didn't really happen. People who knew each other talked to each other. I guess expected more people to say "Hi, I'm so and so, what's your name?" Maybe we've all forgotten how. Maybe that's another reason to stand on a sidewalk with other people for just one hour.
Eventually, we also drifted off. Rick walked towards home; I started to make my way to meet a friend for a previously planned walk. As I was leaving, I noticed that the young Latina was still there. Still by herself, and still no one talked to her. I stood near her for a little while, trying to think of something to say to engage her and make her feel like it mattered that she showed up. Eventually, I figured out a way in:
"Excuse me? Hi, I'm curious: We are kind of new to town, and I'm wondering if people gather here often like this?"
With a sweet smile and a kind face, she turned and said hesitantly, "I think they're here every...Friday?"
I actually knew this already. And I'm not really new to town. But I wanted to talk to her. I nodded and said: "Oh, OK, got it. And today, because of what happened yesterday?"
She nodded quietly.
"Have you been to these before? Is this about how many people usually come?" I said, trying to keep the conversation going.
With a shrug and again, that sweet smile, she responded: "This is my first time."
"Oh, that's great," I said. "It feels important to be here, doesn't it?"
She nodded.
And with that, I felt like maybe trying to keep the conversation going could get weird. So I just said: "Well, I hope to see you here next time too; have a good rest of your day." She smiled and said "you too," and I walked in the other direction.
Being there felt tiny in the face of what's happening in Minneapolis. We did our awkward part. We got flipped off and fumigated. Children got restless and hungry. And then we all went back to the rest of our lives.
I can't make sense of any of this, and I can't say we made a difference out there with our sign. But it was one small attempt to claim a little space for humanity and stand it in. Does that still matter these days? God, I hope so.
Another thing that happened this weekend? Trump hosted a bunch of billionaires at the White House to watch the Amazon-produced documentary about his immigrant wife. When we were both home from the protest, we canceled our Amazon Prime account.
No comments:
Post a Comment