Six weeks ago in Minneapolis, a white police officer killed George Floyd, an unarmed black man, after pinning him down at his neck and refusing to let up when Floyd pleaded for breath and ultimately stopped responding after a few minutes. Video recordings of the incident spread on news outlets and social media, which sparked immediate, massive outrage and demonstrations from local and international communities calling for the officer (and his colleagues involved) to be convicted of murder and for ends to racial injustice and law enforcement’s brutality against black people.
I was overcome by sadness after watching the video of the innocent Floyd be first targeted for suspicious activity and then cruelly abused by someone who is meant to serve and protect people. I had certainly heard of the numerous instances of black men and women dying senselessly at the hands of police, but I regret to say that I had not thought much of the incidents then—certainly not from considering them anything less than tragedies, but rather due to a mindset that naively believed these events were partially accidental or that this problem had no solution. But, upon witnessing this malice explicitly and purposefully manifest in the form of Floyd’s murder, I suddenly felt tremendous sorrow about the perpetual fear of police that has plagued black communities for years and for not contributing before to help stop this mindless persecution and racist hatred.
It has been difficult to shed this perspective of indifference and ignorance that I, like many white and other privileged people, have held for most of my life. In the past, I generally had not engaged much with political discussion or action, mostly out of a lack of intelligence or interest (stemming from my lack of academic aptitude with history, current events, and social sciences). I didn’t necessarily think politics was unimportant, but I didn’t see the personal need to gain a greater understanding of the topic, as I didn’t acknowledge that I could possibly have any influence with the government and lawmaking. But being able to disengage from civic issues is an absolute freedom that many, including myself, take for granted; as a financially-sound, non-black person in America, I live without experiencing many of the basic struggles that other citizens endure. I certainly believe that is the humanistic duty of the powerful to empower the powerless, and a large part of that duty falls on us privileged citizens (especially under the poor political leadership we have currently).
As I have come to learn over the years—and as many have promptly acknowledged since Floyd’s death—there are multitudes of steps we as citizens can do to improve our governing bodies and the laws and values our society lives by: reaching out to officials and lawmakers, donating to advocacy groups and organizations, and most importantly, voting in all elections, local and national, to put the right individuals in charge. This time around, I have tried to be more active in supporting the solution, through calling elected officials and donating to organizations and paying attention to the circulating discussions about how policies and systemic powers need to change in order for these tragedies to cease.
It remains difficult to keep up the momentum to fight, for reasons already mentioned: uncomfortable discussions, not knowing what to say or how to speak up, or believing that grassroots efforts are futile. Sometimes, I find solace in my resolve to contribute to society in other ways, like through my ideas about fashion or my environmentally-conscious behaviors. But this is still a very privileged standpoint: there are communities literally dying at the hands of abusive, overpowered officials, and the least many of us can do is to help save lives.