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Michelle's Musings

Write to Relieve

2020 is a year unlike any other. My stress level has constantly risen as I take in devastating headlines that play across our computer monitors, TV screens, smart phones, tablets, and on and on and on. It's enough to make you throw everything out the window—Oh my! Even after turning off my digital information banks, my worry about the future of our democracy compels me to turn something back on for a brief update, which quickly turns into an extended one. Then I'm back into the cycle of ingesting (with indigestion) more dire news.

 

I recently found that writing helped defuse my angst about what is occurring outside my four walls when I was compelled to change the theme of my blog posts in response to the video of George Floyd's death. I started writing personal essays about my experiences navigating daily life as a woman of color. I also confronted the fact that much of my sentiments about those experiences is consciously and subconsciously suppressed so as not to make uncomfortable those around me who prefer to avoid acknowledging the existence of racism. The essays have been pouring out—I can't write them fast enough! Although I had planned to start a memoir soon, a collection of these snapshots of the larger project may end up replacing it.

 

If you find yourself overcome with negative emotions about the current political, financial, and public health crises, try writing about their impact on you even if you don't intend to publish the material. We must do what we can to preserve our sanities during this difficult time and, as writers, we have a precious opportunity to relieve tension through our creativity. Although a large portion of those who read about my truth will find it entirely different from their own, grappling with it has been downright liberating for me. Fortunately, I don't foresee having writers' block for the rest of this year, or the next.

 

And, consider this: Though we are a nation spawned from an ambitious yet horrific and storied beginning, the fact that we were resourceful enough to carry off this great American experiment and build a brand-new world, and resilient enough to rebuild after 9/11, surely means we can weather yet another storm!

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Melanin Blues

As I considered my next blog topic, I found it difficult to think about anything other than our current political, cultural, and public health crises. More than 115,000 Americans are confirmed to have lost their lives to the Covid-19 pandemic. We witnessed, in broad daylight, life slowly drain from an unarmed, handcuffed African American man who was murdered beneath the knee of a White police officer while begging for his life and deceased mother. Our government saw fit to send armed active duty military forces to intimidate Americans peacefully exercising their First Amendment right. How can we not be affected?

 

The families of George P. Floyd and many others have suffered immeasurable grief at the killing of their loved ones by those entrusted to protect and serve the American people. In the wake of this latest tragedy, widespread peaceful protests against police brutality have taken place against a backdrop of mourning and civil unrest as portrayed day after day on social media and across our TV screens. Amid the devastation of the Covid-19 pandemic and the lack of a coherent national strategy to address this health crisis, the perfect storm was brewing.

 

As a woman of color who navigates day in, day out the landscape of institutionalized racism, I know firsthand what it feels like to get up in the morning and step out of my home, sporting a coat of melanin beneath my clothes. Whether I'm escorted out of a Cal Berkeley fraternity house by two White males who advised that Blacks weren't allowed (to the surprise of my fellow White freshwomen) or attempting to board a plane with other first class passengers and being questioned by an airline employee about the validity of my presence in that section (unlike the White woman ahead of me), I don't exhale until I step back inside my home.

 

Around the second day of protests, however, I noticed something strikingly different from other protests against racism and police brutality: the presence of multiracial crowds pushing for the same cause. A week ago, I saw a White woman standing on a busy street corner of a predominantly White neighborhood, waving a large sign that read, "#BLM Black Lives Matter." The horns of several passing cars blared in support. Email notices from businesses and corporations that usually tout merchandise discounts or privacy policy updates have focused, instead, on what can be done to improve the lives of African Americans who've suffered institutionalized racism for as long as we've had institutions. Additionally, some of my writers organizations have asked members to document their sentiments in light of massive and unrelenting protests against injustice, whether for posterity, venting, or both.

 

It's unfortunate that it took another brutal killing to catalyze a movement yearning for enduring resolutions to injustices that stem from centuries of deep-rooted overt, covert, and systemic racism perpetuated by the silence of those who tolerate it. I am hopeful that change is coming and that Mr. Floyd's death and the deaths of countless other victims of police brutality did not happen in vain.

 

We are weary.

 

We are humans.

 

We are Americans.

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