It's December 4th, 4:15 PST and I am sitting in a plane on a four hour flight to Chicago and I can't stop my tears from falling. I'm worried about the flight attendant noticing, or the woman across from me getting concerned because I am having trouble keeping it together, and I am thankful that this flight is terribly undersold and I have a whole row to myself lest the passengers who could be sitting next to me get freaked out.
But most of all I am freaked out because I can't figure out why I am having such an emotional reaction at this point and time after four intensive days of emotions. I want to know why it is only now that I am noticing the black man who was in front of me at airport security, getting asked to raise his sweatshirt as he goes through the metal detector, even though he is only wearing sweatpants, while no one asks me to raise my sweatshirt. Why am I having such a reaction to the flight attendant snapping the curtain across the door between first class and coach, even as I know that I counted the entirely white population of first class. Why do my ears perk up when the flight attendant laughs about being asked about what channel the in-flight movie is being broadcast in Spanish. How many times before this week did I never bother to notice any of these things? How many times did I walk by and remain silent, wrapped in the shroud of my own privilege and blinded by my own sense of entitlement gifted to me by my dominant identities?
I don't want to name my tears as tears of shame or tears of guilt, but I know that part of these tears are wrapped up in my own self-healing towards the process of owning that I am enough and that the time to start this work is now. It doesn't make it any easier. I think to myself that I may be the only white-skinned person on this plane thinking about race and what I am seeing and I suddenly feel very alone and overwhelmed about the journey that is in front of me. I know there are allies on-campus that want to work on issues of social justice, but I can't help wondering, do they feel as lost as I was before this experience?
I called myself an ally. I embraced justice. I talked the talk. What I realize now is that I had no clue how much I didn't even know. I feel like I was living a lie and my perceptions of what it meant to be an ally, a human, and an activist were so naive. Why did no one ever call me on it before? Did it give comfort and cover to others?
I know things are different now. I know that I am different now. I am not content. I am not comfortable. I am angry. I am on guard feeling hyper sensitive. I feel recoiled like a spring ready to pop and I am not sure how or when it is going to happen. And I want it to pop in a positive way that does ultimate good.
I am tired of continuing to exert myself in ways that take the grace from other people. I do not want this new grasp of my power or my new perspective to erupt in negative ways. I feel like a smolder was ignited with me the past four days and that it popped into flame while I sat at LAX reading the packet provided on re-entry.
I am scared about what it means to give up my place of privilege, but I am more scared about what it means to myself and those I care about if I don't. I am scared about the first step. What does it look like? Where will it be? What will the trigger be? Will I speak? What does it mean if I stay silent? Who will I lose in the process of speaking truth to power? Who will think this is just Greg's next "fad"? How do I embrace it authentically so it isn't just a "fad"? How can I even deign to write that when I know I am talking about people's lives?
I'm alive in a way that I have not ever felt. I sense. Empathy I am not sure that I ever knew I had is bubbling up. Anger I knew was there is bubbling up, but at the same time I am able to manage and see it with new eyes. Frustration is fluid. I am in the moment and I am ready to see, ready to speak.
The tears I cry are tears of sorrow and tears of shame for who I was, that person is gone. The tears I cry are tears of happiness for the person that I can be and for the world that I hope to create for everyone, but especially for my boys. The tears are for who I am, and I am enough.
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