“When you know better, you do
better.” I honestly can't say where I heard this first – maybe
my mother, my grandfather, or my grandmother, maybe a stranger on the
street – but it's lived in my head most of my life and I have
always tried to follow that wisdom. I don't know that I've always
succeeded.
I grew up in a time that was far from
politically correct. I heard words and witnessed actions that didn't
sit well with my heart and that countered the lessons I'd been taught
about what was kind, loving, and morally right. These things were
swirling around me – violence against people I know and love just
because they were unacceptably different in some way. Because their
skin wasn't acceptable, the way they love wasn't acceptable, the way
they pray wasn't acceptable. That kind of thinking was not
acceptable to me.
I thought that was enough. To be a
good person, to set an example as a loving, open-hearted person, to
live by those rules for myself and to teach my children to live that
way should be enough. It's not enough.
If you've been paying attention, you
know the world is burning. None of this is new, though. We've had a
global pandemic before. Now we have the science and wisdom to
properly uncover and address it. Likewise, we now have the
technology to see the much bigger human virus – violent racism –
with the lens of instant video evidence that allows for people to be held accountable.
Racial injustice certainly is not new.
As long as there have been human beings on this planet, there has
been a need to rule and instill superiority over other human beings.
This is also a global pandemic. It has happened all over the world
for centuries and has been accepted by the masses through caste
systems, social division, slavery, and so on. Unfortunately, America
has perfected this division in its short history. This has never been
acceptable to me.
My kids – like ALL kids right now –
are paying attention. They see police beating black men just because
they're black. They see the man in the white house shrugging his
shoulders and doing nothing. They see and hear ignorant responses
from the people they are supposed to trust, and they say “This is
not acceptable to me!” They're right. It's not acceptable. To
them, to me, to anyone with a loving heart.
I'm not a fighter. It's never been in
my nature to march or shout or protest. I've always thought it was
enough to vote, to step in when I can to defuse a situation, and to
remove myself from people who made it clear that they were racist,
sexist, homophobic, or generally ignorant. That isn't enough. It's
time to shout from the rooftops and demand change. It's time to
shout because when you know better, you do better.
As a parent, when my daughters said
they wanted to make signs and march, I resisted. I saw the violence
in the streets of Atlanta, I said no. I reminded them that we're
still fighting a pandemic and need to social distance and protect
ourselves. I told them that this is not our fight. I thought that
was right. Then I continued to follow the footage and questioned my
decision but reasoned that I was protecting them.
Then they told me about a march that
was organized by students from our high school. Because of the
location – at a suburban shopping center, in the middle of the day
-I relented. We went to the march. We shouted. We raised our fists
and I saw that we were standing on the right side of history. These kids know
what's going on and they've had enough. They're demanding answers,
they're demanding to be heard, and they're demanding change for their
brothers and sisters, for friends they've known and loved all their
lives. They're also reminding those who may disagree with them that
they are all on the verge of voting age and that they intend to use
that right to invoke change.
Walking away from that protest, we cut
through an alley behind a restaurant to get back to the car. In that
moment, my white privilege struck me square in the face. I've always
known I had it but took it for granted. I told my girls that no one
would ever question me for walking down a back alley because of that
privilege but reminded them that their Latino dad may not have that
experience. They – as Latinas themselves – were more likely to
be questioned. We still have a lot of work to do.
So we put on our masks, filled our
water bottles, made more signs, and did it again. We marched about
three miles to honks and cheers from passersby. My
15 and 11 year old kids led many of the shouts, and my heart swelled
with pride. They see the wrongs and want to right them. I've seen
the wrongs all my life and was waiting for someone else to
right them. Maybe that someone else has come along in the form of my
children and their entire generation who has seen enough. They're mad
as hell and they're not going to take it anymore.
As for me, I will continue to live and
demonstrate love while I help them make signs, drive them to and walk
with them in protests as long as they want me by their sides. The
mom in me will remind them to drink water, wear comfortable shoes,
and to stand up straight. The budding fighter in me will take my own
advice while I shout and march with them. Because When You Know
Better, You Do Better.
