What's happened in recent days has transpired so quickly as to leave us all reeling in shock, horror, anger, and pain. Some of us have stood idly by, feeling helpless and overwhelmed, but many of us have also stepped up and begun to say enough is enough. There is something about these protests that doesn't feel the same as previous ones. This feels like a powder keg. This feels like a revolution.

In San Francisco, the city is dark and strangely silent, even though it is only 8pm. I can only think of nightly curfews happening in places that are dictatorships, or under imminent threat of an air raid. I can hardly think of why it's been lauded as a reasonable response to protests about the systematic racism and militarization of police in this country. Instead of reform of the many, or even accountability of the few, the elite powerful of our country have decided that it is better to stamp everyone out entirely under an iron heel of fascism and violent suppression.

The videos abound online, not on news platforms, which show cops kneeling next to white protestors or espousing that they 'are some of the good ones,' but there are more videos surfacing of those same cops pepper spraying peaceful protestors only minutes later, or setting off tear gas bombs. There are people who have lost eyes to rubber bullets, tens of thousands have been arrested, and in several cities, more innocent people have lost their lives at the hands of the police. It’s hard not to be horrified, and harder to not feel helpless. It’s hard to summon the energy, but harder to realize that this is what black people have to do every day. 

When I was outed a couple of weeks ago by a former friend, one of the things I told him that I was angry about was the energy and mental capacity that I had to now dedicate to this space, energy that I did not have to spare/could’ve gone to better uses. There were plenty of days when I cried, or would get so worked up I could barely breathe. It was a betrayal that hurt me to the core, and it was emotional work that I didn’t want to be responsible for, but now felt myself holding as a result of his actions. This sort of drain of my mental and emotional energy is nothing compared to the drain on the energy of black people, who deal with racist systems that are designed to traumatize, belittle, cheat, ignore, and abuse them. The mental energy they have to put into every situation, that I, as a white-passing person, do not have to put into things is astounding. To see black excellence, or even black existence, in spite of all of these blocks is simply astounding. 

I did not show up for black lives matter in meaningful ways before. I would sign petitions, I would donate occasionally, but I wasn’t doing the every day work to check my privilege, to educate myself by subscribing to and consuming media by black people, and I didn’t march. I didn’t make myself visible because I was uncomfortable. I was embarrassed. I was ashamed of my privilege while I simultaneously enjoyed the ease of hiding behind it, and it was easier to ignore the problem instead of confront my own discomfort, which in itself is a privilege. 

I will be posting less personal blogs for the next several days, and only amplifying amazing black women that I follow and love. Please stay tuned for that important content. We are allies, which means we are guests to the table. Our job is not to take over the voices that are already there, but simply to use our privilege to amplify them. I shall be working my utmost to make sure that happens.

If you read this magazine and you are aware of any black voices that need a platform, or would like to be a paid writer working with us, please let us know at hi@thewhorticulturalist.com .