Nine Minutes

Nine Minutes

I did something today I’ve never done before: I went to a demonstration to show solidarity with a group of people who aren’t like me. I didn’t take a sign. I just showed up.

I’ve been to PRIDE events. I’ve been to educational events for racism, economic justice, and immigration justice. I’ve been part of a drama troupe that tackled all of these things and ecological justice, too.

But until today, I’d never exercised the particular First Amendment right to gather to demonstrate my horror at a reality that does not directly affect the quality of my life but does diminish—in fact, is potentially and dramatically lethal to—the quality of life of my siblings who are black and brown.

In Conway, New Hampshire there were not many black and brown siblings in attendance at this demonstration in solidarity with the families of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Atatianna Jefferson, Ahmad Arbery, and far too many others who have died because of white supremacy. The whole event was organized by young white people who have grown up with an increasing awareness of the damage that white supremacy and its attendant privilege have caused to black people for 400 years. They have grown up with an understanding that white privilege is the very air they breath but that white privilege is choking the breath out of those without it; this generation understands that the presidency of Barack Obama was not the end of our racialized nation but only yet another turning point in the long road to full equality that will ultimately benefit all of us far more than white privilege benefits those who are fighting—literally—to hold on to it. 

My intent was to go and stand in prayerful, observational silence for 9 minutes in memory of George Floyd, whose death on Monday at the knee of a law enforcement officer in Minneapolis sparked the current protests. That officer knelt on Mr. Floyd’s neck for NINE MINUTES while the breath of life left Mr. Floyd’s body. Nine minutes in which Mr. Floyd begged for mercy, shouted, “I can’t breathe!” in echo of Eric Garner and in response to his physical agony, and cried for his mother before he fell silent and died. Mr. Floyd died under the knee of one officer and the eyes of three others who either didn’t have the wisdom or fortitude to intervene (being charitable) or, as seems more likely, were content to let a man die because they themselves are white supremacists, too.

Standing in prayerful silence for those nine minutes was necessary for me because I have had to use too many words in my ministerial service trying to educate white people about the system that allows this to happen. I haven’t always done my own homework or listened carefully enough to those who have been willing to speak truth. I haven’t always used the right words to try to explain the truth that few if any of my parishioners in any church have ever experienced. Silence is part of my atonement for the mistakes I have made and an acknowledgement that I will undoubtedly continue to make mistakes as I learn how to be anti-racist.

I stayed much longer than nine minutes because a colleague arrived just as the timer on my phone buzzed to let me know that 11 minutes had passed (that timer kept me from getting antsy and looking at the phone every 30 seconds). He’s of a generation that protested the war in Vietnam, of which my father is a veteran; he’s participated in demonstrations and protests ever since, part of his strong witness of social justice. My dad taught me that the two bravest people in a democracy are the one who goes to war to protect the rights of the one who stays at home to protest the war. My colleague and my father are each brave in his own way.

My colleague, like I, was delighted to see today’s demonstration led by young people but well-attended by a wide age range of people. We stood together, chatting and watching as the cars, trucks, and motorcycles went through the intersection. A solid plurality of the drivers, passengers, and riders either waved or honked as they went by. Some drivers and riders ignored the people on the sidewalks. A very few—I counted four, but I’m sure there were some I missed—of the drivers and passengers made rude gestures or shouted offensive things at the demonstrators. I didn’t see anyone on a motorcycle do that.

A county sheriff’s deputy drove by without any incident. No one protesting made any gestures or yelled anything offensive (that I saw or heard) and the deputy didn’t slow down or appear to scan the crowd as he went through the intersection. Not that scanning would have done any good; I didn’t see a single person at the demonstration without a mask because, well, demonstrating in a pandemic while white isn’t a dangerous act. Of course, because the demographics of Carroll County, New Hampshire, neither the demonstrators nor the deputy felt any intrinsic fear of each other and that would have been true without masks. Any given citizen of Carroll County could have reason to fear the sheriff, but skin color isn’t one of them for over 98% of the population.

I don’t know what the next few months hold in America. There’s something to be said for the power of a consistent, persistent non-violent show of force; Tom Clancy, of all people, used it as a narrative tool to resolve the Israeli-Palestinian conflict in his Jack Ryan series. Maybe that’s what it will take, day after day, week after week: people of all skin colors but especially white people showing up all around the country, peacefully but forcefully demonstrating that white supremacy and all the privilege and violence that comes with it need to be exorcised from American culture once and for all. Maybe it will require every professional and college athlete to take a knee at every game, spectators or not. Maybe it will require the wealthiest people in America to commit financial resources to educational and vocational programs as part of a reparations movement.

I think it will take a Truth and Reconciliation process as well as prosecutions of the worst offenders still alive.

I mean, it only took us 400 years, nine months, two days, and nine minutes to get here from the forced arrival of the first Africans on what is now American soil. We wouldn’t have known about those nine minutes (and we wouldn’t be at this pivotal moment) without the video that prompted the firing of the four officers involved; the Minneapolis PD initially reported the story very differently based on the report filed by the arresting officers. Given that four officers thought they could get away with falsifying their report because the culture of white supremacy assures them the privilege of lying to cover their homicidal actions, there must be some accountability that deprives the worst of the worst white supremacists of their freedom as punishment for their actions to deprive others of their freedom or their lives simply because the perpetrators were white and their victims were black.

I don’t think this is going to be easy or pleasant. But I do think it’s necessary and I think, maybe, after nine horrendous minutes caught on video, we are finally unable to look away and pretend we don’t need to come to grips with our history for the sake of our future.