Responding with Love

Over the last few days the world has been shaken, hard. We’re in the midst of a crippling pandemic, killing hundreds of thousands and infecting millions across the globe. That’s big news. It’s taken over the papers and news sites and social media almost since the start of the year. But last week there was a different piece of big news. About 1 death. And that 1 death has sent ripples and waves and now a tsunami of reactions rolling throughout the globe.

That 1 death is of course George Floyd. It’s 1 death, but it’s also the latest in a line of countless deaths. Deaths that happen because we don’t understand how to live with our differences.

I’ve been watching the social media response in particular. Black squares on Instagram, post shares from celebrities and influencers. There are recommendations for how to help, what to read, what to say, what to think… Hashtags and fundraising pages. Stories of suffering. Some helps, some doesn’t. But all of it shows glimpses of our need to do something, and our uncertainty of what that should be.

As for me, I’ve felt conflicted. I’ve wanted to respond, to react. I’ve wanted to do something. But nothing felt right, or enough, or even remotely proportionate. As I write this I still don’t have a first clue what would be a right response. But it occurs to me that perhaps that’s because there isn’t a right response. This is not a problem to be solved by social media (or blog articles, but I’ll probably post this one anyway because it’s where my head is at right now). It’s almost certainly not a problem to be solved quickly (although wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could!). It’s a culmination, maybe, of centuries of atrocities. It might be the one that makes the difference. Or in weeks to come it’s sadly possible that it will fade away behind other news, only to rear up again months or years later, when another atrocity captures hearts. I don’t know.

But I’ll tell you what I do know. Today, it’s making me think. Today it’s making me feel uncomfortable. Today it’s making me feel nervous. I’m nervous because I know I have a big responsibility. And that’s to ensure that every word I say, every action I take, every thought I have (because you know our kids can tell what we’re thinking!) must be fair, and kind, and unforgiving of the attitude that says colour of skin means I have a right that you don’t. I have to make sure my children are part of a generation that leave racism behind. I believe that if I can do that, I’ll be making a tiny difference. Because what if every parent did that? What if every adult showed every child (or simply every person taught every other person) that racism is finished? That we’re ready to consign it to the history books? That we’ll remember it, because we must, but with outrage and horror?

And that is my protest. That is my commitment to this cause. I’m sure there’s more I could or should be doing, and hopefully I’ll work that out as I go along, but right now I’m committing to doing my utmost to bring up children who don’t accept racism. Children who show love without limits to all. And of course the only way to do that is to show them that my love has no limits. Will you join me in that?