by Lindsey Ardrey, Co-chair, Racial Reconciliation Commission of the Episcopal Diocese of Louisiana
Good things rarely make the news. On Sunday, July 10, the Racial Reconciliation Commission participated in a Baton Rouge youth-led march from the Wesley United Methodist Church to the State Capitol building. Hundreds of people gathered in the church parking lot with their hands full of signs and their coolers packed with water. Our own mixed-bag group of young, older, oldest, white and black, male and female mirrored the make-up of the crowd. When we reached the steps of the capitol, nearly forty youth, seemingly no older than high school age, lined the stage. Just four days removed, I don’t remember the words they said or the poems they recited. But there are some things I do remember.
I remember their shaking frustrated voices.
I remember their raw words unedited by political correctness.
I remember their tears.
I remember their nervous pauses as the enormity of the moment washed over them.
I remember their hope.
Young people of the WAVE unapologetically shared their fears, their demands for an equitable society, and their determination to create a world without oppression. It pained me to hear the hurt in our youths’ voices. It pains me to know that my future children will have targets on their backs simply because of the kink in their hair and the deep melanin of their beautiful skin. It pains me that I’m fighting the same fight that my parents fought. It pains me that I have to rationalize and justify my being. And it seems delusional that I have to turn to my white brethren and ask if they see me crying. Lately, I have taken to tying a piece of black fabric around my arm because I don’t want to fall into the trap. The cloth serves as a reminder that Black is beautiful. Black is not the color of despair or hopelessness, but a symbol of strength. Black is resilient and loving and joyful. Black is hope. Black is love.
Later in the evening, a few of us attended a vigil on the levee. Organizers with North Baton Rouge Matters lead a small group in call and response chants and songs. There was sage for healing and candles to remember the slain. Privately, we joked that there wasn’t enough sage in the world to overcome this moment. And yet by the time we left, a palpable change could be felt. Then we were sent back into the world with care packages filled with healing tincture and calming herbs.
Love was rampant on Sunday. The news would have us to think that we are all warring against one another. Don’t get me wrong—the drama is real, but let us not fall into the trap. Let us not be fooled into thinking that we have nothing in common with our neighbors. Let us not forget that God resides within each and every one of us. We have nothing to lose but our chains. Racism shackles us all and now more than ever, we need to hold hands. We need to know that there is hope and love and compassion and that they cost absolutely nothing. We have nothing to lose but our chains. And last Sunday, I’m sure I saw a few links of chain lying in the street. We are the answer to our prayers.
