By McKenna Wierman,
NDG Special Contributor
I remember the moment very clearly: I was sitting on the couch with a friend, watching “Remember the Titans” on the television. For those of you who don’t know, the movie is about the integration of high school football team in 1971, and how the players overcome the racism around them and become ultimately victorious. The scene was a nasty one, protesters standing outside the high school as the black students walked to class, shouting slurs and threats at them. Suddenly my friend turned to me and casually asked, “Which side do you think you would have been on?”
The question made my jaw drop. “Of course, I would be for integration,” I said. “I would have supported the civil rights movement 110 percent!”
Flash forward to Thursday, July 7, around 10:20 p.m. I get a text from a friend in Colorado: “So Dallas is under attack?”
Ten minutes later, there I am on the couch again, hands over my open mouth, horrified and glued to the television. I hear sirens whizzing down I-635, my phone is buzzing non-stop with messages from friends all over the country, asking if I know what is going on, asking if I am safe. Meanwhile, I am frantically texting a girlfriend who works downtown, making sure she is out of harm’s way. She was a block away from the shooting, she said but got home safe.
As more details unfold, I put the pieces together: a peaceful protest to honor the memories of victims of police brutality, led by Black Lives Matter taking place downtown – in Dallas, my home – has been ambushed by gunfire. By the time I wake up the next day after a restless night’s sleep, 14 people have been shot, and five of them- four Dallas Police Officers and one DART officer – are dead.
It’s taken me a while to process the tragedy which unfolded in my city. Can I talk about it at work, or family dinner? Is there anything I can do to help? Will I ever walk past El Centro again, and not think of the sniper hiding in the parking garage? And, most of all, how much longer do we have before something like this happens again?
For the past week, my mind has been playing the same memory over and over in my mind. “Which side do you think you would have been on?”
You see, I watched “Lemonade” like everyone else. I prayed for Ferguson, for the slain black boys, and protested the state flag in Mississippi. I cheered upon the announcement when gay marriage finally was legalized last year, and I wept when hearing of the murder of 49 people and 53 more wounded in the shooting in Orlando last month.
I said, “Stop the violence. Stop the hate. Stop the killing.” But I am doing this from my sofa, chewing on a slice of pizza, angry but not activated.
Last week as my city was under attack, I realized that so far I have been neutral. I have not taken a stance, chosen a side, or taken any real action. And now, as I continue to live in my beloved Dallas, with the sounds of gunshots still echoing around the buildings downtown, with the trees wrapped in blue ribbons, and the flags all at half-staff. Meanwhile, there’s riots, protests, more people getting shot and more people dying.
I’m ashamed to say it took violence in my city to make me realize that I am sick and tired of watching my fellow Americans denied their rights, denied their freedoms, denied their safety and that I am sick and tired of innocent people dying for nothing.
So let this be my first step. I’m done letting my silence give power to oppression, and I’m lending my voice to the oppressed. I’m crying out into the city that I love to stand united against violence, to stand up against injustice and to take action.
