Stillness 6-27: On April 4, 1968, my parents, my bother, and I were on a road trip visiting museums, historic towns, and sacred sites in France. We were walking along the street of a small town, heading toward our well-worn car, when a man rushed out from a store, waving a newspaper at us.
“Your King is dead!” he shouted, his voice laced with horror. “Your King is dead!”
I’ll never forget that look of shock on his face and the puzzlement I felt at learning that the U.S.A. had a king. I was 11 years old.
As the story of the assassination unfolded from the news we read in the Herald Tribune and other sources, I remember the great sadness that gripped our family, as well as the entire little town where we were staying (and where we were the only Americans). But my mother, horrified as she was, still maintained her optimism. “This will make a great change,” she assured me, as I wept without knowing why. “People will really start rallying for justice now. They have to. Things have to change now for black people in America.”
“I wish I was black,” I remember saying. “That way I could help too—I could be part of the change.”
And she replied, “You don’t have to be black—you can do it whoever you are. And when you’re born with any sort of privilege or advantage, you have even more power to be part of the change. It’s your responsibility.”
I don’t know why I’m remembering this story today, except that the BLM movement is so much on my mind just now, as I hope it is on everyone’s mind. It feels like an emergency—as though all hands have to be on deck to make sure the boat doesn’t founder.
I want to be part of helping, but I don’t know what to do. If I owned a corporation, I could make aggressive changes. If I were a politician, I would work toward justice reforms. What can I do in my small, still way, today? And so I wonder: How does stillness help during an emergency, when urgent action is required? How can stillness sustain us through shock and crisis?
At the very least, I can write this. And I can be conscious of this crucial effort and keep it as alive and fresh as I can. I can stand up for what matters, even if only financially, through donations, and inwardly, through awareness. Something vital is being brought to light and it must not be allowed to dissipate. Black lives do matter—and this expansive movement needs to continue to grow, not only on the streets in protests, and in the boardrooms of corporations, and in our outrageously unfair legal system, but in the stillness of our heart. Our heart radiates consciousness of truth, a passion for justice, a longing for peace and safety, and a deep, abiding love for our fellow-humans. In stillness, we keep that flame of love alive.
P.S. I donate to a local organization called Multicultural Bridge, that has been working against systemic racism since 2008, mainly through education. I think local organizations are particularly effective because they can make significant changes for individuals in our communities. I also donate to Black Lives Matter, Amnesty International USA, and Rescue International. It’s not a lot, but at least it’s something.