Angry: Everybody's Fight

Viola Liuzzo, 1925-1965.

Many years ago my friend and fellow student missionary Willie "Big Will" Hawthorne made a funny quip (he did that a lot) to Mr. Lacayan one of the few seasoned teachers on our staff (most of us were mere college students). Mr. Lacayan was about to take up some cause with the principal--I can't even remember what it was now--something that could raise our boss's ire.  Big Will said: "We're behind you, Mr. Lacayan. You're out in front, and we're protected."

It's scary to come out of our comfort zone. It's easy to support quietly--very quietly, okay silently--from the sidelines, and let others take the hits. We are right behind those taking a stand--safe from the blows of opposition sure to rain down. For me, doing this blog series was about coming out of a comfort zone because I knew that talking about racism--a lot--in and of itself would be distressing to some people.  But in many ways this is a struggle I can't entirely avoid because of the skin I'm in. For you, my white friends, you actually have a choice. You can, if you want, retreat into a world where these uncomfortable issues aren't discussed.  You can convince yourself that we've already arrived and there really is no more struggle (believe me there's an army of black shills lined up on Facebook shares to reassure you of just that. There's some black guy on YouTube "destroying BLM" to put you at ease). You can decide that you know what? All of this just too stressful and leave it alone. You'll quietly support, from behind, where you're protected.  

Or you can decide to get out in front like Viola Liuzzo did. Hers is a remarkable story. She was exposed to racism in her youth growing up very poor in the South and this instilled in her early on a strong belief in equal rights. As an adult she became friends with a African-American woman, Sarah Evans. But rather than using that friendship as virtuous proof of her own innocence of racism and letting it suffice as an act of solidarity in of itself, that friendship became part of the motivation for Viola to join the struggle. She joined the local NAACP chapter in Detroit, Michigan where she lived and participated in protests there. 

Her tipping point came after watching the brutal treatment of the protesters in Selma, Alabama on March 7, 1965, also known as Bloody Sunday. She knew she had to be there; she had to get involved on the ground. She headed down to Alabama to lend a hand, telling her husband that this was "everybody's fight".

She went to Selma not to lead, not to talk, but to support; to help in any way she could.  She marched with marchers (the last photo taken of her alive captured her marching, shoes in hand), stood with those taking a stand, provided first aid, and offered her car as transportation for activists traveling between Montgomery and Selma.

The last photo of Viola Liuzzo, on the march in Alabama

  It was doing that humble task--chauffeuring fellow protesters--that cost her life.  After trying to force her car off the road, a carload of KKK members pulled up next to her vehicle and shot her in the head through the driver's side window.  The young black man she was ferrying survived the ensuing crash as Liuzzo's car careened into a ditch.

Many of the leading lights of the civil rights movement including Dr. King himself attended her funeral several days later As happens routinely with victims of racist violence rumors soon spread about Mrs. Liuzzo's character--that she was promiscuous, a bad mother, that she should have just stayed home. (It would later come to light that those rumors had been prompted by J. Edgar Hoover's FBI, no friend of the Civil Rights Movement. One of the men in that car of murderers--perhaps even the one who pulled the trigger-- was an FBI informant and rather than draw attention to that Hoover decided to defame the victim instead). Nevertheless, Viola Liuzzo would stand as one of the heroes of the civil rights movement, the only white woman to lose her life for the cause.

My challenge to you is to follow Liuzzo's example and get in the fight. It may or may not mean going to an actual protest (not having yet been to one myself I can't exactly get on that soapbox). But it does mean speaking up and speaking out when the opportunity presents itself.  Challenging racist statements when you hear them. Using your privilege to speak to people who won't dismiss you quite as easily as they would someone else. It means reading, learning, educating yourself. 

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What are the costs?  

• Possible "shaming" if you say the "wrong thing." I know my white friends sometimes worry that they'll say the wrong thing or cause offense. And you might. But offense is not the worst thing in the world, especially if you learn from it. Take your knocks and stay in it with us; most people understand mistakes will be made. But if you're worried, it may help if you don't try to articulate the struggle of black people to black people or feel you have to say something to prove you're not a racist (that's how we end up in that unfortunate "I don't see color" territory). Instead when it's time to talk, focus on talking to other white people. You have an ability to speak and be heard by people that won't hear us. \

• Possibly being mocked or dismissed by friends who sneer at your sudden "wokeness."  There are plenty of people who will ridicule your earnest efforts to support the cause. They will do their best to convince you that you've been hoodwinked and manipulated. It's not a nice feeling to experience someone else's scorn. And I see a frantic effort on the part of some to try draw white people away from supporting black lives. You've heard the talk about Marxism and the Black Lives Matter organization--these are old tactics folks. They said the same thing during the civil rights era.  MLK is a communist, BLM is Marxist. Same song, different verse.

• Discomfort as evidence of your own implicit bias comes to light.  Nobody wants to be a bad person and these days there's nothing worse than being tagged a "racist."  No one wants that label. But there's no need for self-flagellation and excessive guilt. We are tackling a system not individuals; don't forget that. We are all racist to one degree or another so recognizing that in yourself is an opportunity to grow and become more aware, not a reason to beat yourself up.

I hope you'll find that these costs are minor enough that it's worth it. What we need is people who will stand with us, people who will walk with us, people who will ferry those in the fray to places they might not get to without your help. I doubt that it will cost you what it cost Viola Liuzzo (though to be fair I can't promise that), but your solidarity will mean the world.  

To my white friends who have taken that stand--especially those who have done so for the first time--thanks for recognizing that this isn't just our struggle. Thanks for getting out in front. Thanks for recognizing it's everybody's fight.

March, march to my own drum
March, march to my own drum
Hey, hey, I'm an army of one
Oh, I'm an army of one

                       --The Chicks, "March March"

Statue of Viola Liuzzo, unveiled last year in Detroit (Photo Credit: Evan James Carter, The Detroit News)