So Much Loss. So Much Hope.
A friend called this morning and asked if I wanted to help clean up our broken city. Admittedly, I didn’t initially want to go. I have not been in a car with anyone besides my immediate family since COVID took hold. I’ve not been within 6 feet of someone on purpose in months. I dodge and weave my way through grocery stores as best I can, worried the whole time because I have vulnerable parents and we buy their food. I am afraid, I’ve been afraid for weeks. But I also knew I needed to do something.
The money I donated for diapers and food yesterday just didn’t feel like enough. My heart felt a deep desire to help, in any way I could. So I put on my big girl pants, grabbed a broom and shovel, and put on a mask. Then I got in a car with two of my dear friends and we drove the four miles to the epicenter of the damage. We went to help clean up the Minneapolis neighborhoods destroyed by rioters. Rioters who took advantage of peaceful protests demanding justice for George Floyd, and instead created chaos on a level I still cannot comprehend. The damage is beyond comprehension.
This morning I was afraid to go out in public. I was afraid to be in a car with friends. And it’s sucks knowing that this is what it feels like for people of color all the time, not just when living in a pandemic. Do you live here? Where are you going? Why are you here? Did you buy that? Open your bag! Is this your car? It’s gutting to know my boys will be treated better simply for being white.
My one friend cried before we even left our neighborhood. We nervously checked in with each other as we drove, just trying to keep it as normal as we could. Because somehow, against all reason and thought, our Sunday plans would now include driving to clean up after a riot, in a pandemic where we would be surrounded by people we had been told to avoid for months. It felt more like a dream, or maybe a colorful nightmare. My mind had a hard time connecting the dots, or forming thoughts. Is this really happening, it can’t be. It is.
As soon as we got close emotions of all sorts took over. When we turned on to Lake Street we immediately saw hundreds of people—all there to help. There were probably thousands. Everyone had brooms, bags, and supplies, and everyone was clearly there to help. And get this, most of the heavy lifting was already done. THERE WERE SO MANY HELPERS!! Seriously, Mr. Rogers would be so proud. But there is still so much work to do. Both on those streets, and how we ended up there.
I felt aimless as we walked the streets in masks with brooms and shovels. There was no plan, and no way to know who really needed the help or what needed to be done. At one point someone was telling people to move already packed and stacked garbage and debris into an alley, which felt weird. It was clear everyone was there to help, but it felt more like we were just moving the same pile, not actually helping. I guess that’s what it feels like to genuinely want to be of service, but not having a clue where to begin. You show up, then move the same chairs over and over and over. Just like I say the right things over and over, but somehow never manage to actually do very much. I’m ready to do more, and still searching for ways. The debris is literally still smoldering, and I pray we figure this out before the smoke is gone and we move on to the next thing—never fixing the problem, just moving the chairs.
At this point I wonder if we need to reach out directly to the businesses and offer to help them clean up the messes inside, or what is left on the inside. Maybe offer assistance and see if they need help with plans to move forward by donating our time and professional expertise. And when all is done that can be done, donate what we can afford—and move closer to rebuilding. After watching thousands of people pitch in today, I’m thinking it really can be done. But wow, there is a lot of work ahead.
I left with even more questions than I had before I arrived, and hours later I’m still piecing it together in my brain. But I am feeling more hopeful. Seeing so many helpers made me realize the smell of smoke will eventually leave the air, the shouldering piles of rubble will be bulldozed, the streets will eventually be clear, and the business that can afford to rebuild will do so. And new business will put up a sign and give it a try. There will be new beginnings here. It’s going to be a while, but it will get better.
Today I saw a man with a van full of bottled water and bags of chips for the helpers, and he was giving it away to anyone who needed a drink. Today I saw two men, who didn’t seem to know each other, take it upon themselves to direct traffic. One of the traffic guys was hilarious, having fun and saying it was his way of giving back—he literally saw a need, set his stuff down and started directing traffic. Today I saw a little girl, maybe 5, holding a dust pan of debris and dumping it in to a trash bag with her mom. Today I saw families and individuals ready and willing to do what they could, even if that meant just being there. It looked like a war zone, and the smell of smoke was intense. But there was beauty in that group of humans, and the kindness was stunning. This was the first time in a long time I have seen so many helpers all in the same place. Probably the only time I’ve seen such a glorious display of togetherness.
George Floyd did not need to die. Minneapolis did not need to burn. But we do need to figure this out—and truly learn how to treat those who do not look like us with the kindness I saw today.
Black Lives Matter.
Looking to help, but not sure how? Here are a few resources for donations:
George Floyd’s Family’s GoFundMe
I walked past Migizi, a nonprofit acting as a circle of support that nurtures the development of Native American youth in order to unleash their creativity and dreams. I chatted with a few workers standing in front of their burned offices. The sculpture of the red dress is a symbol of the violence and mistreatment of indigenous women. It’s powerful. As someone who has worked with nonprofits most of my life, I have a soft spot for people who do this kind of work. They need donations.
