8 Circles on a Sign, Not One Immune.
Friday as I left my driveway to head to work at my nonprofit job, just as I was about to turn on to the street, I saw it. I knew it would happen, and am almost surprised it took so long. But there it was in black spray paint. Our THANK U wall, vandalized along with the signs I had put in the yard. A big black X sprayed over the police badge, and black paint over the circles on the smaller signs.
It felt kind of like a punch to the gut, as my 8-year-old and I never meant to make a political statement. It was a giant thank you to support front line essential workers who showed up to their jobs while the rest of us were asked to sit on the couch, watch tv and work from home.
In truth, we never meant for it to be more than a family art project, but our little wall kind of went viral. I know, viral might not be the best word during a pandemic, but there is no other way to describe the reaction to our art. People loved it. They sent photos to newspapers and tv stations, and snapshots showed up on strangers Insta and Facebook pages. It was surreal, and overwhelming.
When we made yard signs we did it to share the love with interested neighbors, and to help raise money by donating some of the proceeds to food charities. It felt good. Honestly, it felt great to be able to share our little message and raise a few bucks for families facing food insecurity. We ended up on all four local TV stations, not because we asked for attention, but because the message was resonating with what felt like everyone.
Selling those signs allowed us to donate over $40,000 to food charities. Never in a million years could I have imagined that first box of chalk would have lead to numerous rounds of PR and the ability to donate so much money. I still cannot believe it happened. For someone who has worked in nonprofits my entire life, that amount of money was nothing I could ever consider donating without a little business like the one we started.
As I sit here on my porch contemplating the next steps, I am not sure what to do. That vandalism sucks because it feels very personal, is a violation of my efforts and a hijacking of the initial message and purpose. The way I see it I only have three options: repaint the police circle, remove it and replace it with the maintenance or teacher circle leaving the police on the individual signs, or power wash the entire mural away.
The problem with the vandalism is the sign was a thank you, not a statement. And It most certainly was not a Blue Lives Matter sign. If I were to make a statement I’d need to remove all the circles. The police are rightfully in the spotlight right now, and deserve the negative attention after years of police brutality and the never ending murders of black men at their hands. The system is broken. Has been since it was started, and by its very design is failing people of color. But the police are not alone in committing crimes against, and passing judgment on, black men and women. Not even close.
If I remove the police badge, I must deeply consider removing other circles, too. Like all of them.
Medical/Hospital & Nurses
The medical system is complicit in the way it treats, and refuses to treat, black and brown bodies. Black men’s pain is often not believed, and access to medication is restricted, because doctors to this day erroneously believe they do not feel pain the same as whites. Black women die at an alarming rate during childbirth from preventable complications, and likely because they are not listened to, or are written off by the professionals whose very jobs are to protect and treat them.
Did you know black women are three to four times more likely to die during or from complications after childbirth than white women? This is something I know because I nearly died a couple days after giving birth to my second son. As I sat there in a packed ER, and was treated in less than 30 minutes, I knew in my soul that if I were a poor black woman I would not have survived. In processing my own trauma I started researching and found out that maternal death rates were on the rise in the US for all women. I was lucky and finally got the help I needed. What about the women who didn’t?
At the time 700 women were dying annually because they did not receive proper care during or after giving birth, and disproportionately those deaths were black women. Women like YoLanda Mention, a name I will never forget. YoLanda was another mother who sat in an ER, with a similar story but states away in North Carolina. She waited hours for care that never came. Mention had a stroke while waiting to be treated. She died before she was heard. Her death preventable, and rooted in racism.
Because of all of this and the fact that black people are 2.4 times more likely to die from COVID, are more likely to be diagnosed with cancer, depression and diabetes—it is obvious systemic racism is pervasive in the US medical system. And don’t even get me started on access to proper health care, another part of the broken medical system. It feels like insurance is designed to neglect or not approve POC who have insurance, then leave millions out because they cannot afford insurance in the first place. It’s pernicious. For all of these reasons, perhaps those circles need to go, too.
Grocery
Ever heard of a food desert? Growing up in small town USA I’ve never been without access to a grocery store. Fresh fruit was plentiful, baked goods abundant, and meat, along with everything we could need or dream, was always a short drive away where my mom could easily find it, prepare, and serve our family. The home I now live in, with my very own family, is two blocks from a natural foods co-op, and we can walk a mile in three different directions to three grocery stores. My children will never know what it is to live without access to food. And absolutely none of this is true for many urban areas, or area less white than the one I live in (about 85% white in total, probably 95% in my particular neighborhood).
Ever see a Whole Foods in a blighted neighborhood? No, because Jeff Bezos isn’t interested in taking his grocery stores to the masses, just the ones with deep pockets and access to money to buy overpriced groceries and fancier fruits. Add to that, in this day and age you still hear stories of grocery clerks passing judgment on customers, or refusing to serve them, because they present food stamps at check out, or mocking people because they don’t have enough to pay for everything on the grocery belt.
Racism is pervasive.
Maintenance/Janitorial
For this circle I thought I was safe, maybe it would be immune from racism. But there are multiple layers of racism here, too. These jobs are generally lower paying, often filled with employees without access to education and willing to do the hard work to make a living, and doing so without the dignity provided employees further up the chain of command. Up until COVID no one considered cleaning crews essential, they were simply invisible. The mere notion that the majority of people working in this field are low wage earners makes it pretty clear there is a higher percentage of minorities in these positions. And because people run the businesses we all work in, we know not all companies are led with equity and inclusion as the standard. Just two weeks ago I had to dive into a Facebook fight with a high school classmate because her husband, with whom she owns a maintenance company in a southern state, posted ridiculous racist comments about the looting here in Minneapolis. I didn’t even get the pleasure of unfriending her, because after I started commenting on the post, they beat me to it.
Teachers
Oh this one hurts, as I adore the teachers in my children’s life. But sadly they are all working under a white-washed system of education. Text books teaching white history, not history. And even when trying to move the needle, teachers face vocal parents vehemently against change, and school boards with limited ability to enact change. My children’s elementary school has long done some amazing work, but some residents in my town didn’t like that they were utilizing inclusion and diversity studies. An uproar ensued about a “Melanin Project,” basically an art project helping kids navigate racial equity. A bunch of parents from all grade levels complained, and one writer who does not even have kids in the district sent out flyers to our city and cities surrounding us—complaining about the diversity of our education. It was all wrapped up in a different narrative—that somehow other kids were falling through the cracks, so why spend the money on diversity education. But in the end it sounded a lot like parents were saying, “my white kid deserves better.”
This is no joke, this did not happen 10, 15, or 50 years ago. This is still happening in schools all over the country. My district still has people worried about too diverse a list of books for a sophomore reading curriculum. All basically stemming from people who want to stick with the classics (read, white authors and protagonists), versus parents who want a more diverse set of books offered to prepare students with a well rounded multi ethnic education, with more than one cultural viewpoint.
It’s certainly not like the older generations fared any better. I’m way closer to 50 than I am to 30, and far removed from high school, middle school or elementary school. But up until a few weeks ago I had never even heard of the Tulsa Massacre, or Black Wall Street. This is shameful. I somehow made it through college and never once heard about one of the biggest incidents of racial terrorism in the US. Hard to forget the things you never even learned...
Honestly, it is clear we live in a society of individuals and industries benefitting from systemic racism, and mostly unwilling to accept their roles in the continued suppression of black voices and freedoms. Our very participation in the lifestyles we lead, rich or poor, are indeed a product of the racist society we were raised in. It’s a lot to take in, I get it. We all have work to do.
Which brings me back to the signs. Created out of my own personal anxiety, as a way to get off my couch, and a desire to thank the people showing up to keep us all safe and fed, it was project with my second grader—without benefit of a business plan. We didn’t think for a minute about the heinous parts of all sectors of society kneeling literally, and metaphorically, on the people they deem less than.
Now I sit here, a middle aged white mom, unsure of my next steps. I know in my heart the solution could be solved by letting go of capitalism, and the constant transfer of power from one rich white man to another. But since burning that down will not likely happen, the best thing I can do is listen, learn, and try to do what is best for the world by trying to engage in difficult conversations, and never letting go of the desire to be better.
I’m still not sure what that means for the wall. My voice is not that of an oppressed person. And I struggle knowing that not all black people even agree on the defund and abolish terminology used for the police reform needed to combat the first entry point into the hideous layers of racism built into our criminal justice system. There is no one voice or opinion here. No one can actually tell me the right thing to do.
So my options remain:
Repaint the police circle, as we still have police in society and are months or years away from the changes being requested by some, and feared by others.
Remove the police circle, and replace it with the maintenance or teacher circle, but leaving the police on the individual signs.
Power wash the entire mural away, as all individuals and institutions are complicit.
I’m not sure there is a way to get this right. But I do know we were initially thanking individual essential workers for their selflessness and service. And I know that when this all started I repeatedly said my greatest hope was we never forgot the day the maintenance workers and grocery clerks stood side by side with the doctors and nurses to keep us safe. I hoped we could collectively remember that the invisible class was essential beyond measure.
And that, well, that message still holds. As a pragmatic optimist, I think most people know our yard signs were thanking people. We were thanking the helpers—not the broken and racist institutions employing them, or the horrid individuals misusing their power repeatedly.
There are helpers everywhere. And for that I will be forever grateful, no matter what becomes of the bits of paint on my retaining wall.
