Marching and Writing Checks for Justice

This morning is the kind of morning where I feel drained and empty, where I can't imagine having a whole blog post in me.  Let me capture a few odds and ends and see what might emerge.

--Yesterday, my niece, who goes to grad school in South Florida,asked if any of us had any information about protests or marches.  I was a bit abashed to realize that I didn't.  In grad school, I was connected to all sorts of peace and justice groups, both local and national.  I was much more plugged in, even though we didn't have e-mail or social media, or we had a different kind of social media.

But I did know some folks who knew some information, so that's a plus.

--I have become the kind of person I despised when I was 19, the middle aged person who does support work of social justice by writing out a check.  But let me remember the pastor of the inner city Lutheran church in Washington D.C. who educated me by telling me that suburban people and their checkbooks were what made the inner city ministry possible.  He did it in the kindest way possible, and I will be forever grateful to know that the work of social justice takes many forms.

--I have always assumed that I was the kind of person who would be the first shipped to the radioactive Colonies in an Atwood dystopia.  But I'm thinking I may have flattered myself.

--My spouse talked about seeing a car driving slowly through the neighborhood with masked young guys inside.  With the events of the past few weeks, he was aware of how he found them threatening, and he questioned himself about whether it was because the car was driving slowly, because he couldn't read the faces of the people inside, because they were dark skinned, because they were young.

I noticed that he left something out--they were male.  I always find males threatening.  I have been practicing social distancing for decades now.  When I'm out walking or running, I always move away when approached.  My goal is always to be out of arm's reach.

The males that my spouse saw were very polite and asked him if he'd like a phone book.  He took note of how polite they were, and he wondered whether he was being racist or ageist. 

I pointed out that we live in a time where people are scathingly impolite, so politeness registers with me these days.

--And now, it is time for me to get dressed for work.  There are temperatures to take, health inventory questions to ask, reminder after reminder for people to wear their masks properly.