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     Yesterday was July 4th, a commemoration of the Declaration of independence. And on that day, the person who supposedly leads this nation took to the bully pulpit to decry citizens who choose to stand up for the ideals codified in that Declaration

     I count myself among the Black Lives Matter protesters that the president decries. On any given day, the president - the most powerful person in the country - may call me a radical, a communist, an anarchist, or a fascist. So, who am I? I am a middle-aged, cis, hetero, white man, living in a sleepy exurban town that is almost exclusively white. If anyone looks like the “great silent majority” that Trump thinks is lurking out there, it’s me. I’m supposed to be scared of the protesters. When I see lawlessness on television and in my social media feed, I should be looking for a powerful leader to shut it down and protect my privileged life.

     And I do have a privileged life. I have nothing to gain, personally, and everything to lose. But something changed when I witnessed a police officer kneeling on the neck of George Floyd for nearly nine minutes.

     The officer’s face was impassive as he slowly choked the life out of another human being. He knew he was being filmed. He heard the crowd pleading for Mr. Floyd’s life. He heard Mr. Floyd’s painful gasping for air as he clearly told him that he was suffocating under his knee. None of that mattered. He didn’t care about the crowd, the people who would watch it on video, or about the man he was murdering. He was not worried about police procedure, civil unrest, or professional or legal repercussions. He made a choice based on his experience as a police officer who could apparently get away with anything.

     There comes a point where actions of such a horrific nature shock the conscience of even the most insulated people - people like me. I feel  that this clarifying moment has opened my eyes to injustices that I have tolerated for far too long. After the shock of witnessing a cruel and inhuman murder carried out publicly and shamelessly had dissipated, it became clear that if this is what broke through the wall of indifference to reach me in my safe, white, privileged community, then there clearly must be smaller, more common horrors happening on a daily basis. And of course, black people have been telling us that very thing for a long time, only to be met with indifference and disbelief.

     I now see that black communities have been living in George Orwell’s dystopian nightmare for decades (it was a different dystopian nightmare before that). They live in a totalitarian police state. Official state power is used to surveil and harass them, and even sometimes kill them.

     The character that gave voice to the state in Orwell’s masterpiece said, “If you want a vision of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face--forever.” That nightmare vision of an all-powerful state repressing its people has animated idealism on both the left and the right, all the while allowing it to flourish right under our very noses.

     The president seems to think it is politically advantageous for him to paint people like me as dangerous radicals. He feels if people are afraid of what people like me might do, they will look to him for protection. But I am here to tell you that the people marching for justice are not dangerous. We are a broad cross section of people of all colors and backgrounds who have finally come together after far too long to demand that the rights to Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness is extended to all Americans.

     Like most white people I have grown up afraid of black neighborhoods. I have absorbed the belief that they are dangerous places. This belief comes to us through every possible means of communication. It’s rarely stated outright, but it is nearly constantly reinforced through virtually every form of expression available. The popular euphemism today is “the inner city.” Go ahead and picture the inner city. If you are a white suburbanite like me, your imagination took you to a horrific place of drug addiction, gangs, and violence.

     Having internalized such beliefs, you can imagine my trepidation when my family decided to head to two of the most notorious inner-city neighborhoods in Boston – Roxbury and Dorchester – to attend Black Lives Matter rallies. My mind was filled with fear. I tried to tell myself that they were myths, but such ingrained beliefs are hard to shake. I went because I knew it was right, and I also didn’t want my teenage daughters going on their own.

What I encountered, was what I should have expected all along - normal people. Some very welcoming, but most just going about their business and not taking much note of me at all. The rallies and marches were empowering, peaceful, and positive.

     Wanting to live in freedom, and not under the thumb of an oppressive police state is a natural human desire, and an American ideal. People peacefully protesting for such rights are not to be feared. They are to be supported. We all need to raise our voices in unity with our fellow Americans whose voices have been silenced for too long. To do so, we must stifle the fear that the president is trying to stoke.

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