My Heart Hurts – Day 568

Silence is Violence & My Heart Hurts – Photo: L. Weikel

My Heart Hurts

You know from my recent posts that the slow, deliberate, and unwarranted killing (murder) of George Floyd in Minneapolis one week ago today – on Memorial Day – has haunted me. And of course I know I am not alone. The depraved manner in which that police officer coldly and nonchalantly pressed his knee onto the back of Mr. Floyd’s neck until his life was snuffed out felt like a straw that broke our country’s back. My heart hurts.

I only heard about the protest scheduled for the center of Doylestown (Bucks County’s county seat) at 11:00 a.m. this morning, but Karl and I managed to get there by the appointed start time of 1:00 p.m. The crowd seemed to still be growing over an hour and a half after the protest began.

Taking a Knee – Photo: L. Weikel

Taking a Knee

I have to say, I had a hard time joining in on any of the chants. Every time I opened my mouth to raise my voice in protest, that voice failed me. It cracked quite pathetically as I was overcome with a depth of emotion that welled up within me. I felt overcome by the enormity of the injustice and cruelty that’s inflicted on our fellow Americans, just because their skin is darker than mine. How utterly absurd.

One of the most powerful moments, for me, was when the crowd of over (at least) 100 people collectively took a knee and simply held several minutes of sustained silence. It seemed as though even the traffic was muted. The silence was eerie and profound.

A Lovely Moment

I happened to look behind me at one point and was given the gift of witnessing a lovely moment of helping hands and kindness. I’ll let the photo speak for itself.

Loving Helping Hands – Photo: L. Weikel

Support and Solidarity

As traffic continued to flow through the center of town, the vast majority of cars and trucks honked their horns and waved their hands in support, eliciting applause and whoops of solidarity and hope from the protesters filling the square and lining the sidewalks along both sides of Main Street and Court Street. (By the time we left, I’m pretty sure there were at least 200-250 people in attendance.)

And then we engaged in the part of the protest that was, without question, the most profound for me.  Everyone who was able chose to lay prone on the cobblestones or concrete before them. We assumed the position that George Floyd was forced to endure and we maintained that position for 8 minutes and 46 seconds. Many of my fellow protesters called out, “I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.”

“I can’t breathe” – Photo: L. Weikel

I Wept

Yet again, I found myself incapable of joining in with my voice. Instead, I will admit it: I wept. Hot tears flooded into the Covid-mask I wore, and I did indeed find my breath stifled and thick. But the sadness. The sadness just rocked my body as I allowed myself to even for one moment imagine the depth of Mr. Floyd’s fear and pain and disbelief that his life would end in that moment. For what? For nothing. While passersby yelled for his murderers to stop, the pressure continued. Unrelenting. Until it was over. And even then, the pressure continued. Just to make sure, I guess.

Why? Because he was black. Because he was at the mercy of those with the power. Because they could.

The wanton abuse of power in our nation must end. We must use our power to establish much needed and long awaited justice. Vote.

If you live in Pennsylvania, and you haven’t already done it by mail, exercise your power today (Tuesday, June 2, 2020) – and especially in November.

Vote! – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-543)