|Sandra Bland #SayHerName|
A friend, who like me, has enjoyed the freedom of driving as part of our training and consulting activities, commented about how much what happened to Sandra Bland frightened her. And I share the same worry, especially when crossing the Mason-Dixon line (although central PA always gives me pause).
I once researched a non-fiction piece to answer the question, in how many states, between Maine and the panhandle of Florida, would I find the confederate flag? This was in 2004. I loaded up the Brown Dog, and we set off from Boston on a 3 day drive -- we had been in Maine and NH earlier, which is why I wanted to write the piece. The important detail here is the Brown Dog. Of course I found the confederate flag, stuck to, flapping from or emblazoned on something in every state, from Maine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts (South Boston of course), New York, and just over the line in the Pennsylvania town of Milford, on a flagpole in front of the cigar shop in its historic district. I was not surprised, and only appalled once, in West Virginia at the site of Booker T. Washington's first home house in freedom, a truck perpetually parked nearby, a battle flag prominently affixed to its bumper.
|Brown Dog was my Co-Pilot|
known and loved. And every year without him, I am a little more fearful about driving alone.
And isn't this the point of terrorism? To deprive us of the freedom to go where we please, do what we want, enjoy this country as most white men believe it is their right to enjoy this country? (I know white women think they have this unvarnished right but that is only because of their misplaced faith in white supremacy. They forget to look over their shoulders at the patriarchal vengeance that seeks to keep them in check.)
|#SayHerName Brief, AAPF|
"When I dare to be powerful, to use my strength in the service of my vision, then it becomes less and less important whether I am afraid." Audre Lorde, The Cancer Journals, p. 13