Have you ever heard the quote, “Whatever, you aren't changing, you're choosing?” Today I chose change. I went to a peaceful protest not because I wanted to, but because I felt compelled… compelled by the state of lawlessness in our government, internally urged by a voice in the pit of my stomach that said, "Don't be silent." "Not now." "Not when so much is at stake." My husband did not want to go. He doesn't do confrontation. He isn't comfortable fighting. Peace, love and complacency are the lands he lives most of his days on. The patriarchy clenched at his feelings, his true nature in it's unrelenting fist. Perhaps my fists were involved, too. My resolute need to speak truth when the cost is too high to stay silent. And so he went, when it was most likely the last thing he wanted to do, because his programming told him his mere presence would keep the women in his family safe. I'm not sure that either of us believe this to be true, but duty called and being the good man that he is, he answered that call, albeit at the expense of his comfort. My daughter wanted to go. Every time I have mentioned going to a protest, her eyes flash with fire and flames of equity. Sometimes I see her warrior spirit so clearly, so strong, so unrelenting. Other times she's afraid and wounded, thrashing in a pool of victimhood that is not and never has been hers to swim in. I know she will learn to discern which waters are hers, which are safe, and which she needs to tread in for survival, for growth, for strengthening her soul.
My son was bereft with discomfort, and I found myself wondering if the discomfort he was holding was truly his, or perhaps the mislaid discomfort of his father's, or maybe a sign of ancestral trauma, a remembrance of a time when he really was not safe standing against the grain. When standing up or out meant being exiled or abandoned. When rejection was certain death. His discomfort broke me a little bit. It tore away a piece of me. A sharply painful, slow detachment of a piece of my heart. Too real to fully process yet, another remembrance deeply felt, I knew it immediately. He felt unsafe. Not yet a man, he wasn't yet deluded enough to believe that his mere presence can keep harm at bay. I didn't feel safe. I didn't want to be there. I didn't want to be in a situation that required signs that read, United We Stand for Democracy and The Future is Watching. I didn't want to stand there with people holding signs that didn't align with my peace, empathy, and equality steeped beliefs. I didn't stand silent when three oversized pickup trucks with exhaust pipes fitted to blow black smoke drove slowly by us, revving their engines. An older woman warmly told us to step further back from the curb because earlier a truck had hit the curb, intimidating the peaceful protesters. These "men" in their trucks drove by staring us down, trying to instill fear in us. Menacing glares were not imagined. They revved their engines and drove, slowly, pulling into the gas station across from this small sign holding group, using their First Amendment rights to protest peacefully. They walked to each other's cars, seemingly to make plans. My heart raced. My legs wobbled. My son was squirming on the wet pavement, his eyes wild with uncertainty, with the deep feeling of instability that these "men" intentionally inflicted. My daughter had an unsure but steady defiance in her eyes. My husband stood anchored, a watchtower for his family. The police officer across the street did nothing. I knew deep down, if he hadn't been loyal to an authoritarian president, this was without a doubt the moment for him to uphold the sacred balance of law and order, To use his voice. To honor his badge. Sinister intentions traveling on the wheels of comically large black trucks personalized to blow cartoon clouds of pollution into the air. Their behavior was not subtle, not peaceful. Surely it wasn't legal to rev engines like that. Then the "men" revved their engines again, blowing smoke as toxic as their intentions, and drove away. As they made this fear inducing display yet again, some of the "peaceful" protesters started jeering. "Keep going, little boys." "Little boys, you don't scare me."
I froze. Is this protester antagonizing men in enormous vehicles who clearly feel the need to extinguish peace, ignite indifference and fuel fear? I mean, what does it say about you to behave in the aforementioned way while people hold signs like Democracy over Oligarchy? Who would be angry about democracy? Except maybe the people who stand to benefit from the dissolvement of the checks and balances. There was no doubt that while these "men" thought they would benefit, they will, without a shadow of a doubt, not benefit one bit. And many of these changes will affect their lives, but they just haven't seen the truth yet. The truth is harder for believers of this smoke and mirror show. You see, when you become accustom to a constant stream of fiction labeled as truth. Suddenly there are no finite facts at all. Just redirection. Just burying truth with anger and fear. I feel like I have watched this movie before, that I have been there and felt the swirling pit in my stomach exactly as I do right now, in another time. I walked over to the woman who foolishly antagonized these unhinged men "who said, little boys?" I asked "I did." she replied. "Why would you antagonize these men when they're behaving this way?" " I want them to know they don't scare me." " I understand that, but by insulting them when they go low, you go low too. We cannot ask them to meet us where we are at and hold themselves to a higher standard when we don't do that ourselves first. My children are here watching. I want them to see that what we are asking for, we put out into the world first through our actions." "You're right. I got angry at the way they were trying to scare us. I shouldn't have insulted them. "But weren't they acting like naughty little boys?" In my mind, as my legs shook and my voice quivered, I knew this wasn't a peaceful protest at all. People held signs that read Dump Trump andTrumpwith a red line through his name. Deport Elon. Why weren't we holding signs about what policies mattered to us? Why weren't we all remembering not to act childish while we judge and scorn others for doing the same? This was the root of the illness. The lack of accountability, the lack of integrity, the lack of empathy, the lack of wisdom to see we must be what we are asking for first and with such a depth and unshakable resolve that the example we make ripples into the people who watch us just existing. Existing in this level of integrity. Existing in our fear without lashing out, foolishly Existing in our heart center, without forgetting what it is we are fighting for. What are you fighting for, beloved? Is it to expel your anger on another for disagreeing with you? Is it to hate a man who is inarguably ensnared by an insatiable greed that blinds him to the collective well-being? Is it for freedom of the press? To uphold the Constitution? To keep law and order instead of executive order? Whatever it is that matters to you, decide. Decide by taking the time to think deeply about it. This is your life, your country. This road we are walking in silence or in protest, leads to the future. I know this, despite wanting to disappear into the background, I will not be silenced. Even in fear, I will walk the road leading to the future in integrity with my beliefs, aligned with what I know to matter more than hating a person or persons. Hatred is just a distraction from doing the real hard work that matters. From talking the talk and walking the walk of empathy and unity. From saying what actually needs to be said, like Democracy For ALL. What path are you walking, beloved? What do you stand for in your silence or in protest? Do you weaken your message with anger? Do you strengthen their resolve with your venomous clapbacks? Because the truth is, the future isn't just waiting, it's watching. What do you choose? Decide. Because whatever you aren't changing, you are choosing.
Quote referenced in this piece “Whatever you aren’t changing you are choosing” was written by
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