The last few days have weighed heavily on all aspects of our lives. We are living in a global pandemic. I miss seeing my Bert so much. We make the best of phone calls, ZOOM visits and revel in the simplest pleasure while separated.
Then the Military Report that revealed the horrific conditions in Ontario’s Long Term Care homes was published. There was a general wringing of hands, wailing and gnashing of teeth even from those who knew or should have known. The report revealed in bald, bare facts the long standing atrocities that were perpetuated against our most vulnerable.
For those of us who had intimate knowledge of the system, for those who lost their loved ones during this pandemic it was no surprise. If there was surprise it was to wonder how the system was allowed to become so degraded. It was sickening to read the report.
We are aware that when people become products for profit they become expendable losing priority to the greater and more important issue of shareholder profits. It is the reason we have advocacy groups solely concerned with residents and families in Long Term Care. It takes constant vigilance and proactive, consistent effort to oversee the well being of our families and friends who are residents.
The fact that my Bert was in a home that did provide good care and security; that his caregivers were dedicated, committed, loving and went beyond the call of duty to look after our loved ones, did not take away from the immense sadness felt as I read the full report. It only made me resolve even more to be an advocate on behalf of the community of which I am one.
The telephone call came as I deliberated ways I could be a voice in the Long Term Care solution.
“Paula, do you have the news on? Turn it on. There is a report of another black man killed by the police in the US and it is all on tape.” I could hear the agitation in my friend’s voice.
I turned on the T.V and I still cannot get the image erased from my mind. I witnessed a modern day lynching in living colour. For a moment, just like George Floyd I could not breathe.
Myriad emotions fought for space. I was sad. I was angry. I was enraged and felt a deep despair. Playing out in front of me was 400 years of hate, fear, mistrust, and the negative branding of black people as being less evolved and thus less human than a white person.
I watched the protests and marches. I listened to the prattle of various pundits. I saw the lowest denominator of humanity look for excuses, take advantage, and indulge in riotous behaviour.
The irony of the greatest proponent of building a wall to keep asylum seekers and immigrants outside and now cowering behind a hastily built third wall to keep citizens out of the ‘Peoples House’ is risible.
The double irony is that the descendants of slaves are the ones who suffer the greatest racism yet are the only ones in America who are not immigrants. They never bought a ticket, filled in immigration papers nor were they refugees or asylum seekers fleeing war or pestilence or poverty. They were not seeking a better life. They were cruelly captured, dragged from their villages, separated from their families, chained, penned in the filthiest conditions imaginable, endured a most hazardous ocean voyage, whipped, died and thrown overboard like so much garbage, then put on a block and sold as chattel in a foreign land where wealth was determined by the number of slaves you owned.
Those who came later, who actually chose to be immigrants are dumped into the same pool because, well, they are black. If you are black you can never achieve first class status. You are forever a second class citizen.
That racism that is embedded in the DNA of white America still sees a Black President as an aberration, the exception that proves the rule and still vilifies him.
The thousands of George Floyds over the years that have suffered systemic racism in all its virulent forms do not have a chance. They were and are still at the mercy of those who clothe themselves in the impregnable hoods of white priviledge.
Friends across the spectrum and from five different countries have all asked: “What can we do to change this?” There are ideas being floated the simplest of which is, as the Bell mental Health slogan suggests, ‘Let’s Talk’. Being black in America is certainly a major mental health issue.
It is simple but not easy. Already the cowards who are witnessing what I hope is the beginning of a new era are saying the opposite: “Don’t get into any debate with any black person because no matter what, now they will be always right.” That is the racist DNA talking. At a time when we should be engaging in meaningful conversation, of learning about each other, of trying to understand, they would disengage, crawl into their bunkers until this all blows over and then they can be the ones who emerge, as usual, always ’right’.
Let’s call out the little incidents of biases and not in a whisper but right out loud. Recognize when you are being patronized or used as a token to fit someone’s notion of diversity. My American friends of all stripes talk of being ‘ashamed’ ‘sad’, devastated’ ‘despondent’, ‘pessimistic’. They can do what I cannot. They can vote. It is a powerful tool in any effort to impel change.
Yes, I am a shy one but last Christmas, while shopping in my local grocery store the line to the cashier was so long that I remarked: “Wow! Will we get out today?” The man behind me laughed and began to sing Silent Night. The next commented: “Yeah, wish we get out by nightfall.” Two women joined in the carol as did I and before long we had quite a choir singing Christmas carols.
Sometimes that is all you need to demonstrate the commonality of human beings or as John Lennon and Paul McCartney wrote: “All you need is love. There’s nothing you can do that can’t be done.” I know little things can mean a lot.
The effect of the blatant lynching of George Floyd echoes the fight of Martin Luther King, Jr, the resilience of Nelson Mandela, the selfless charity and humility of Mother Teresa, and so many others. They achieved their approbation through continuous and prolonged dedication to their cause.
400 years of oppression will not evaporate in a day or a year or ten. To right the wrongs that will result in a more just society will take everything in us that makes us human, and the will to stay the course no matter how Herculean the task or difficult the journey.
I just hope it will not take 400 years.
The Meander: It took a virus to highlight the darkness of Long Term Care;
It took a global pandemic to open our eyes to recognize the real heroes of our day;
It took the recording of the murder of another black man to underline the evil that is racism.
There is global condemnation. Dare we hope that a new day dawns that will usher in a better future for all?