Plot, Plan, Strategize, Organize, Mobilize.

Well, these past two weeks officially broke me. It makes my last update look like a complete and total joke in hindsight.

I can’t remember where I was or what I was doing when I first heard about George Floyd. But when I read that “I can’t breathe” was one of the last phrases he said before he was gone, I was filled with both rage and hopelessness.

“I can’t breathe” was the last thing Eric Garner said when he died at the hands of the NYPD in July 2014. Add in the shooting of Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri one month later, and the Black Lives Matter movement took off, sparking protests around the US. It angered me that the heinous events in 2014 managed to happen YET AGAIN six years later.

The feeling of hopelessness took over. I thought I was actively doing my part towards being a responsible citizen.

I participated in the 2016 primary and general election.

In March 2017, months after the results of the 2016 election left me stunned, I vowed to make my voice heard even more. I signed up for IssueVoter, a nonprofit that alerts me when legislation around social issues I care about is coming up for a vote. I’ve been emailing my opinions to my representatives for three years now.

I voted in the 2018 midterm elections and in 2019. In the 2020 primary, I voted for black women, with the hopes that there would be more diversity in local and state leadership on this year’s ballot.

I made a conscious effort to support Black-owned businesses whenever possible.

I donated to various social causes when I had money to spare.

I know I’m just one person, but it hurts to see black lives continually be devalued in this country despite my efforts to speak out and support.

And to think, these recent deaths and viral aggressions towards Black people are just the tip of the iceberg. It shed a light on the fact that I never understood the true extent of the systemic racism in this country.

The Amy Cooper incident (where she called the police on a black man birdwatching in Central Park) showed me how dire the situation is. It shocked me how quickly she weaponized her whiteness, feigning distress and claiming that “an African American man was threatening her life”.

And yet this is the shit that Black people go through every day. It’s been like this for the past 400 years. Activists raised awareness about this 60+ years ago. My privilege didn’t motivate me enough to dig deeper into America’s racist history, resulting in me avoiding discomfort for over 30 years.

My habits of consuming less news and social media went out the window these past two weeks. I dipped in and out the cable news cycle, keeping an eye on protests and what, if anything, the Minneapolis police were going to do to the four officers. I re-downloaded the Twitter app on my phone, observing popular reactions and reading amplified Black voices. I was that person on Instagram stories, sharing daily what I personally thought my friends/followers should keep in mind during this movement.

This Twitter thread resonated with me:

A few days ago, I started to feel the burn out. The revolution is only two weeks in, and this fight has no end in sight. There are fires everywhere, and I struggle in figuring out the one actionable thing I should do from now on to start effecting change. Should I focus on getting more people to vote? Helping Black-owned businesses re-build or gain more visibility? Mentor young Black professionals?

I decided to take this weekend off for self-care (in the form of watching the latest season of Queer Eye). Who knew that on day 85 of quarantine, I’d be taking Killer Mike’s advice of plotting, planning, strategizing, organizing, and mobilizing on behalf of social justice?