The Quarterly Newsletter - June, 2020

Rephael Houston

     When the Minneapolis Police Department murdered George Floyd, the weight of injustice that has been felt by the Black community for generations became manifest to more people. I felt called to bring some friends together to hear each other’s stories of race and racism. Although there is a rich body of literature concerning race and racism in the United States, how individual and institutional stories weave together is often missing.

To explore the tragedy of anti-black racism and the questions that it raises, I created a container to hold those hard emotions and provide support for each other. I was inspired by Rhonda Magee’s The Inner Work of Racial Justice to use contemplative techniques to support our conversation. Contemplative practices help to give everyone a chance to slowly see what thoughts and emotions arise when we discuss stories around race and racism. I have noticed that some of my friends haven’t had a chance to unpack their stories.Contemplation helps to create a pace and place where everyone feels supported as we process this moment.

I am learning to be with heartbreaking stories to create a deepening awareness of the personal impact of race and racism. I believe that for me to “act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly” requires contemplation. I also want to continue to make time to lament and explore the ways I have been complicit with and wounded by racist systems. I feel that I need that space just as much as my friends.

There is an urgent cry for justice that echoes across the United States and now the world.This cry reverberates from the past wounds that have never healed. It brings tears of fear and anger. Since joining Cedar Ridge, I have been able to build a contemplative practice and support others in theirs. I am hopeful that through contemplation and action, “we can build a community of people who make the world a better place.”

I was horrified by the killing of George Floyd. I saw a black man’s life and breath snuffed out under the knee of that police officer. Over the next few days, I began to consider how I might participate in solidarity with the protests and Black Lives Matter. On Facebook, I saw that a person in a nearby town was planning to stand outside her home with a candle in honor of the family of George Floyd and of all brothers and sisters of color.

We have a very nice common space in an open area behind our home and I got the idea that I could invite neighbors to join me in a candlelight vigil so I put a message on our local Greenbelt Facebook page. I asked that people wear masks and social distance so we could come together safely. It seemed like a small gesture but something I could do. 

We had about 50 people join us. It was so heartening to see one after another of my masked neighbors and friends come with their candles and signs. Our time together included drumming from a dear friend of ours who teaches African drum, a number of speakers, including a local African American gentlemen, and, of course, candles. 

 It was so healing to come together and support one another in our grief. My dear friend, Melanie Griffin wrote thanking me for organizing this “balm for our souls.” 

Coming to America in 1957, I was a preschooler who spoke two Indian languages and no English. As most children, I quickly learned English and had no problems communicating with my friends. My school was unfamiliar with foreign students (I was the only one) and my kindergarten teacher told my parents to speak only English at home, so I would learn English. They dutifully complied, even though my English was quite fine and I had no problems at all understanding and communicating with classmates and teachers. This directive caused me to lose the ability to speak in my native language, which I regret to this day. 

I remember being teased about my dark skin, ostracized by teachers and other students, experiencing what we now call bullying. We are grateful that we raised our sons in Maryland where there is diversity, and at Cedar Ridge where we were accepted and loved. When my boys were growing up, and especially when they started driving, I had “the talk” many times warning them how to act and what to do if stopped by the police. When I see young men and women of color unjustly treated, I often think that could be my child. 

There is so much we all can do to educate ourselves and stand up for our brothers and sisters of color, and having this vigil and attending others in our neighborhood is one way to swim in a sea of solidarity and love. 

I grew up in Silver Spring, Maryland and attended a racially diverse high school. I have come to appreciate that diversity looking back, but at the time I never really thought about race that much. In my mind, racism was a problem in other places, at other times, and for other people. I sometimes heard older people make thinly veiled racist comments, and I just brushed it off, like oh, they’re old and don’t know any better. I thought my future kids were going to be lucky to be born in a time when racism would be finally eradicated once all the old racists died off. I had black friends, but none of them lived in my neighborhood, and I never really questioned why. I was shocked and outraged when the video surfaced of Rodney King being beaten by police in 1991, and remembered thinking that the problem of police brutality against black people was despicable and, now that it had come to light, would be rooted out and put to an end. While I was angered by the injustice, I didn’t really see it as my problem. 

Now, almost 30 years later, we are still seeing senseless violence being carried out against black people by the police and “stand-your-ground” whites. Trayvon Martin, Tamir Rice, Philando Castille, and so many others have been murdered, and each time I felt immense sadness and outrage. I felt gratitude for those who spoke out demanding justice, and I talked with people about how horrible it was, but still I did very little in the form of action. 

Now in the wake of the tragic deaths of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor and George Floyd, I heard a call to action directed at white people to own this problem and our role in unintentionally perpetuating it. I felt compelled to educate myself and my children. I realized the danger of getting lulled into thinking that race wasn’t a big deal. I realized that the notion that we could be “colorblind” when it comes to race is rooted in the privilege that comes with being white. I felt the need to speak out. I looked around me and saw that in this beautifully diverse city of Silver Spring, my neighborhood was disproportionately white. How had I never really thought too much about that before? It was hard to reconcile the tranquillity of our neighborhood streets with what was going on just a few miles away in DC. 

Like so many others, I felt stuck between a desire to join the chorus of voices on the streets demanding change and fear for my own safety and for the safety of my children. I had tried to get our neighborhood to participate in a virtual event for racial justice put on by the neighboring city of Takoma Park so we could all show our support for the cause safely from our front yards. I got a lot of encouraging responses from people remarking that we need more of this kind of thing in our neighborhood, but it still didn’t feel like we were really coming together as a community on the issue. I realized we really needed to come out together in a public and visible way. I started talking through ideas with a few close friends in the neighborhood and decided on a March for Racial Equality that weekend. I have never done anything like this in my life, and I really didn’t have any idea what I was doing. I was anxious about all the things that could possibly go wrong. What if people were offended? What if things got out of hand? What if someone got hurt? What if nobody came? 

My incredibly supportive husband helped me every step of the way, and people from the community stepped up to help and turned out en masse the day of the event. We had over 500 participants and with the cooperation of the MCPD, we shut down a half-mile stretch of Colesville Road. The signs and lively protest chants from the crowd drew support and cheers from those passing by, and drivers from across the road blasted their horns and raised their fists in solidarity. After marching, the crowd gathered to hear from speakers from the community, including MD State Senator, Will Smith, and musicians who performed songs of love and protest. Speakers highlighted the importance of being actively anti-racist and presented opportunites to continue the dialogue in our community. 

Since the march, people have been using the neighborhood discussion forums to address topics of racism and the history of our neighborhood. Many were surprised to learn about an old by-law that prohibited People of Color and Jewish people from being able to purchase a home here. The local group for inclusion hosted a discussion to shed light on safety concerns of neighbors who have been the victims of racial profiling in their own neighborhood. Another resident is working with Impact Silver Spring to start up affinity groups so that neighbors can talk more about these issues.  

I realize that I am only beginning to understand all the ways that systemic racism has harmed People of Color in our society, and I will continue to try to educate myself. I will continue to actively seek out opportunities to take action, speak out, and contribute financially to causes that help our country advance towards racial equality.