It was 1967, I was fourteen years old and the sky over Detroit was orange, the city was on fire. The air in Windsor was thick with smoke and humidity, it stuck in my nose and burned my throat and I was afraid – I was a Canadian kid who didn’t get it.
Fast forward forty-three years, I am sixty-seven years old and the sky over Minneapolis is orange, the city is on fire. I can’t see it or smell the smoke from here but I can feel the tension and it makes me sick to my stomach. I’m a Canadian grandmother and I get it.
History is not only repetitious it seems it is continuous. Nothing has changed in all the years since I witnessed Detroit on fire. People are still begging for equal rights, civil rights and justice – they are still not being heard. And now Minneapolis burns.
Do I really have to worry about offending people who are watching the news right now and are not outraged? Is there any way anyone can justify what happened to George Floyd or countless other people of color who have been discriminated against, preyed upon and murdered over the years? Who are the people who think this is okay? Where are they? They are awfully quiet today – their president is awfully quiet today.
Canada isn’t immune to racism – Canadians have their own dirty secrets, but this… this American display of racism, violence, anger and apathy is the stuff of nightmares. Could this be the last straw? One could hope but I doubt it.
I fear for the people of the United States, my friends and family who live south of the border, people who are not part of this disgrace but are living in the midst of it. No decent person could watch this meltdown and not be moved – moved to speak up, stand up and stop putting up with the prejudice, the injustice and the horror of what is day to day life in the USA for people of color.
My opinion means as much in the USA as it does in China or India or Iran – nothing – it means nothing. Americans are charged with fixing this mess – the only ones. And this breaks my heart.