I got texts from out of state friends after a riot in Pittsburgh following the murder of George Floyd. Are you ok? they ask. I’m fine, we live on a hill far from the action I text back.
Isn’t that the point? I think to myself. I’m an old white lady who lives on a hill. A place of privilege, where I can look down on the city choosing to participate or not with the people who live there.
Sure I serve meals at a homeless shelter and fold clothes for the free clothes closet at the Send Relief Center at my church. I serve meals to the community on Sundays and hand out packages for the food bank. But, that’s again from a position on the hill.
On my hill I don’t know what it’s like to be stopped by police because I drive through a neighborhood, or closely watched in a store because of my skin color, or stalked while jogging. No one will call 911 when I ask them to put their dog on a leash at Grandview Park.
I don’t worry that a police officer will pull me out of a car, falsely accuse me of resisting arrest and kneel on my neck.
I don’t want anyone to worry about all of those things. I want our country to change. I want to change. I want people to be accepted for who they are, not for what they look like.
It’s time for me to run down the hill and be the change I want to see.