When I was seventeen, my friend, Freddy, drove me home from our Junior Achievement meeting. We conversed about our hopes and dreams for our JA company and for our own futures after high school. Abruptly, Freddy dropped out of the conversation and looking in the rearview mirror said, “I think we are in trouble. Leave this to me.” Then I heard the siren as our car lit up with the police bubble lights, and Freddy pulled over.
I heard the door of the cop car slam and soon felt something hit the car as the officer broke Freddy’s taillight with his police baton. The officer leaned into the window and sneered, “What’s a good white girl like you doin’ with a n**** boy?” What I didn’t know then, but know all too well now, was that breaking the taillight gave the explanation for pulling the car over and who would believe two high school kids over a police officer as to when and how the light was broken.
Freddy quietly told me again to let him handle this as the officer dragged Freddy from the car. His approach to this situation was based in the nonviolence taught him by his AME pastor father, a follower of Martin Luther King, and on his understanding of the vulnerable position he held as a young black male in the hands of racist police.
My homelife modeled behaviors that were everything but peaceful and nonviolent. So, my anger flared at the injustice of what was happening. I jumped out of the car, furious, out of control and determined that the officer should apologize to Freddy. As a result, we were both arrested. When I called my mother from the police station, her response was, “That’s what you get for running around with n*****. Let them get you out, because I won’t.”
As you can tell I wasn’t raised to be an activist, particularly not an activist in race relations. But this was the rough and ineffective start to my life-long activity in advocacy. My advocacy efforts today are more around health care and the justice system, particularly death penalty and juvenile justice. I no longer yell at policemen. Now I do this work by writing legislators and occasionally appearing before legislative committees. By speaking for those who cannot always speak for themselves, I believe I fulfill the portion of my baptismal covenant that asks that we strive for justice and peace and support the dignity of every human being. Legislators are sometimes bogged down in the nuts and bolts of a bill and they find it helpful to be reminded of the human stories behind the bills, just as maybe my story puts a human face on the concept of advocacy.
If you have been wondering how you might strive for justice and support human dignity, consider asking someone on the Advocacy Committee for suggestions. Members are Mary Ann Panarelli, Candace and Vorry Moon, Dianne Draper, Sandra Boyd, and Merrie Need. We would welcome your joining us in the discussion.
Both the national church and the church in Colorado have specific areas they address. You can also participate by watching for articles about various advocacy opportunities as they appear in the Sheepskin and/or by signing up to be notified when our diocese or national church calls for letters to legislators and members of Congress about up-coming bills that the church endorses.