My column this week was going to review the work we were doing at the Capitol as we rejoined with other legislators after so many weeks of working at home. But, instead, it is about my heart.
I am grieving.
My apartment in Denver is just blocks from the Capitol, so, while convenient, it is very close to the action happening there this week. We knew a protest demanding justice for George Floyd of Min- neapolis was happening, but we didn’t understand until late Thurs- day that the peacefulness would be disrupted with riots and vandalism and violence.
We tabled our work finalizing the state’s budget on Friday and Saturday in order to provide space to let the protesters have their voices heard.
At home, I could hear helicopters buzzing all night, yells from the streets below and could smell tear gas when I opened my window. I listened to my fellow representatives tell stories and cry, and it struck me how differently I see this tragedy as a white person. A person of privilege.
I have never known the anger of being part of a group who hasn’t been listened to for hundreds of years. I have never feared being arrested simply because I was walking, or shopping or sitting on a college dorm couch. Or bird watching.
I have never been instinctually frightened when I see a police officer walking toward me on the sidewalk.
My privilege of being born white, a privilege over which I had no control, has sheltered me from the reality right in front of me every day, the reality that people of color have very different struggles in life than I do.
I have always said I understood, and I have always said I am not a racist. But, admittedly, I hadn’t joined others during that peaceful protest Thursday night and I don’t always try to see issues from the people of color point of view.
I read two books this year that opened my eyes: “The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness,” by Michelle Alexander, and “White Fragility: Why It’s so Hard for White People to Talk About Racism,” by Robin Diangelo.
These are not the typical books a white woman who lives in rural Colorado reads, I suspect, but I wanted to learn. From the “Jim Crow” book, I learned about the history of black America, and how our justice system and the war on drugs have targeted poor people of color. The “White Fragility” book taught me about me. Every person who believes they are not racist, and who isn’t afraid to hear the answer, should read it.
As a white person, I need to publicly acknowledge the injustice. Innocent black citizens are killed regularly; we can barely keep up with remembering their names. People of color are routinely stopped, questioned and arrested, and they do not have the power to stop it. White people hold the majority, and we end up making and enforcing the laws that hurt my fellow black citizens. We have the power to stop it.
I am channeling my grief to be more proactive. I am asking my fellow representatives of color how bills affect their communities and I am working with them to create solutions, not assuming I know what they need. I will continue to show leadership by defend- ing their rights to be heard and correcting the false claims made against them.
While I condemn all acts of vio- lence and vandalism that occurred this weekend, let’s remember Martin Luther King Jr. said, “A riot is the language of the unheard.” Let’s listen.
State Rep. Barbara McLachlan represents House District 59, which includes Archuleta, Gunnison, Hinsdale, La Plata, Ouray and San Juan counties.