White Silence

There were protests all over the country on Saturday about unequal treatment by police towards black Americans. There was a march downtown here in LA, but I thought that maybe it was time the message came to the whitest area of this city, west Los Angeles. So I dressed in my Sunday best and stood with my sign at the busy intersection of San Vicente Avenue & 26th Street in tony Brentwood for an hour and 15 minutes in the middle of the afternoon. I was scared to stand there by myself, felt very vulnerable, but soon I realized how scared people were of me, this weird lady standing holding a sign over head, turning it around every 30 seconds so the other side could be read. The runners sped up as they went past me, and cyclists riding to the beach pretended not to see me as they waited for the light to turn green. Some drivers – usually women over 60, gave the thumbs up, one woman yelled God Bless You, a black bus driver waved, and someone shook their head and yelled “The police are right!”. I admire anyone who speaks out – even if we disagree – more than the ones who stay quiet. Most people just seemed uncomfortable. The more uncomfortable they looked (the runner forced to stop at the red light before jogging on, pretending I was an optical illusion), the more comfortable I got standing there, coming to the huge understanding that it is OK to feel discomfort. It was not going to kill me, or anyone. And it didn’t. What was going to kill people was staying silent.
Ian took these photos when I got home.