—By Gianna Allentuck—-

Angels we have heard on high, sweetly singing o’er the plains.
And the mountains in reply, echoing their joyous strains…
Angels we have heard on high, singing sweetly through the night.
And the mountains in reply, echoing their brave delight…

Angels we have heard on high, offering forth a message of birth and hope. Joy and deliverance. A message of joining and unity. Of glory and promise. A message of life. A life that was eventually sacrificed because of fear and ignorance, but endures on in our faith and in our hearts to fortify and guide us in seeking internal and eternal peace – for ourselves and for each other.

A life that mattered…

In February 2015, I wrote a piece for POV titled Will the real middle class please stand up; please stand up; please stand up. That article detailed how I, as a white woman who has never endured oppression, hardship, adversity, or despair, am trying to navigate the increasingly complex and conflicting race relations in America. Trying to help. Not for my own benefit. I don’t need more. I am the privileged. But for the benefit of the many.

At the core of my thoughts was the challenge of figuring out where, when, and how my voice fits into the dialogue; or, as I questioned then, if my whiteness prohibits me from being heard or respected in the conversation at all. Also at the core is my belief that education is the only means through which these racial and justice tensions will be resolved. More specifically, education through communication of the messages from both sides.

In writing this piece – now almost two years later – I realize that the questions I asked then regarding space for my voice have since gone unanswered because the voice I really need to hear from is the voice of the leaders on either side of this canyon of conflict. The angels on high.
I am not asking that all causes have the same message, but rather that all those representing a specific cause speak the same language and share the same message for that cause.

There is a difference. In order for me to be a positive, productive, active participant of change, I need to be educated by the leaders on the true, genuine messages of the groups so that I no longer fall prey to the partial media reports, data from unnamed sources, controversial Facebook posts, unsubstantiated blogs and vlogs, doctored videos, and premature breaking news accounts…

My ears bleed, eyes tear, and heart breaks from the voices claiming to bring the word from above. Many preaching for unity and peace while factions and fractions from within unknowingly widen the divide…

On a daily basis, I am being told as a white woman to speak up because my silence means I am siding with the oppressor. That my silence is equal to the death of a black man. Then I am told when I speak what I say means nothing because I am white and cannot understand what it means to be black. If I support Black Lives Matter (BLM), I am anti-cop. If I support cops, I am anti-Black. That Black Lives Matter doesn’t call for or condone killing cops while videos, pictures, and posts of black men and women in BLM t-shirts and holding BLM banners stomping on the American Flag and calling for the killing of cops and screaming “f the pigs” splatter the internet. These images clogging my thinking space along-side posts and accounts that cops aren’t racist that are refuted by pictures or audio tapes of cops using the “n word” or other derogatory terms to describe black people. Or cops posting and posing with images and symbols of racism. Or cops using excessive force in incident after incident.

My media streams are filled with quotes from Ronald Reagan, Donald Trump, the Bible, Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr. and Malcolm X; talk of Civil War and a real life purge; historical references modernized and diluted by hashtags; and people saying that just because one black person commits a crime does not mean all black people are criminals, while a split screen shows those same people calling out all cops as racists because a few actually are.

Since my request for help standing up from the middle, mixed messages from all sides and pockets of anger, hate, love, peace, frustration, clarity, understanding, misunderstanding, hope, despair, unity, and division have filled that void of knowledge from which I was trying to escape. That chasm of separatism that I wanted to help bridge with my voice is now filled with layers of discrepancy and suffocates me. Stealing my air – my ability breathe. To speak. To move with my voice in any direction.

The irony of my suffocation is not lost on me, so I remain silent. Paralyzed by confusion.

And I wait. I wait for a message of clarity. Conviction. Consistency. Move myself to no longer aim to speak to that of which I do not – cannot – know, but rather to pray to the angels on high to reveal themselves; bringing with them a message of guidance so that I know where to go and whom to follow.

In my prayers, I ask the angels to sing us their songs of truth. Justice. Accountability. Diversity. Deliverance. Grace. Unity. Strength. Freedom. Of peace. I tell them that we, the people, are the mountains of change, and implore them to educate us – and trust that we will echo…■