Say Their Names

Since the shooting last week at Emanuel AME Church, , I have struggled with what to say. The usual buzzwords of "How awful! That's horrible! Absolutely terrible!" have felt like trite cliches that don't adequately convey the furious strength of my anger or the deep and soul-rending sorrow I've felt at this cowardly and racist act of terrorism. Because I am angry. Very angry. Shocked? Sadly, no. Pissed off? Absolutely, and then some. But if there's one thing I hate when I'm mourning a loss, it's people throwing trite cliches at me. "She's in a better place now.", "She was too perfect for earth.", "God just wanted his angel home.", and "There's a reason for everything." will drive me to the edge of civility. Since I don't like when people say what they think they're supposed to say without putting in the effort to come up with something slightly original, I try very hard not to do it.

I have also worried that my words would be a distraction, that I - speaking from a place of white privilege - might say the wrong thing and cause further hurt. I have worried that it might not be my place to speak, that I should instead focus on amplifying and promoting the words being spoken by authors who are People of Color. And there are many, many such blog posts, articles, twitter accounts, and Facebook posts to promote and amplify, words eloquently spoken. I have tried to step aside, to sit and listen, to share their voices and their words. Because theirs are the perspectives of lived experiences. No matter how upset I am or how hard I try to understand, I can never have the same perspectives as Luvvie Ajayi, Bryndis Roberts, A'Driane Nieves, Kelly Wickham, Feminista Jones, Kalani Tonga, Janan Russell, or so many other incredible Women of Color. Their voices are vital, and it's important that I - and other white people (including... or especially?... feminists) try not to speak over them.

But it is important that we speak out. I have heard time and again that white silence kills, white silence and fragility are part of the problem, and those of us who wish to try to be allies, including those of us who are trying to practice an inclusive and intersectional feminism, need to speak. And I want to speak, because I feel so much and silence has it's time and place but can also be taken to far. I need to speak, I need to add my voice and my words, my vocal support.

But... what do I say? Where do I start?

I can start by saying the names of the 9 people who were killed in Charleston and celebrating their lives. Because theirs are the names we should know, their names are the ones that should be trending on Facebook and Twitter. This amazing image came across my Instagram and Facebook feed, for that precise purpose: focusing on the victims instead of the terrorist.

(C) Sarah Green

In days to come, I'll post my anger. But for now, I say their names.

~Rev. Sharonda Singleton~

~Tywanza Sanders~

~Rev. Clementa Pinckney~

~Cynthia Hurd~

~Ethel Lee Lance~

~Myra Thompson~

~Rev. Daniel L. Simmons, Sr.~

~Rev. DePayne Middleton-Doctor~

~Susie Jackson~

We will not forget you. We will remember you. I will remember you. I will honor you. I will remember your names and teach them to my children. I will tell them about your love for God and for the people around you. May you rest in the peace of God as you stand now in His presence. I stand ready to fight for you and for all my sisters and brothers, but your work is done. Your memories will continue to inspire us, but you are home in the arms of your Savior now.

Take Me Home by Lisbeth Scott