Everything’s been said; there’s nothing left to say (Thoughts on Charleston)

Because we white people have the same predictable, echo-chamber conversations every time a Black life is snapped up by white supremacy. Because the Facebook memes and retweets and editorials and media critiques are getting really repetitive. Because we talk and talk and talk and nothing is changing. We show up at a march or two and then go home. We yell at other, less radical white people because we can too easily imagine ourselves as them, their ignorance is uncomfortably close to how we once were and their complacency is chillingly seductive, and the only way we can bolster our identities as Super Duper Righteous Allies is by tearing them apart. (True story: a few months ago I witnessed a #blacklivesmatter discussion made up almost entirely of white people that ended with half the participants slinging blame and the other half sobbing. Give me a fucking break, friends.)

My fellow bloggers, my fellow white people, we have said everything that we can possible say.

So now what are we going to do? What are we willing to risk? How far will we dare to stick out our necks? I’m genuinely asking here. I shared a meme today, whoopee. I don’t have anything resembling a game plan and I have no idea what to do. All we can do as individuals is talk; any actual change requires a sea of us, a tidal wave. Where is that tidal wave going to start? What form is it going to take? It will never come until we open ourselves to it.

Please, people, it’s time to do something.