Say His Name
Spirits were high, with nervous yet excited anticipation, on Saturday 13th June as my friends and I walked down the streets of Brighton towards the beach. Seeing so many other groups of mostly young people going in the direction we were heading, I felt that they were just like soldiers trooping defiantly into battle. Everyone was there for the same reason, supporting the same movement. Collectively, we all suddenly felt as though we had a joint power, as though we were upholding equality in what we were doing.
We started marching, more and more people joining every minute. Despite the fact that at the start we tried to maintain social distancing rules, this very quickly dissipated and we gave up as we immediately huddled together, never pushing or elbowing into people, however.
Soon enough we were right in the midst of the action, the middle of the passion, as we walked purposefully down the promenade, shouting and thrusting our cardboard signs high into the air. Almost everyone had their own poster, holding aloft for the entirety of the three hours, no matter how much arms ached. When I stood up on my tip-toes, looking both back and forward, the street was a sea of masked faces, with people trailing off into the hazy distance: I found out later that more than ten thousand were there.
Each five minutes or so, a surging electric wave of thunderous applause, vigorous cheering and intense whooping swept through the crowd. The atmosphere was buzzing in the sweltering summer heat as the sun glared down at us. We stood up on bus stops. We shouted. We beat on drums. As if we were one mind, we moved through the undulating streets of Brighton in a long mile, ending up huddled together in a park, listening to speeches and getting hydrated. What an experience.
I think that it’s the past that propels us into a brighter future, like a rocket fuelled by the ignorant mistakes our species have made. How do we expect to learn from these mistakes if we do not fully understood what led to this crooked belief system? Not only should children be taught about the problem, but also who brought about solutions. Revolutionaries like Rosa Parks. Nurses like Mary Seacole. Activists like Martin Luther King Jr. Their stories are what have inspired movements, not only to do with anti-racism.
Sometimes it’s simply saying ‘no’ to the people who are more dominant than you are. All of these things have the ability to spark huge goals and incite change by planting a tiny seedling that grows into a strong and sturdy tree.
It’s unbelievable to me how one single event launches such an important issue into the public eye. This seemingly insignificant incident has sparked an angry outrage – a match sparking an inferno. Or how the slightest shift in the snow transforms into a monumental avalanche. Just like how the killing of Archduke Franz Ferdinand was the main cause of World War Two. Our war will not be waged against countries, rather changing people’s perceptions of race, skin colour and centuries-old prejudices that have become ingrained over generations.
Although this is obviously great, we cannot lose sight of the actual person behind the murder. All too often killers get all of the publicity and the victims slip away largely forgotten. Which is why the constant chants of ‘Say his name – George Floyd! / Say her name – Breonna Taylor!’ at the protest in Brighton. They simply can’t become just another number to add to the shocking statistics. Because their lives have been stolen through no fault of their own, it is up to the rest of us to keep their spirits alive. To speak up on their behalf as their voices have been silenced. To remember more than anything.
That is our responsibility, now that the world around them has been too harsh.
