2020-06-19 Special Edition Glowbe

Available in your browser at: https://docs.google.com/document/d/e/2PACX-1vQZ8m9IAP52THSjBEum_6Ni54iCCljT7xixeWeTH9O_Lf-c4Ww72WcWothuc4eZLwuBWk54HPNmUYMC/pub

Dear White Burners

Originally publishedat https://www.blackburnerproject.com/dear-white-burners and reprinted with the author’s permission

Trying to explain what it is like being Black in America to the extent where you truly understand is like trying to explain Burning Man to a Non Burner- realizing no matter how detailed you get they’ll never get it; it's impossible.

The difference is, someone can always go to Burning Man but you can never step into my brown skin for the true experience. In fact, you’d probably never want to. This type of experience you most likely could not handle.

I remember being a young girl, in the back of my moms car, riding down a street in Baltimore we commonly took to get my favorite food, Maryland crabs. This street was lined with crab shops. The sweet smell of Old Bay forever in the air. Looking out the window I’d see what I always saw, people of all kinds, but what stood out were the boarded up homes, people who seemed to have a hard life, and the men and women on corners, veins full of poison.

But it wasn’t just Black people, it was White people too. That’s what I always saw. White people looking and doing the same as everyone else. But that day (at 7 years old), something clicked. Why was it that the only people I ever saw on the news depicted in this negative light, had melanated skin like mine? It was confusing. What I saw with my own eyes didn’t align with what the news/media was telling me. They were trying to convince me that only Black people were “bad like this, did these negative acts, talked like that, looked like that”. But I knew otherwise. I had proof. However; you, your parents, your grandparents probably did believe them. I was always told White lives mattered, even if it was indirectly. We know that. You know that. What you have been taught, just like me, is that Black lives have never mattered and they will depict us in any way so that you will believe it to your core with no proof except what they tell and show you.

This is the danger of a single narrative. It’s why I started Black Burner Project; to share the narrative of POC who show up in this space fully and open and radically, but often go unseen.

This is why our stories matter. It is why we say Black Lives Matter; because you, non person of color, for so long have left us out of all the lives that have mattered. “All” lives can’t matter unless you include Black lives mattering too.

I am grateful for the experiences I have had at Burning Man. It is like no other. I am grateful that because of Burning Man, I found purpose with my passion. This project has meant so many things to me, but it’s never been just about Burning Man. This project is for People of Color because we need it, but it is for White Burners too, because you need it. You need to see us, you need to get used to us so you don’t look at us in awe, like aliens who have come down just to visit.

If you as a non person of color have met any of the people of color I have been so honored to meet through this project, you are one lucky and blessed human. You are lucky that they were bold enough to step into a space that on the surface is not inviting. You are lucky that they did not judge you for who you usually may be in the default world. You are Lucky that they still love and accept you. Lucky that in those moments even forgive you. You are lucky for the magic they bring to the playa. You are lucky because they are beautiful humans worth knowing, worth seeing, worth befriending, worth being mute for and listening to, and worth trying to understand.

Black Burner Project is about the importance of radical inclusion, diversity and community. It is about sharing our stories and creating a space where we can be seen. But We had to do that. I ask as a Burner for you to stand up and do that too. Ride with your Burners, all Burners! Burning Man is a space for some of us to go who live exhausting, socially unequal, traumatizing lives 358 days of the year outside of Burning Man. Will you continue to bring the default to the playa or are you determined to bring more of the playa to the default world?

What you can do is some deep Burning Man soul work like you’ve never done before to understand where you play a role in this, even if you don’t think you do. Ask how you too can prevent this outcome. It’s gonna take some uncomfortable work. Yes, it will be hard. Yes, things will come up you didn’t know existed within. Yes, you will have to face some real hard truths, about yourself, family, friends and this country. But, like Burning Man, facing truths, challenges and self work all for the outcome of the better is part of the Burner journey. So why won’t you? We are a part of this community and we should be — we are Humans. However, have you ever wondered if we’ve truly felt seen or included the same? Have you gone back to the default with a new understanding of race, privilege, injustice and action steps to take so you truly bring your lessons from the playa and its essence back home to be an example other people can learn from? You play a major role in making a difference! Know that the pain you are witnessing is real. Know that it is valid.

This community is large, creative, kind, and powerful. Don’t leave it up to us, we should be able to lean on you. Don’t leave us out in these dusty moments alone, here too. And if you don’t understand it all, all you have to do is be willing to.

I hope you are ready and open to continue these discussions but more importantly ready to take radical action not just now, but always.

Love and Light,

Erin

Black Burner Project

Erin Douglas is a photo journalist and 3 time burner who saw the desperate need to document other Burners of Color and share their stories to create a space where the misconception that burning man was just for “white hippies” could be squashed.

Support Black-owned Businesses

A few resources for supporting Black-owned businesses in ways that may be relevant to Firefly and Fireflies.

Thinking about Police Abolition? Let’s Talk About Firefly.

In the past month, we’ve watched problems that our default world has created and failed to address reach greater scale and urgency htan many thought possible. In the past three weeks, the killings of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Tony Dade, and others and the uprisings that have followed have forced many white people to acknowledge the brutal, overwhelming reality of police violence, especially against Black, brown, & indigenous people. White people are faced with the knowledge that this violence supports white supremacist social structures that whtie people have all benefited from, even if unwillingly; because we benefit from this violence, we are all complicit in it and responsible for ending it. How do we even begin to address any of these serious problems when we have no idea what the solutions look like?

Look at Firefly.

First, let’s acknowledge what is not right: Firefly is very white, relatively affluent, and draws a lot of its resources from a tech-centered economic boom that has given even greater power and influence to a small number of mostly-white professionals, extending even to the ways we think at a very basic level. A lot of people believe that Firefly has not done its fair share to reach out to communities of color.Many of us have viewed inclusion as a passive verb which happens to us, rather than something we do. Gendered and sexual violence remains an ongoing issue, accentuated by the economic divides in the community and in-group dynamics. The physical environment presents struggles for people with disabilities, while the financial resources funding blinky things make a lot of people, myself included again, uncomfortable, when considered in contrast to these unaddressed issues.

But when we look at Firefly through the lens of changes we would want to make in the default world, I (a white person) also take inspiration and strength

In trying to solve the problem of police violence as an oppressive tool, especially against Black people, Fireflies can easily imagine a world without them because we’ve already experienced one in miniature. While Rangers are often compared to cops, the comparison doesn’t hold up to much scrutiny: while police are trained to use violence, force, and coercion (and are typically immune in law and in fact from the consequences of doing so), the first lesson of Ranger training is to do nothing: be present, watch, and listen, and then if needed, de-escalate and connect people with help. What would it mean if our first responders only had the mandate to intervene forcefully in cases where people were in imminent physical danger , and then only after other methods had failed, and most of what they did was just talk to people and find out what they needed? Rangers learn that if they are in a physical encounter, they have already failed; de-escalation, distraction, or simply walking away, is usually the better option. Rangers operate along principles of respect & consent: they certainly don’t have no-knock warrants. And if someone breaks our trust by continuing to harm others and renders their inclusion a de facto exclusion of vulnerable others, we still don’t lock them in cages or brutalize or traumatize them. We keep them out of spaces where they can cause further harm and offer them chances to be accountable and, ideally, to grow, change, make amends, and rebuild trust.

One of the first things we would need to end the oppressive police state is a more robust, non-coercive mental health support system, which Firefly also has. Sanctuary volunteers are easy to find at all hours, often reachable by radio, and are trained to help when someone is simply having a hard time. In certain situations, Sanctuary volunteers have been able to travel to the people in need, as would our default world mental health services if given the resources they so fully require.

What is our recourse if there’s a fight, or if someone is frightening, harming, and/or d threatening others and doesn’t respond to volunteers? We do have one (1) security contractor, who has been very rarely needed in the years where they’ve been present. Mostly, however, we take care of each other. By simply keeping watch over each other, building trusting bonds, meeting each others’ needs in the ways we’re each able to, and by staying in tune with our neighbors and our surroundings, we ensure our collective safety and security more than a roving police force ever could.

Of course, we don’t always live up to these principles and need to work hard to do so consistently. But the fact remains that Firefly’s underlying security framework is radically different than that of the default world--and more often succeeds in keeping us safe in ways that the violent, coercive, and traumatizing approach the default world uses does not.

When people wonder out loud how we could possibly be safe without the police, tell them: we don’t need weapons, expensive equipment, or even years of training. What we need is each other.

Peter Salomone is a member of the Communication Committee, co-founder of Breakfast Sandwich Camp, and Glowbe Editor

What Can We Do About Police Brutality?

Join other Fireflies online Wednesday, June 24 from 7:00 - 9:00 pm EST to write government officials to ask for changes to policing. You may already be doing things like this -- why not do it together? Write letters during the meeting and share letter templates, addresses, and information about who needs to hear our calls for change. This is a hang-out meet-up with a purpose. Drop in or out as you like, no masks needed.

To join

Go to: https://meet.google.com/ddh-dzez-boz

Meeting name: fireflydirectaction

Questions?

Sage: sage@fireflyartscollective.org

Pete Salomone: pete@fireflyartscollective.org

Greater Boston Orgs to Support Right Now

Looking for ways (other than or in addition to protesting) to support the movement for Black lives? Consider making a donation to a local grassroots organization by and for the people most directly affected! To ensure your donation has the largest possible impact, look for orgs with the following traits:

Black-led and accountable to & trusted by the people & communities they serve (vs. outside donors on institutions)
Goals include cultivating organizers among those directly affected for a long-term movement
Fights for local, state, and/or national political change to address root causes of police brutality, mass incarceration, violence, and the criminalization of poverty along with providing material aid
Relies on mainly volunteers and small donations vs. large governmental or institutional grants and does not collaborate with police departments or district attorneys

Click here for non-exhaustive list of 11 greater Boston organizations that exhibit all or most of the above traits and have shown that they’re in the struggle for liberation for the long haul.

To increase your impact, consider suggesting your employer make a matching donation based on employee contributions, organizing a donation drive in your communities, or sponsoring a donation match on your own social media page!

Kit is a Library Camp-er and a volunteer political organizer with Boston DSA. She formerly worked in the development department of a local domestic violence nonprofit.

Why Now?

How the Pandemic Shook White Americans Out of Complacency

As the country rises to the brink of a social justice revolution, many Black voices are asking white people “why now? Where was your outrage years ago? How can I trust you’ll actually keep fighting for us?”

All valid questions.

[Disclaimer: I’m a white person, so I can’t speak for the Black experience. I also can’t speak for all white people. But I’m a human being capable of empathy. Empathy acts as a bridge to connect people with disparate life experiences. It illuminates our shared humanity. And it makes you give a damn.]

Before George Floyd’s murder ignited the Black Lives Matter movement to reach a fever pitch around the country, the silent majority of white Americans were sympathetic to anti-racism, but not really motivated to effect change. We knew there was a problem, but it felt too big to fix. The hopelessness was demoralizing, so we didn’t act.

The specific issue of police brutality felt abstract to most white people. We knew it was happening, that it was wrong and inexcusable, that the system was broken. But we didn’t feel the injustice in our bones. It was an intellectual exercise to care about something that could never happen to us.

Then COVID hit.

Many volumes will be written on how the Coronavirus Pandemic has changed us forever, in ways we can’t foresee while we’re still in the thick of it. But one thing is clear. The pandemic helped trigger the sea-change against racial injustice and over-policing in America.

There are economic reasons for this. The skyrocketing unemployment and looming recession (depression?) are ratcheting up Americans’ feelings of instability. When financial pressures squeeze an already struggling public, it’s like – to quote Hamilton – “a powder keg about to explode.” Even the looting that is tangential to the protests is evidence of people’s financial turmoil. Looters aren’t stealing for the thrill of it. These are acts of desperation.

There are logistical reasons for COVID’s influence on this movement, too. All those people who wouldn’t normally have the bandwidth to go to a protest, to swarm social media, or to make phone calls to their representatives? Well, a lot of them are unemployed now. And those who still have jobs? All the ways that they would spend their free time – watching or playing sports, attending events, visiting friends, going out to eat, or travelling on vacation – all cancelled. Finally there are no distractions. No excuses. Nothing to compete with the need to act.

But the biggest effect COVID has had on white Americans’ relationship to the Black Lives Matter movement is the emotional impact. The pandemic has robbed white people of our sense of safety. Especially at the beginning when so little was known about the virus, how it spread, how contagious or deadly it was, what all the symptoms were, whether we could trust the test – (and where were the tests? Who could get them? Who would pay for them?). So many questions and no solid answers.

It didn’t feel safe to leave the house. It didn’t feel safe to be around people. Going to the grocery store was frightening. Going for a jog felt risky. Not just risky – it felt like a matter of life and death. Sometimes it didn’t even feel safe inside your own home. This is a new feeling for us. It is not a new feeling for Black people. We begin to understand.

Weeks drag on with the world in begrudging quarantine, and our sense of safety is still elusive and fleeting. Our government utterly fails to calm a distressed nation. No leadership, no reassurance, no plan for recovery. Testing is a disaster. Front-line workers risk their lives without fair compensation or adequate PPE. “Something must be done, this is unacceptable!” we cry into the void as little changes.

We feel ignored and abandoned by the systems (that we pay for) that are supposed to help us. We feel angry and betrayed. This is a new feeling for us. It is not a new feeling for Black people. We begin to understand.

As the data rolls in about COVID deaths, the numbers are staggering: Black people are dying of COVID at 2-3 times the rate of white people. When politicians plead that we must reopen businesses and sacrifice potential lost lives for the sake of the economy, they are volunteering Black people to carry the lion’s share of that sacrifice.

Working Americans who are forced to choose between losing income and endangering their household are outraged by this choice. This existential outrage is a new feeling for us white people. It is not a new feeling for Black people. We begin to understand.

Then the news hits of fresh killings. Ahmaud Arbery, killed going for a jog. Breonna Taylor, killed in her own home. George Floyd, killed running errands. All of them killed doing the same circumscribed activities we’re all doing, trying to stay sane and survive.

After weeks of psychological turmoil, when we’re all just desperately trying to stay alive, these killings prove one thing: that Black people are never safe, no matter what they do, no matter where they go. Internalizing this truth is new for us. It is not new for Black people. We begin to understand.

“This is unacceptable, we demand justice!” cry the many people who are beginning to understand. After protests all over the country, satellite protests around the world, riots, 3 Million+ signatures on a petition, countless angry phone calls, emails, and tweets, finally 4 officers were arrested for George Floyd’s murder. It took over 2 months for Ahmaud Arbery’s white assailants to even get arrested. Breonna Taylor’s are still at large.

There is a seemingly endless parade of police officers who were never fired, nor indicted, nor convicted for killing Black people. Justice is not being served. That is the rule, not the exception. It’s undeniable. This is not news to Black people. We begin to understand.

“These are isolated incidents, very tragic, we condemn them. A few bad apples,” say the people in charge. Meanwhile, we are flooded with footage of fresh acts of police brutality against peaceful protestors, onlookers, and members of the press. These are direct and intentional attacks, often unprovoked. Particularly graphic footage circulates of a peaceful, elderly protestor getting strong-armed by police in Buffalo. When he falls to the ground, blood pools out of the man’s ear. “He’s leaking!” shouts one officer, as if describing a machine in need of repair. The dehumanizing word choice is startling. Not as startling as watching the whole group march past the man in distress. Despite a public outcry over the incident, the entire police squad of Buffalo, NY resigned in solidarity with the two colleagues who were suspended for shoving the man. No good apples to be found.

At a time when no one feels safe, when we’re fighting an invisible virus that we don’t understand, we know we are all in this together. No one is swooping in to save us. We have to protect one another.

The pandemic has primed us to prioritize survival over civility, justice over peace, life over wealth. We have begun to understand the pain and fear that plagues our Black community because it is no longer theoretical. We feel it, too. In a deep and inexpressible way. Now it’s a shared pain. It could be our father who lies bleeding on the cement. It could be our daughter who gets tear gassed. It could be us in a chokehold. Any of us. No one is safe. No one can breathe. We begin to understand why Black people have been fighting for their lives. And we are ready to fight, too.

Taking Action Through Sewing

Would you love to help youth-led protests, but aren’t sure how to help? Do you have some fabric or sewing supplies that you would be willing to contribute to the cause? Izebel would love to hear from you! Please reach out to izebel@rocketmail.com in the next 24 hours. Thanks in advance!