Brace for impact

Wondering what the future holds in America a day after ICE murdered a woman in Minnesota.

“Brace for impact” is a phrase my therapist likes to use a lot when I start worrying about what comes next.

He and I don’t have a ton of time for chit-chat (and, yet, we always find a way to chit-chat) but I always laugh a little when he says this phrase because it is the opposite of what I have been taught by movies, television and elders who like to relay knowledge about all sorts of things.

I’m sure you’ve seen or heard the same thing: Someone escapes from a particularly violent situation (like a car crash) with little-to-no injury and the explanation is that they did not, in fact, brace for impact. The action happened so suddenly that their muscles never tensed up, joints never straightened, and their body was about as close to jelly as it could be to receive the impact of the violence without it breaking anything that felt tense.

Right now, “Brace for impact” holds a bit of a double meaning for me.

Yesterday, as news was breaking that U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement had murdered a mother of a 6-year old child because she attempted to drive away from the men attempting to break into her car, I was with my 7-year old child.

In fact, we were at the orthodontist going through step 1 of a several stage process to get her mouth ready for braces. A different kind of bracing.

And every time the news of the day delivers fresh horrors for our society to use as a new filter for light (or lack there of) in our life, I get overcome with grief. Not because of the hell we live in, but because of the hell I have brought her into. And I worry about how much worse it will get.

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As I imagine most parents do, I try to teach my child to be brave and stand up for what is right. I teach her to use her privilege to help others without it. I tell her that the police can be helpful, but that doesn’t mean that every police officer is a good person that makes good decisions.

And I don’t just use words, I use actions. There are things that I try to do to model that behavior for her. I help those in need and explain to her that not everyone in need is there because of bad decisions. “Life isn’t fair, but it can be a little bit closer to fair if we all help each other out,” I tell her.

I let her know when I’m going to rallies and protests because I want her to know that her parents stand up for what they believe in, even when it’s uncomfortable, and later I tell her how rewarding it is to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with neighbors and friends and strangers that do the same.

I also tell her that she’ll be judged for her character, that she’ll be remembered by the lives she has touched, positively and negatively. I try and show her that a life lived according to a code of decency is the best, if not the only, way to live a full life.

And yet…

Renee Good was a poet, someone brave enough to bare her soul simply for the sake of creating art that might make someone in the world feel something. She was also a mother, one caring enough to carry stuffed animals in the glove compartment of her car. Through stories told by friends and acquaintances, it also seems as though she was an earnest and decent partner, friend, neighbor, student and community member.

She was everything I tell my 7-year old daughter to aspire to be. And the government, the people that can apparently act as judge, jury and executioner inside this country and beyond without any guardrails to stop them, killed her. In broad daylight. Her death was captured and published in several HD videos for the whole world to watch.

And then they lied about it. They called her a terrorist. They said she hit an officer with her car, despite clear evidence to the contrary. They brought up her sexual orientation, and the fact that she lists her pronouns in public profiles, as if those things justified them taking her life. As if those things justified taking her from her wife, child, friends, neighbors and community. As if those things could be squared with good parenting and a belief that you should try to do the right thing and provide assistance to those that need it.

Photo by Eastman Childs on Unsplash

This is a picture of Minneapolis, the city where the murder took place. It’s a city I’ve never been to, outside of the airport, but that picture still struck me with how much it looks like any American city. That could just as easily be a picture of San Diego or Pittsburgh or Dallas, all cities filled with regular people trying to go about their regular lives without being killed by their government. Without that assurance, I’m not sure what freedom or America even stands for anymore.

So, while I brace for impact and worry about what comes next, my daughter braces for….well, braces. And, if we’re lucky, all of my promises to her that being a good person and doing the right thing will eventually pay off will turn out to be true.