Welcome to Symphonic Skin
EditorialSummer 2020

George Floyd

Everyone should know his name. George
Floyd, brutally murdered in front of a
crowd in Minneapolis.
More accurately, George Floyd, a black man
who cried out for his mom with his dying
breath while being brutally murdered by
white police officers, in front of many witnesses.
White cops, black men and women, fatalities
and fear.

I’m a middle age white woman in the
United States. I’m the poster child of white
privilege. White privilege that can’t be
denied but still is by many. It’s not affirmative
action for colleges or jobs.
White privilege is not being followed in a
store, it’s not being questioned walking
down the street. I can walk into almost any
place and receive respect or I can safely
demand respect.

You know who can’t do that? Black men.
They are treated as criminals for the simplest
things and if encountered by the
police, they are much more likely to die
than me or my white male counterparts.
I do private work and I just happen to work
for three black men. These men are veterans,
community leaders, highly skilled in
the worlds of art, media, and business.
They would help anyone, regardless of color.
They are my bosses but they are also my
friends.

What can I do? I can twist around white
privilege and use it to protect them. I can
ask the questions, stand up for them, go
places safely that they can’t go. I can help
bridge the gap between the two races. I can
support them, pray with them, and cry for
them. They are my brothers.

To all white people reading this, we should
have stood up as a people a long time ago. If
only are the two most worthless words in the
English language. We need to stand together
now and we need to use white privilege to
protect our loved ones until white privilege
is gone.

George Floyd. Remember his name. Don’t
let his death be for nothing.

By Mary Castle

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