Silence Is Violence

Well, then. Here goes nothing.

I know I've been a bit quiet on the writing front lately, due to the copious amounts of Netflix viewing (got it as an early birthday present. Plus, you know, #QuarantineLife). But I have decided to put my creative energy into this three-part story. A story that, I feel, is very timely.

Like many all across the world, I am horrified by the senseless death of George Floyd at the hands of Minneapolis police officers. In my opinion, what happened on that sidewalk was nothing less than cold blooded murder. I unequivocally stand with the African-American community, the Black Lives Matter movement and their allies as they march and campaign for an end to racial injustice and institutional racism.

This story takes place in the same universe as my stories "That's What Friends Are For" and "Four Letters and a Number", However, this story will start to flesh out a character only peripherally featured so far in the other two stories, that of Brianna. As a socially conscious young woman of colour, I believe that she would be on the front lines of these peaceful protests that would be taking place across America and the world, and trying to educate her mostly white friends about systemic racism and White privilege. The characters focused on in this story are very near and dear to me, and I believe they would have heartfelt, authentic reactions to the current situation and would want to make their voices heard.

I was hesitant to write this story at first. I was hesitant to address the idea of racial injustice in general, and racial injustice in America in particular. This is because the black community is, quite rightly, very sensitive about their shared experience. Which brings me to my major stumbling block with this theme: I am not African-American – I'm white. Heck, I'm not even American. Accordingly, I have no concept of what it must feel like for a person of colour to go about their daily business without feeling nerves whenever they see a police officer. But I guess that this is a side-effect of my white privilege – that I don't get looked at with suspicion or hatred by the authorities. As a university graduate, I realise that I have gotten educational opportunities that many people of colour could not afford, and have benefitted from that unequal system. However, being far far away from America, I feel somewhat isolated from the reality on the ground, and this led to me being unsure about my own ability to do this difficult theme justice.

I made the decision to tackle this topic when I saw Jaylen Brown, an NBA player on the Boston Celtics that I cheer for from afar, who drove from Boston to Marietta, Georgia, to lead a protest march. If such a high-profile athlete can do something like that, how can I – or the characters that I write – do any less? I feel like I have a moral obligation to use my platform to address this issue.

I would also like to draw your attention to some troubling stats surrounding the officers charged in many of these sorts of shootings. 99% of police officers involved in police shootings in America between 2013-19 were never charged. The killers of Trayvon Martin, Tamir Rice and Breonna Taylor still walk free. To me, this is an outrage and blatant injustice. I have done my small part by signing petitions on calling for justice in the cases of George Floyd, Taylor and Ahmaud Arbery, and I advise you, my readers, to do the same.

But I want to draw attention to one case of an African-American traumatised in police custody that may have been overlooked in the recent crisis: the case of Emerald Black. In June 2019, Emerald and her fiancé were pulled over by police in San Leandro, California for an expired registration. It should be noted that Emerald was pregnant, and returning from a doctor's appointment. Whilst the officers who pulled her over questioned her husband, she stayed in the car. At one point, the officers ordered Emerald to exit the car. Emerald informed the officers that she was pregnant – she was clearly pregnant, to the point she was showing, and dressed in a hospital gown. Despite all these obvious signs, the officers involved yanked her from the vehicle, threw her to the ground, and stomped on her stomach, causing a miscarriage. Emerald and her husband were then arrested and forced to spend the night in jail while she miscarried her unborn child, with all the pain and trauma that entails. This was a sickening, barbaric act, and I call upon the relevant authorities to launch an investigation into this incident. I have also signed the petition calling for justice for Emerald Black, and encourage you to do likewise.

To any people of colour that are reading this, or have read my other stories: I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you have to experience such racism, pain, fear and madness. I'm sorry for the families of all those African-Americans were killed by police officers. I'm sorry that George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, Tajik Rice, Eric Garner, Freddie Gray, Trayvon Martin and Michael Brown will never get to do what they loved again, because of some control freak with a badge. I'm sorry that Emerald Black's unborn child never got the chance to live, and the trauma and distress she endured – and continues to endure. And I realise that this story, or this rant that precedes it, isn't going to be some magic bullet. But if I am to be a vaguely realistic writer, than I have to address these hard issues. And if one person feels inspired or touched by this, well, I'm flattered and honoured.

In conclusion, Lebron James communicated a very powerful message with a pair of images. It is a message I wholeheartedly agree with. That message being: That officer's knee – the knee that killed George Floyd – was the reason Colin Kaepernick took his.

No justice, no peace. #BlackLivesMatter

"White silence is violence." Slogan associated with the Black Lives Matter movement

"Perhaps it is easy for those who have never felt the stinging darts of segregation to say "Wait". But when you have seen vicious mobs lynch your mothers and fathers at will and drown your sisters and brothers at whim; when you have seen hate-filled policemen curse, kick and even kill your black brothers and sisters; when you have seen the vast majority of your twenty million Negro brothers smothering in an airtight cage of poverty in the midst of an affluent society; when you find your tongue twisted and your speech stammering as you seek to explain to your six year old daughter why she can't go to the new amusement park that has just been advertised on television, and see tears welling up in her eyes when she is told that Funtown is closed to coloured children, and see ominous clouds of inferiority begin to form in her little mental sky, and see her begin to distort her personality by developing an unconscious bitterness towards white people; when you have to concoct an answer for a five year old son who is asking: "Daddy, why do white people treat coloured people so mean?"; when you take a cross country drive and find it necessary to sleep night after night in the uncomfortable corners of your automobile because no hotel will accept you; when you are humiliated day in and day out by nagging signs reading "white" and "coloured"; when your first name becomes "nigger", your middle name becomes "boy" (no matter how old you are), and your last name becomes "John", and your wife and mother are never given the respected title "Mrs"; when you are harried by day and haunted by night by the fact that you are a Negro, living constantly at tiptoe stance, never quite knowing what to expect next, and are plagued with inner fears and outer resentments; when you are forever fighting a degenerating sense of "nobodiness" – then you will understand why we find it difficult to wait. There comes a time when the cup of endurance runs over, and men are no longer willing to be plunged into the abyss of despair."

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Letter From A Birmingham Jail, 16 April 1963

Brianna Lawrence sighed as she stared out the window of her bedroom. Her brown hair was styled into a bun, and she was wearing a T-shirt that bore the words "All Power To All The People!", a slogan popularised by the Black Panther Party, an African-American revolutionary group. She could see East 80th Street from her house on the Upper East Side. Not too far to the west was Central Park, one of the great landmarks of New York City and the world. If one took a short walk to the east, they could see the East River, which would sparkle with sunlight on a warm summer's day. All in all, the African-American considered that there were worst places in this world to live. She stared around her bedroom.

Sitting on the shelf was a golden triangle shaped trophy with a figure skater balanced gracefully. This was the trophy she won for winning the New York City High School figure skating championships in 2017. Her navy blue ice skates lay at the foot of her bedroom drawers, while her closet was full of competition costumes she had worn over the years. Brianna had always had a deep love for the ice and the cold, ever since her parents had taken her to the giant ice-skating rink at the Rockefeller Centre when she was six years old. She had marvelled at the elegant routines put on by the professional skaters on TV, and sought to emulate them. Her victory in 2017 had been her crowning glory, and her family and friends were all deeply proud of her. Brianna was deeply disappointed by the lack of a Black presence in many ice-based sports, and sought to rectify that.

On her wall were two giant posters of her civil rights hero, Martin Luther King Jr, alongside her musical heroes Kendrick Lamar and Beyoncé and her sporting heroine, Olympic gymnast Simone Biles. The poster of showed him standing in front of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington DC. In the shadow of Abraham Lincoln, the Great Emancipator, he had called for an end to the poisonous creed of racism that had instituted itself in American society. This was his famous "I have a dream" speech, the same speech that she had heard so often in history classes over the years. In it, he expressed his deepest dream and wish that people of all races would live together in freedom and justice. Lamar and Beyoncé provided the soundtrack to Brianna's youth, whilst Simone Biles was a shining example of Black excellence on a global stage.

However, whilst the segregation laws throughout the South were eventually overturned, it would not be until after Dr. King's assassination. And, in Brianna's opinion, the good doctor's dream was still a long way off being realised. Growing up, she had to learn the hard way that everything was nit as equal as she would like it to be.

*** Flashback starts ***

2010

It had all started when she was eight years old. She was playing at school with her best friend Olivia, an Italian immigrant whose family had come to America because their father had gotten an opportunity to work as a dentist. Having only been in school for about four years, English was still very much a second language to Olivia. This left Brianna feeling relieved that her friend didn't understand what was to follow when Patrick, a boy from their class with sandy-blonde hair, approached them.

"Hi there, Olivia! Come play with me!" The boy greeted, happily.

"No. I play with Brianna." Olivia declared, in halting English.

"Oh, come on! It'll be fun!" Patrick argued, grabbing Olivia by the arm. This caused the Italian to let out a loud cry of protest and Brianna to glare angrily at the rude boy.

"She said no, Patrick." Brianna had declared, staring daggers straight through him. He complied, and then glared repeatedly between Brianna and Olivia.

"Go on, then." He had sneered, in a tone of spite and bitterness. "Play with the stupid nigger. See if I care." With that, Patrick had turned on his heel and stormed off. However, as Olivia rubbed her arm and went crying for their teacher, a much deeper wound was marked in Brianna's soul. The source of the wound was not a physical force, but rather mental. She couldn't quite put it into words yet, but the young girl had just learned a very painful truth about life – that there were people who hated her because of her black skin.

*** Flashback ends ***

As time went on, Brianna learned that not all racism was slurs and taunts. Her mother Candice was deeply active in the Manhattan chapter of the NAACP – the National Association For The Advancement Of Coloured People – and had given her a crash course on the nature of racism, black history and civil rights. As she grew older and began to grow more socially conscious, she began to take increasing notice of what the more academically minded called "micro-aggressions". These were otherwise innocuous situations and events that served to paint a clear picture of racial bias against Black people.

Brianna's soul was pricked when she saw a white mother and her two children cross the street to avoid her and her brothers Marcus and Andre when they were walking together. Her soul was pricked whenever she saw a Black, Muslim or Latin person dragged out of an airport line for "random enhanced screening" whenever her family flew to visit relatives in California. Her soul was pricked whenever she heard a white person describe how they would avoid walking through certain neighbourhoods because they were "too urban". Her soul was pricked when her family moved to the Upper East Side from Harlem after her father Kareem got a promotion at his law firm. The neighbours stared at them as though they were objects of interest in a museum to be gawked at, instead of human beings. Her soul was pricked when she got accepted into the prestigious Midtown High School in Queens, which was an exclusive school for academically gifted students. She had to keep clarifying, with increasing annoyance and exasperation, that she meant "the one in Queens". Outside of actual racial slurs, this was one of the things that angered Brianna the most – that people would question her intellectual capability based on the colour of her skin.

But the thing that tore at Brianna's soul the most was the institutional racism that appeared throughout American society. It made many of her Black brothers and sisters live in poverty, struggling to make rent. Brianna's family was one of the lucky 42% of African-Americans to own a house in the United States as of 2018 – the majority of Black people lived in apartments, often sharing with relatives. African-Americans were over-represented in negative health statistics, due to the stress of living in poorer neighbourhoods exacerbating pre-existing conditions. Educational opportunities were also not as comprehensive for people of colour, due to the financially struggling schools many of them attended not offering as many subjects as their more affluent counterparts frequented by white people. In addition, the disproportionate poverty amongst Black people severely restricted the availability of many universities and colleges, due to them simply being out of their price range. Getting gainful employment was also a considerable hurdle – applicants were 50% less likely to find a job if they had a black sounding name, according to a 2004 study.

But by far the biggest impact systemic racism had on Brianna's life was in her interactions with law enforcement. When she was little, her parents had told her to always be on her "super-duper-best behaviour" whenever they were in a public place, such as a mall or in Central Park or at the library – essentially, any place where police officers were publicly present. This was because of the strong racial bias against Black people that was institutionally present in the police force. When she was 14, a harrowing experience made that reality crystal clear.

It was the first time she was racially profiled.

*** Flashback starts ***

September 2016

She and Olivia visited a beauty store in Lower Manhattan after school. Being young girls, they were always after something to make themselves look just that little bit better and prettier. Entering the door, the two girls got to work. Whilst Olivia wanted to scope out the store in general, Brianna had a very specific request.

"Excuse me, do you sell Shea Moisturiser?" She asked, politely.

"Yes, we do! I'll show it to you now." The assistant, a white woman with curly brown hair and who wore a name tag on her pink store shirt that read "KAREN", answered. She led Brianna over to the section of the store where the product in question, which was sold in a black bottle with a gold label.

"Thanks." Brianna smiled, though her voice was tinged with a side of sadness. The reason for that sadness? Her brand of moisturiser was located in the section of the store labelled "Ethnic Hair Care". To the young black girl, this was a reminder that the majority of shampoos and moisturisers were created to suit Caucasian hair and skin tone. It was just another micro-aggression the teenager had had to endure. Once she had a decent supply of product, she joined her BFF in wandering around the store. However, one thing began to unsettle her. Just after she had joined Olivia, she noticed that the same assistant from earlier had started to follow them up and down the aisles of the store.

"Everything all right here, girls?" The assistant asked Brianna and Olivia, as they lingered near a group of lip balm products.

"Yes, thank you." Brianna smiled, though it never reached her eyes. As the buying – and snooping – continued, the African-American formed a deeply unsettling but plausible theory. She decided to put it to the test.

"If you're done, Livy, you can go ahead and pay now. I'm just going to take a couple more peeks around and see if there's anything else I want." She whispered.

"You sure?" Olivia asked, surprised.

"Yeah. I'll catch up with you." Brianna nodded. With that, her Italian-American friend headed for the counter and paid. As she saw her friend leave the store, she took one last stroll of the aisles before heading to the checkout. She noticed the detective was following her. While it was not overt – she was checking the shelves to monitor product supply – there was no doubt it was on purpose.

After she had paid for her moisturiser and shampoo, she headed for the door. However, she then heard the ten words that everybody dreads to hear in a store.

"Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to open your bag." The assistant had decreed, in a powerful tone.

"Why?" Brianna asked, shocked though not wholly surprised.

"It's a simple request, ma'am. And it's store policy – we reserve the right to search bags on the premises." The assistant retorted. Sighing, Brianna plopped her bag on the ground. The assistant forcefully opened it and began to rummage through it. Even though she knew that nothing was wrong, Brianna was deeply embarrassed. She was being made to feel like a criminal in public. And since Olivia hadn't been questioned in the same way, even though they were together and wearing school bags, she knew that the assistant must have made a judgement about her intentions based on the colour of her skin.

After nothing was found, the assistant passed the bag back to Brianna. "Open your pockets." She instructed. Brianna complied, emptying her pockets so that the assistant could see that there was nothing there. Once she was satisfied there was nothing there, the assistant smiled at her.

"My apologies for the inconvenience." She simpered. "We've been having a shoplifting issue lately. Just needed to make sure. You were lingering after you had picked up your product that you asked for."

Yes, because the black girl, who had just picked up her black girl shampoo, was only exploring the rest of the store for shoplifting reasons. It couldn't possibly have anything to do with wanting to be with her best friend. Brianna thought, bitterly.

"I understand, ma'am." She replied, her face straining from the effort to maintain a calm demeanour.

'No hard feelings, then? Hopefully, we'll see you again!" The assistant farewelled.

Not on your fucking life! Brianna thought to herself as she scooped up her purchase and headed out. Walking up Bowery, she saw Olivia sitting on a bench.

"You were in there for a while, Bri. You okay?" Olivia asked, concerned by her friend's sullen demeanour.

"Yes, Livy. Everything's fine." Brianna lied through her teeth.

But everything was not fine. That night, she would sob in her mother's shoulder as she recounted her traumatising experience and cried herself to sleep as she tried to come to terms with the fact that someone had believed the worst of her, just because she was black.

*** Flashback ends ***

That same year, Brianna faced another jolting reminder of the reality of institutional racism. Andre, the middle child of three children, was shot and killed when he was walking through Jackson Heights after playing a pick-up basketball game with his friends. In doing so, he passed a car where a person was having a hushed conversation with the man in the drivers seat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small roll of cash passed through the window. A drug deal was in progress. Shrugging it off, Andre reached for the small packet of candy that sat in his pocket. However, that was the last thought he would ever have, as bullets ripped through the driver's window and into his body. Evidently, the dealer thought he was planning to shoot him as he drove off. Screeching tyres and screams for help rang around the neighbourhood as he laid there dying. Despite having CPR performed on him by bystanders and paramedics, he couldn't be saved. Andre Lawrence was dead at 16.

At first glance, this appeared to be another example of black on black crime, a favourite scapegoat of those who claimed there was no systemic racism in society. However, it emerged that there were examples of systemic racism littered throughout the story of her brother's killer. He had grown up below the poverty line and had gone to an underfunded public school, where he was not provided with the quality of education needed to progress in life. As a result, he dropped out of high school and turned to drugs to support his family, specifically to pay medical bills for his diabetic grandmother. Perhaps that was why Brianna held no ill will towards the killer – he and Andre had both become victims of the same broken system.

She hated lying to her best friend about the profiling incident, as well as her broader friendship circle. But they just wouldn't understand. Olivia didn't have to be on her guard whenever she was around someone who was supposed to protect her. Renee didn't have to worry about someone refusing to play with her because of the colour of her skin. Danielle didn't have to worry about a policeman beating her, shooting her or kneeling on her when she got arrested. Ashley didn't have to worry about modifying her name in order to get a job.

The one thing those four girls had in common? They were all white. None of them were racist, but only Olivia seemed to have any understanding of the struggles the Black community had faced. Maybe that had to do with being an immigrant and reaching maturity in Trump's America, understanding that the leader of the supposed free world gave aid and comfort to those who would not have her in this country, in spite of the fact she was a naturalised American citizen.

Brianna had what she would describe as a core friendship group of seven girls. Of that group, four would have any idea about how she was feeling and what the idea of "White privilege" meant. Those were Carrie, Olivia, Alexis and Cat.

Cat – or Catalina, if you prefer longer names – was Hispanic. In some sense, she was familiar with how Brianna was feeling. The Latin community had long been a target of racial rhetoric, especially during the Trump presidency. In addition, she was a lesbian – Alexis was her partner. This proved to be a source of emotional turmoil for Cat – being out and proud in a community that could also prove to be deeply homophobic, due to the deeply ingrained nature of conservative religious beliefs amongst many Latin Americans, was not easy for her. Alexis had also suffered the sting of homophobia directed at her, and as a result, she could also empathise with the marginalised.

Carrie was a different matter altogether. Moonlighting as the Avenger Psystorm, she was easily the most well known of her friends. But you wouldn't even know she was a celebrity when out of costume, due to her humble, unassuming nature. She was such a selfless and empathetic person, to the point where she gave $9 million of her own money to various charities across the world, whose fundraising efforts were stalled in the wake of the globally immobilising COVID-19 pandemic. However, she was very humble about it. She always maintained that she was lucky to be where she was, a lesson she had learned whilst working alongside Brianna and Olivia in a soup kitchen. Carrie was only in her life due to a happy accident – she was Tony Stark's adopted daughter, after all. Whilst the idea of White privilege would perhaps seem nebulous to her, she understood that she was in a privileged position being a billionaire's daughter. It wouldn't take a large leap to get her to understand the privilege of her race.

Especially when it came to the fact that many unarmed black people had been killed at the hands of police officers, or people enacting citizen's arrests. The most common defence was that they were fearful for their lives. They were afraid of such lethal weapons as cigarettes and Skittles. She was pretty sure that none of her friends had ever had to worry about potentially losing their lives due to someone like that beauty store assistant not liking the look of them and calling 911. These mostly young black men were mercilessly shot and killed, in many instances for simply living their lives whilst black. The police unions had stood firm as the thin blue line between their killers and justice, with complicit juries along for the ride. Few, if any, of these police officers were ever convicted.

And the names were piling up.

Trayvon Martin. Michael Brown. Freddie Gray. Tamir Rice. Laquon McDonald. Eric Garner. Sandra Bland. Philando Castile. Ahmaud Arbery. Breonna Taylor.

And on May 25 2020, one more name was added to the list.

"Breaking news tonight out of Minneapolis, and some disturbing video is beginning to circulate on social media. This video, taken outside a Minneapolis store, shows an act of police brutality that results in a death. The police officer that you can see there, conducting the arrest, is kneeling on the neck of the dead man. The deceased, according to our sources, is 46 year old George Floyd. As you can hear in the video, Floyd is deeply distressed, saying things like "I'm going to die" and "I can't breathe". The officer is refusing to release Floyd, even as passers by beg him to let him go and he is crying out for his mother. Shortly after, Floyd becomes unconscious and is taken to hospital by an arriving ambulance. However, despite being rushed to hospital, Floyd was pronounced dead just half an hour ago."

Brianna, Kareem, Candace and Marcus were all watching on in spellbound horror at what they were seeing. Brianna had her hands clasped over her mouth. Kareem was rubbing his hands over his bristly beard. Candace had her hands folded with tears in her eyes. Marcus had his fist clenched tightly in anger and dismay.

Not again. Please, Lord, not again. Was the Lawrence family's collective prayer.

Later that week, Brianna hopped onto her weekly Zoom call with her friends from Eternal Pentecost, her Catholic youth group. As she logged on, she saw the faces of Carrie Stark, Olivia De Rossi, Alexis Schumann, Cat Alvarez, Danielle Horton, Renee Hawthorne and Ashley Deslauriers staring back at her. Their eyes all had the same look – a sincere look of sympathy and support, mixed with the realisation that their wishes probably didn't matter much. After a brief prayer, Renee, who had fashioned herself as the leader of their little group during the time of the pandemic, began to speak.

"Well, there's no escaping the major story at the moment, and rightly so." She began.

"Just when you think things can't get worse in this shitty universe, they do." Olivia sighed.

"What happened to George Floyd in that video was absolutely disgusting." Carrie declared.

"It was barbaric. It was murder. And an affront to our God of love, mercy and justice." Danielle agreed.

"We wish we had all the answers. But we don't." Alexis mused.

"And even if we did, I don't think they would be any help at all." Cat whispered, sadly.

"Because, ultimately, only one of us truly understands these things." Ashley pronounced.

Renee then concluded the introduction. "In short, Brianna: we love you. We support you. We stand with you as allies. And, on that note, we're all going to just shut up and listen to what you have to say."

It was a gesture that was reminiscent of what many prominent white late night hosts were doing – inviting various African-American luminaries on their shows and essentially ceding their platforms for the evening. It was the only thing many of them could do, as none of them could ever truly understand how she was feeling, nor the pain the black community lived with whenever something like this happened. That was the case with many of her friends – they were sympathetic and outraged, but they knew they did not have the right to presume to speak for black people.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Brianna began to speak.

"So, you all agree that what happened to George Floyd was cruel and barbaric. Congratulations – you all just achieved the level of basic human decency. But what I didn't hear was anything about the culture of systemic racism that led to that coward feeling justified in trying to break a human being's neck over that most heinous of crimes, a fake cheque. I didn't hear anything about the stress and fear people of colour feel whenever they see a police badge, which is supposed to be the symbol of public protection and safety. And that's okay. I didn't expect to. Because you don't know what it means to be Black in America. You don't know what it means to be looked upon and judged solely because of the colour of your skin.

My understanding of what it means to be Black in America was formed early on in my life, when I learned about slavery and all the evils that flowed from it. Being Black in America means to understand that your ancestors were slaves in a Southern field, their Black bodies being used as economic tools for the benefit of wealthy white people. Many slaves would die from the beatings their overseers inflicted in them, and many female slaves were raped. It means knowing your ancestors were brutally lynched. Do you know the name Mary Turner? In 1918, her husband Hayes Turner was killed by a mob in Georgia for his alleged murder of an abusive plantation owner. In response to her trying to have members of that mob arrested, she was brought to a tree near Folsom Bridge in Georgia. She was tied to that tree and hung upside down, doused in gasoline and set in fire. After that, her abdomen was split open and her unborn child fell to the ground, where it was stomped and crushed by the lynch mob. Mary Turner was still alive and burning when this happened. After she was dead, her body was riddled with hundreds of bullets."

The rest of the group was listening intently and were clearly deeply affected. Olivia had her hand covering her face. Carrie, Alexis, Cat and Danielle all had tears in their eyes. Renee and Ashley stepped away from their screens, ostensibly to compose themselves.

"And then came my immediate family. My grandpa marched in Selma, Alabama in 1965. He had to get 20 stitches, after he was beaten with a nightstick and received a bite from a police dog. He grew up in the Jim Crow era south. Segregation had become a demeaning fact of his life. Everyday, he was made to feel different because of the colour of his skin, whether he was targeted with racial slurs or not. Separate restaurants, transport seating and toilets for whites and people of colour existed in this country within living memory of a large number of people. He fully believed in Dr. King's great dream. Unlike the good Doctor himself, he actually got to witness the end of segregation.

But the end of segregation didn't mean the end of racism. Ten years after Dr. King's death, my father was growing up with him in Mississippi. He beat a white boy in a high school track event. Two days later, he found feces smeared in his locker, along with a threatening note: Let's see if you can outrun a bullet. It turned out that the father of my dad's opponent was responsible. Apparently, my dad had the nerve to derail his son's destiny by being his normal, talented self. The man who threatened to kill my father only got probation for six months.

And then there's me. I was playing with Olivia when a boy from our class tried to get her to come play with him instead. When I told him she didn't want to, he got angry. He called me a nigger. To my face. Do you remember that, Livy? Did you even understand what was going on? And the most galling thing is, this happened at our Catholic school. Growing up, I was always taught that church was a safe place, because the church was the house of God, and God loved all his children. But it was at my Catholic school, in the shadow of our church, was where I first learned that people hated me because of who I was. I had to see that boy at Mass every Sunday for about six months after that, before he transferred. During that time, I felt like church was no longer safe for me.

But after doing some research, I found out that even the Catholic Church was not safe from racial injustice. The worst examples of this occurred in Los Angeles in the 1950's and 60's. Cardinal James McIntyre, then Archbishop of Los Angeles, refused to send any priest from the city to officiate at a memorial service for a slain civil rights worker. When Father William DuBay, a priest in the Archdiocese spoke out against the Cardinal, he was harassed and bullied into silence. Cardinal McIntyre banned a Catholic Interracial Council, forcing those members of his flock who were interested in racial justice underground. When he met a group of Black Catholics to discuss community concerns, he referred to a Black cardinal from Africa as "your cardinal". Cardinal McIntyre's influence was instrumental in getting the Rumford Fair Housing Act repealed, which continued to enable housing discrimination in Los Angeles, a major factor in the Watts uprisings of 1965. An activist group known as CURE – Catholics United For Racial Equality – staged a peaceful sit-in at the Archdiocesan chancery, but were roundly denounced as communists and agitators from church pulpits. Minority run businesses were disqualified from contracts with the Archdiocese.

But perhaps the most heartbreaking example of the effect that racism at the time had on black Catholics was when Father DuBay, the activist priest mentioned earlier, was in charge of St. Albert's, a black parish in Compton. He was approached after Mass by a mother with a crying daughter. When he asked the little girl what was wrong, she said she didn't want to be black. Can you believe that? A child of God, made in His image, who is preparing to receive our Lord Jesus Christ in Holy Communion, the Bread that gives life to all who take and eat – be they White, Black, Latin, Asian – is ashamed to stand before Jesus because of her God-given black skin! All because her archbishop refused to allow any group within the Archdiocese to say that you matter! Your feelings matter! Your pain matters!"

Brianna was now fully crying as she said these words. As if sensing their friend's pain, the rest of the group started to weep as well. That was the best thing about her friendship group – they were very empathetic people, open and receptive to her feelings and pain.

"That's horrible! That poor girl…" Carrie cried, wiping her eyes.

"Is it weird that the abuse scandal doesn't make me ashamed to be a Catholic, but that story does?" Cat warbled.

"That's so sad…" Renee sniffled.

"I mean, what do you even say to that? Quelle horreur!" Ashley murmured.

"St. Vibiana must be rolling over in her grave! That shouldn't happen!" Danielle seethed in anger.

"Dani, not even St. Vibiana knows who St. Vibiana is." Alexis deadpanned.

"The patron saint of Los Angeles." The rocker replied

"Well, what do you know. You learn something new everyday." Alexis noted.

"Is that how you felt, Brianna?" Olivia asked, in tears. "Is that how you felt when you had to see that boy who insulted you every Sunday? That you didn't want to be black?"

"Not so much that I didn't want to be black. More so that you wouldn't understand. You were still learning English, Livy. Somehow, I doubt you were being taught racial slurs. But, I know for a fact that you try to understand the feelings of the Black community. You've really learned how to listen to Black people and dialogue with them as you've grown." Brianna answered. "Would you like to share your experiences learning about racial injustice with the group?"

"Sure I will, Bri. You and your family have been instrumental in trying to help me understand the African-American experience, and I'm thankful for that." The Italian-American smiled, a gesture that was returned by the African-American. They both knew they would always have each other's backs. After taking a deep breath, Olivia began to relate her experiences.

"Not long after that incident Bri described, my older brother Marco got himself into some trouble." Olivia began. "Bearing in mind, having spent most of his childhood in Italy, he didn't get that words have different nuances in certain parts of the world. So, quite naturally, he couldn't get why he couldn't sing certain words in certain songs. He found this out the hard way when he tried to sing the uncensored chorus of Kanye's Gold Digger. You know the line. Needless to say, his Black team mates weren't pleased."

"Oh." Carrie murmured, feeling second hand embarrassment for Olivia's older brother, a tall muscular young man who was looking at a career in mixed martial arts.

"Yeah. Oh." Olivia declared. "So, he had to go on this racial sensitivity thing. Brianna's mum, Candace, was actually putting it on. It was at the Manhattan headquarters of the NAACP, and she invited me along as well. Given Marco's mishap at that party, and me being exposed to racism against Brianna, she figured it was an opportune time to educate us both. While Marco went to the official sensitivity course, Candace gave me an age-appropriate run down of what the NAACP does and why it is important. I'll never forget the first time I saw a picture of a group of black slaves in chains. When I asked why they were wearing rings on their necks, she said that they were taken away from their families and made to work. She told me to imagine being taken away from Mama and Papa and being forced to work for someone like Cinderella, doing all the cooking and cleaning. I did, and I felt sad. Candace said that was what happened to people with black skin like her and Brianna. At that moment, eight-year old me who was still learning about this country knew that something bad was happening in that picture."

"How did that make you feel?" Danielle wondered.

"Angry. Like I wanted to stop what was happening. But of course, I couldn't." The Italian-American answered, letting out a deep sigh and rubbing her face. "She also showed me pictures of segregated restaurants and restrooms, saying that Brianna could be put in jail just for being seen with me in those days. She taught me about the Civil Rights Movement, about Dr. King and how he wanted to remove segregation. It was all very child-friendly. Then she explained about why the N word was so horrible, and why Marco and I were there. She showed me pictures of the Memphis Sanitation Strike. You know, the "I AM A MAN" signs? Candace told me that men and women have names like "Marco" or "Andre" or "Brianna" or "Olivia", and that words like that were used to make people with black skin feel bad, because the people who were using those words didn't respect them enough to call them by their names. I asked her if she thought Marco was bad. She said no, but he needed to understand why he made his team mates mad, and why Brianna felt sad. Whatever Marco saw in the official course clearly impacted him, because he came out and just started crying and apologising to Candace about what he had said. She was so gracious to him, saying that she wasn't the one he had to apologise to. He went on to apologise to his team, and they accepted it. But later that night, when I asked him what he had seen that made him cry, Marco asked what I had done. I told him that Brianna's mum showed me some pictures and talked about how sad it was that people with white skin were mean to people with black skin. He then said that Candace didn't show me all the pictures, and certainly didn't show me some that he had seen. Marco said that when I was bigger, I would understand why the pictures he saw made him cry. And as it turns out, I would. But I'll get back to that."

"I think I can guess what he saw." Alexis pronounced, turning slightly green.

Olivia continued thusly: "Fast forward to 2014. This was the summer when Black Lives Matter first came on the scene. This was the summer of the Ferguson Riots, Michael Brown and Eric Garner. I was twelve, and was starting to gain a sense of the racial issues that underpinned American history. By now, I had developed a full understanding of the Civil Rights movement and the history of slavery and segregation. When I saw what was going on in Ferguson on the news, I felt like I was watching one of those old newsreels of what happened in Selma or Montgomery. Brianna's family were going on a march, and they wanted to invite me along. My parent's weren't so sure – among other things, they were concerned about my safety and the fact that they were marching to honour someone who was in the process of committing a crime when he died. Eventually, they relented and let me go. It was entirely peaceful. When I asked Candace why they were marching, she said that Eric Garner should've been put on trial and given an opportunity to defend himself instead of being killed, and that it wasn't fair that an innocent man, in the eyes of the law, had been murdered.

Then came 2016. That was when I really started to wake up and educate myself. I was about the same age Marco was when he made his faux pas. So, I reached out to him and asked what he saw that made him so upset. His answer? Google Emmitt Till." Olivia began, in a shaky voice.

"Oh Jesus…" Renee muttered, running her hand over her face.

"Lord have mercy…" Danielle breathed, brushing a tear from her eye.

"So I did. You know when you're curious about seeing something like the Floyd video or an ISIS execution and then after you see it, you wish you had never seen it? But at the same time, you know you had to see it in order to understand just how evil something is? This was one of those times." The Italian-American continued, clasping her hand over her mouth. "Emmitt Till was a young Black man from Chicago, who was lynched in rural Mississippi in 1956. His supposed crime? Talking to a white man's wife. He was badly beaten, mutilated, shot and drowned. The terrible beating he received, combined with the river water, rendered his face unrecognisable. His mother decided to hold a open-casket funeral, with pictures, so the world could see exactly what was done to him. The picture that struck me the most was the before and after photos of Emmitt Till's face. How he could be so strong full of life one minute and his face turned to mush the next…it was horrible. It was unfathomable. That was the first time I understood how cruel and destructive white supremacy could be. I just sat there and cried for hours, wondering how people could be so cruel.

In addition, the Orange Goblin was running for President. All I would hear in the media was "Build that wall! Make America Safe Again!" And I was like: my family came here to make a life for themselves. Do you want to stop everybody else doing that? Then there was the onslaught of white nationalism associated with that turd, which caused Brianna and I to take action. We were involved in various counter-protests against various alt-right groups. Also, that was the year that Colin Kaepernick took his stance by kneeling during the anthem. Sports are one of the great things I love about America, so in some senses the movement was hitting me where I lived. I was just so appalled by the hypocrisy of those who were criticising him, because they were supposed to be for free speech, and saying he shouldn't have his. For saying on a football field what Brianna said in a youth group meeting, he lost his job. That, to me, was deeply unfair. Also, criminal convictions in these sorts of cases are as rare as hen's teeth, which is at least ten different kinds of fucked up, We both cancelled our Giants tickets when John Mara criticised the protests. I'm sorry, I really should shut up. This isn't about me. This is meant to be about Brianna and the Black community." Olivia finished, feeling embarrassed at her lengthy ramble.

"Don't be. I'm glad that you were able to educate yourself and open your eyes." Brianna replied, honestly. "But there's something you all need to know about. Something that really shaped my activist spirit, and something that only my family knows."

"What happened?" Renee wondered.

"You can tell us. We're all here to listen and support." Carrie promised.

"Thanks, Carrie. By the way, this happened before we met, so you couldn't have done a thing about it. None of you could have, because you simply wouldn't understand." Brianna replied, with the barest of smiles.

"We can try." Ashley offered, nervously.

"You can try, but I know you won't – Cat's the only one here who can relate." Brianna stated, firmly. She then turned to Olivia. "Livy, do you remember when we used to go to Lower East Beauty on Bowery to get our shampoo and beauty supplies?" She inquired.

"Yeah. We used to go there all the time, until a few years back." Olivia answered.

"And have you ever wondered why we stopped going there?" Brianna questioned, in a probing tone.

"No…but I get the feeling you're going to tell us why." The Italian-American replied, nervously.

With a deep breath, Brianna began to relay her story of how she had been racially profiled. How the assistant had shown her to her shampoo, how she had tailed her and Olivia around the store, about the discomfort she was feeling and the theory she had developed, how the store clerk had stopped and searched her and left Olivia alone, how she had felt like a criminal in front of the other shoppers, how she was heartbroken by her humiliation.

The reaction of the group was loud and immediate.

"That fucking bitch!" Olivia cursed loudly, banging the desk she was sitting at in her anger. "I'll kill her!"

"Olivia! You're too loud!" The voice of her father called.

"Sorry, Papa." His daughter called out.

"So, she patted you down in front of the whole store? That's evil!" Cat gritted her teeth in anger.

"Yeah, that's bullshit!" Carrie echoed. The stress of the pandemic and the ongoing civil unrest was causing the young telekinetic to swear more than she had in her young life.

"Where do I send the brick?" Renee muttered to herself.

"I didn't even know you then, and I'm still outraged!" Danielle grumbled. "That's fucked up!"

"Are you okay? Is there anything we can do?" Ashley asked, concerned.

"Why didn't you tell me, Bri? I would've fought for you! I'm so sorry I didn't stand up for you!" Olivia cried.

"Yes, you would have, Livy." Brianna replied. "But the last thing I needed was a friend trying to bite that lady's head off – it was a delicate situation. And Ashley – well, this can apply to everyone here – you can help by fighting alongside us. You can help by taking on the problems borne of oppression of people of colour as your own, without remorse, apology or distance. It's clear to me that, despite your very good intentions, many of you still have no idea about the Black experience. I have to bear my identity as a young Black girl, borne out of 400 years of oppression and racism, every day. I can't put it down on a whim. Once you decide to pick up the struggle as your own, you have to be willing to fight it every day and never stop. Renee, you said that you support and stand with me – you need to understand exactly what means."

"So, what do we have to do?" The blonde Pennsylvanian inquired.

"First of all, you all have to make a concerted effort to understand the struggle of Black people. Even though the majority of you have never felt any racial oppression, you can still be powerful voices alongside the oppressed – that is, if you recognise your white privilege and make use of it for the movement." Brianna declared.

"White privilege? What does that mean?" Carrie wondered, confused..

"It's like this, Carrie. You realise you're very privileged and influential, don't you? I mean, it's not every day that a girl gets liberated from her abusive family by the Avengers, and becomes one herself! I think we can all agree that you're very lucky to be where you are." The African-American began.

"Absolutely. I thank God for that every day – even during this horrible time of pandemic and racial tension." Carrie replied, in a heartfelt tone.

"Okay. So, aside from the whole fighting evil with your brother who can shoot webs from his fingers thing, would you say your life in New York has been normal?" Brianna wondered. "Aside from the small matter of a global virus quarantine."

"Yes. I would." Carrie admitted.

"Well, that brings us to an example of White privilege. Due to you being part of the white majority, you have the privilege of seeing yourself as just a person, as normal. Unconsciously, you identify those whose skin isn't white as being part of a racial group – I'm an African-American, Cat's a Latina, MJ's mixed race and so forth. Whereas, Cat and I may see you as white and being part of a racial group. Nothing personal, it's just the way it is." Brianna argued.

"I didn't feel privileged when Mama was belting me with her Bible." Carrie grumbled, shuddering as she thought of the prayer closet.

"Which brings me to another example of white privilege." Brianna pressed on. "People sometimes use their own adversity in life to distract from the fact they receive privilege by virtue of their white skin. Even though you didn't have the privilege of a stable family – which is terrible – you still get the benefit of skin privilege. And the benefit of skin privilege is that, simply put, you don't have to worry about being profiled like I was. You don't have to worry about being disproportionately targeted by police brutality, or having people not come near you because of your skin, or having to change your name for a job interview because it's "too black". Have you ever seen the film A Time To Kill, Carrie?"

"No." Carrie answered, truthfully.

"A Time To Kill is about a white lawyer who defends a black man who killed his daughter's rapists. In the closing argument, he gives this gut wrenching speech about the horror, the depravity, the violence and the indignity of this little black girl's death. The last words of this statement are, in my view, the four most powerful words in the film: "Now imagine she's white." I want to have a little thought experiment with this, Carrie. Take your situation. Imagine and visualise it fully. Here comes Jake Briganze with a twist. Now imagine she's black, with no superheroes to save her, forced to live in a crime-ridden neighbourhood because that's all her family can afford, forced into survival mode both inside the house and out, with her crippling anxiety about reporting this to school or law enforcement, her worry that the police will think she did something to deserve this, the poverty that keeps her from buying a bus ticket and escaping, the white parents who keep their children away from her because she's "not one of us". Compare and contrast the two situations, Carrie, and tell me: do you still think you're not privileged?" Brianna probed, building up to a dramatic crescendo.

"Wow…you've really given me a lot to think about." Carrie whispered, deeply unsettled by the picture her friend was painting.

"I know this is tough to swallow, Carrie. But this is what you have to face if you want to be an effective fighter for racial justice." Brianna urged. "Some stats: Black women are three times more likely to be incarcerated than White women, and the average White family is eight times richer than the average black family. These two are linked – the poverty to prison pipeline is a very real thing, and I firmly believe it claimed the life of my brother, who was murdered by a drug dealer who was trying to survive in poverty. Also, African-Americans are up to three times more likely to get shot by a police officer than Caucasians, due to crime statistics based on the over representation of minorities and biased reporting on black on black crime. What happened to George Floyd and what happened to my brother Andre are two different symptoms of the same deadly disease – systemic racism."

"I've never heard that term before." Carrie admitted, nervously.

"There are two types of racism – overt, personal racism and institutional or systemic racism." Brianna replied, like she was a professor giving a lecture. "The definition of institutional racism is the collective failure of organisations to provide adequate and professional services to people based on their ethnicity, culture or colour, or attitudes and processes that amount to discrimination through thoughtlessness, ignorance and racist stereotypes. For example, I know you will condemn any display of overt racism, like the Charleston Church massacre and the anti-Semitic graffiti on Danielle's mother Amira's synagogue. But when you realise that the majority of people you serve warm soup and toast to in the homeless shelter are poor Black families who lost their homes due to being unable to afford one or taking on predatory high-interest loans during the 08/09 financial crisis – that's systemic racism. Whenever someone gets profiled like I did in that beauty store, that's systemic racism. When black neighbourhoods are located near toxic chemical plants and have disproportionate rates of lead poisoning, that's systemic racism. When two thirds of crack cocaine users are white or Hispanic yet 84% of convictions are of Black people, that's systemic racism. When Black youth are 47% more likely than White youth to undergo formal juvenile criminal proceedings when they are charged, that's systemic racism. When I am 2.5-3 times more likely than any of you to get shot by police, due to criminal stereotypes of African-Americans in the media and disproportionate reporting of black on white crime, that's systemic racism. When a State Supreme Court justice uses the phrase "you people" to describe African-African crime rates, as though we were a single monolith, that's systemic racism. When some minorities consistently test lower on standardised testing than whites, that's systemic racism. When structural inequality is ignored because well meaning white people think racism ended in the 60's, that's systemic racism. And I think you're all guilty of that last one, to a degree."

"How so?" Danielle wondered.

"Consider our little group. Surely one of you has noticed that I am, quite literally, the only African-American in this gathering? Cat makes two persons of colour among us, with six white people." Brianna stated, pronouncing an uncomfortable truth. "In normal times, there'd be a wider group of about 15 girls and 30 people. Of that fuller group, I count that we know about three Latinx and three Black people, including myself. So our youth group at full strength has about 20% people of colour that we interact with regularly. If you take that as Black people alone, that's 10%. Amongst us girls, people of colour are at 26%, which is slightly more diverse than the group as a whole. However, if you count black people alone, that's 13%. Given the strongly diverse congregations we attend, I find the pure numbers of people of colour we know and interact with personally disappointing, even though the percentages may be slightly more representative. Just because you may not call someone a racial slur, doesn't mean you're opposed to the institutional racism they experience on a daily basis. Which brings us to the crux of the fight for racial justice. It's not enough to not be a racist – you need to be an anti-racist. And yes, there is a difference."

"Which is?" Ashley inquired.

"There are two types of racism – personal and systemic. As I've already mentioned, not being a personal racist doesn't invalidate the systemic racism they experience and you benefit from through your White privilege." The African-American answered. "I guess what I'm about to say can best be summed up by the phrase White silence is violence. It basically means that if, whenever you're watching the news, whenever you hear about a killing of an unarmed black man by police like George Floyd, or read about a young black woman dying in jail like Sandra Bland, or one black neighbourhood not having a sports field of its own whilst one white neighbourhood has three, and the first thought into your head isn't: That's fucked up, how can I help change this? Then you're complicit in that unequal system. Or if you hear someone make a racist joke and say nothing, then you're complicit in the harm done to the target of the joke. You can also recognise moments of unconscious bias in your own personal lives, recognise how you benefit from institutional inequality and strive for change. Speak out whenever you encounter racial injustice. Carrie, Olivia and Danielle, this is particularly relevant to you – all three of you have significant social platforms, which you can use to magnify the message of the oppressed."

The three girls nodded as they took Brianna's message on board. Indeed, all three of them had bully virtual pulpits from which to spread the anti-racist message. Carrie's status as an Avenger, budding philanthropist and overall decent human being spoke for itself. She had become known as the "soul of the Avengers" for her conscientious nuanced approach to many difficult issues. Olivia was a budding soccer star – she had several options for her future in the table, including a scholarship to the University of Notre Dame and expressions of interest from several European clubs. COVID-19 restrictions permitting, her time as a permanent New Yorker was coming to an end. However, she would take one last stand with her best friend, and her public voice would become more important as she began the next stage of her life. Danielle was now one of the more well-known Youtubers, also known as DJ Dani, with her YouTube show "DJ Dani Presents: Songs For The End Of The World" getting over 130,000 subscribers since it launched in March. Apparently, a public that was starved of concert content just wanted to dance, rock out, or party together. The formula was simple: log on, open Spotify, listen and talk shit. However, this platform was about to be put to a more serious use.

Ironically enough, all three platforms had come about as an example of white privilege. Carrie's miraculous story was self-explanatory. Olivia had vaulted into the NCAA's top ten women's soccer prospects, based on playing on a beautiful, well-manicured soccer ground at an elite school in Queens – a chance many people of colour in the public school system would never get, due to underfunding. Danielle had had several encounters with the police and the juvenile justice system during her troubled adolescence, marked by anger, vandalism and drinking and drug problems. Despite the fact that, on the occasion of one of her arrests, she was armed with a small knife, she lived to tell the tale, whilst there were so many unarmed black people who were not. Brianna felt that all three now had a moral responsibility to spread the message of Black Lives Matter.

"There are many charities out there that combat institutional racism. Donate, or encourage your friends or followers to do so. Sign petitions that call attention to matters of racial injustice." Brianna continued. "Also, whatever you do, it's imperative that somewhere along the line, you utter or write the words "Black Lives Matter". Some white supremacists will try to goad you with "All Lives Matter". To that, I say: true. All lives do matter – from conception to natural death. We all believe this as Catholic Christians. What, I ask you, was natural about what happened to George Floyd? Or Breonna Taylor? Or Ahmaud Arbery? What was natural about Emerald Black miscarrying her unborn child in county jail after being kicked in the stomach during her arrest? The two statements aren't at odds with one another – black lives matter because all lives matter, and all lives matter because black lives matter. Put another way – if black lives don't matter, then neither do blonde lives, or Latin lives, or gay lives, or heavy metal lives, or French-Canadian lives, or Italian-American lives. And we know that's not true. This shouldn't be a controversial thing to say."

"Damn straight!" Renee cheered, urging Brianna on.

"Amen!" Carrie echoed.

"You know, before all this happened, I actually had a pretty good Memorial Day weekend. Livy and I both graduated virtually. We even got our gowns and caps by mail and got to toss them in the air. We had a barbecue for Marcus' 21st birthday. The weather was pretty good, and I actually got out and about for some exercise. But coming home and hearing that news from Minneapolis just sucked the life out of me. It's a story I've seen all too often – I get an A in a test, or learn a new skating move, or get asked out on a date. You know, like normal kids do. But then I hear about another death of a black person at the hands of police. And that just ruins my fucking day. Because It's just another reminder that people think me lesser because of my skin. I'm just so tired. I'm just so fucking tired. Make no mistake, I don't condone burning and looting, but I understand it. I'm going to go into the streets at one stage, to protest peacefully. And I could use my girls by my side."

"You can count on me, Brianna. You're my first and best friend." Olivia vowed, pounding her chest.

"Me too. What have the cops ever done for me? Nothing!" Renee added.

"Black Lives Matter. Gay Lives Matter. We're in." Alexis and Cat promised together.

"I can't be with you right now, but I'll go if there's a march in Albany." Ashley stated.

"I'm nervous. I'm at high-risk for the coronavirus, because I'm also at high-risk for asthma because of my stupid teen smoking habit – but I'll do everything I can to support the movement. I'll be there with you, if I can – doctor's advice permitting." Danielle chipped in.

"I'll march with you – Peter's going to march with MJ. But I don't want to do it just for the cameras. I don't think any of us want that. We want to do it for the right reasons. So, I think that those of us with the influence, should make a public statement about how we feel about this situation and asking how we can elevate Black voices in our spheres." Carrie stated, looking at Olivia and Danielle. "Maybe we should also examine ourselves, like you said, to see if we've benefited from our white privilege and to see if we've unconsciously acted in a biased manner towards anybody, and discuss that with our families and friends." This drew nods from the duo concerned, as well as the group at large.

"I think that's a good idea, Carrie." Brianna praised.

"Yeah. I know I've had to reflect on how I treated people in general in the past when I converted to Catholicism. Self-examination is a big part of who we are as believers and as people." Danielle agreed.

"So, are we all going to march together?" Olivia wondered.

"Yeah – there's going to be a series of marches coming up from Brooklyn and Queens, and down from the Bronx, all meeting in Central Park. There's not one big march, but rather a series of smaller ones." Brianna answered. "I don't have all the details yet, but they'll be posted on social media."

"Sounds good." Carrie nodded.

"Thanks, girls. Thanks for hearing me out. Thanks for planning to stand with me, and opening your eyes. Until we meet again, Black Lives Matter."

"Black Lives Matter." The group chorused, as their friend signed off. However, unbeknownst to Brianna, her friends were about to begin their gestures of solidarity without her – and in doing so, call attention to an injustice done against her. The group had gathered their phones and were typing away furiously, signing up to Yelp. Once they were done, they navigated the website until they found the business they were looking for. Lower East Beauty's page was staring back at them. It had a perfectly respectable 4 star rating

"Ready?" Renee asked the group.

"Ready!" Olivia nodded, with all the focus of playing in a big game.

"Three…two…one…GO!" The dirty blonde decreed. Renee, Carrie, Olivia, Alexis, Cat, Danielle and Ashley all tapped their phones.

One star. En masse. The only rating worthy for a place of business that let their employees' racist tendencies run unchecked. They then began to write a series of reviews calling attention to the incident.

Olivia: Racially profile my best friend, will you? FUCK YOU! September 2, 2016 – that was the day your business died for me, when my friend Brianna was made to feel like crap in your store by an evil woman named Karen. I'll never buy from you again!

Carrie: Attention, Lower East Beauty – discrimination is not beautiful. It never was, but even less so now. If this employee keeps her job, it is a shameful marker of what you value.

Alexis: Well, guess this place is off my shopping list. You know, on account of my lesbian Latina girlfriend.

Cat: What she said, except my girlfriend's white.

Renee: Hey guys - if you have a brown-haired assistant by the name of Karen, FIRE THAT BITCH!

Danielle: Always knew the beauty industry was phoney. This just proves it. All that makeup can't hide the poison in that woman's soul.

Ashley: If I said what I really want to say in English, I would get banned. So, I'll just say it in French: Va te faire foutre avec un baton de hockey!

The seven girls were united in their sense of satisfaction. They had stood up for their friend, and had called out an example of racial injustice in their community. However, this was mixed with a deep sense of sorrow that they had to do that at all, and that they didn't stand up for her when it actually happened. Carrie seemed to sense this, as she spoke in a serious tone.

"You know this isn't where it stops, right?" Carrie asked.

"Yeah. We have to do more. Like, a metric fuckton more." Renee agreed.

"We need to use our platforms to spread the message of Black Lives Matter." Danielle stated, simply.

"And figure out what we can do to end police brutality and systemic racism." Olivia declared, passionately.

"We're also going to have to seek advice about what we can expect from the protests. How can we protect ourselves and others?" Cat wondered.

"Agreed – this is going to be the first large scale protest movement we've been involved in." Alexis chipped in.

"It's my first protest, period. I'm nervous, but I'm also excited. Is that wrong of me to say?" Carrie admitted.

"Perhaps you should talk to MJ, Carrie. She and Brianna are activist pals – they've been to a lot of protests. I know she was a big help to me, when I started protesting with her and Brianna." Olivia answered, trying to provide some help.

"Sure. I'll do that.' Carrie nodded.

"Well, looks like we'll all meet in person much sooner than anticipated. It's just a shame that this is what it took." Danielle noted, sadly.

"It is. But this is important – we can't keep silent any more. Especially not me." Carrie vowed.

"Love you guys. Keep safe. And remember what Brianna told us – Black Lives Matter. We need to keep saying it, so we might as well start now." Ashley pointed out.

"Black Lives Matter." The group declared, one by one, as they signed off the chat for good.

*** BLM ***

As she prepared for bed, a worn-down Brianna was brushing her teeth throughly in the bathroom. As she was rinsing up, she heard noise coming from her grandfather's bedroom. He had been staying with the family as a means of support during the coronavirus quarantine, and they had put him up in their spare bedroom. With a nice comfortable bed and a TV, it appeared that he could live very happily with her family in his advanced age, and avoid the virus-stricken nursing homes. However, based on what he was watching, he was not enjoying himself at all. And Brianna did not blame him, not one bit.

"As a fourth night of unrest unfolds here in Minneapolis, you can see members of the National Guard, state troopers and the Minneapolis Police Department using tear gas and batons to dispel the large crowd. Of course, those involved in the riots are violating an 8pm curfew which was imposed by the Governor of Minnesota Tim Walz on the Twin Cities of both Minneapolis and St. Paul. This marks the fourth night of riots and civil unrest in the region, following the killing of George Floyd by a police officer who knelt on him during an arrest…"

"You shouldn't be watching that, Grandpa. It's not good for your health." Brianna stated as she turned off the TV. However, her grandfather, a wise old man named Solomon (deeply symbolic in a religious family), was not focused on the now blank television screen. Instead, he was holding a small black and white photo in his hand. This depicted Solomon as a much younger man, standing in the third row of a large group of people. This crowd, predominantly Black but with some white faces thrown in, stood opposite a group or mainly white police officers. This was the famous march from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama, that sought to give voting rights to black people in the state. Led by no less a civil rights leader than Dr. King himself, Solomon considered himself blessed just to be in his near vicinity.

"Do you remember why I marched with Dr. King, Brianna?" Solomon asked, his reedy voice underlining his almost eighty years of age.

"Yes. It was so I wouldn't have to." Brianna answered, honestly.

"And yet here we stand, 55 years on from that march, and our people still have to face off with the police for that most basic of human rights – justice." The old man continued, a thousand yard stare filling his emerald green eyes. "They say that Dr. King changed the nation. But sometimes I wonder if he really made a difference at all."

"Don't say that, Grandpa! I know he did." The teenager argued. "I know he did. My generation know about Dr. King's dream. But most importantly, my generation? They know about his cause – the cause of true justice. They see George Floyd, they see Trayvon Martin, they see Tamir Rice. They see their killers protected, and so they don't see true justice. That's why we're out there – our Black brothers and sisters, with our White, gay, straight, transgender, Latin and Asian allies together, lifting us up – we're fighting for true equality and justice, the last page of the wonderful story that is his dream. So, yes, Grandpa, I know he made a difference."

Solomon smiled fondly at his granddaughter's passion. "I feel like I'm speaking to myself from the '60's when I'm talking with you, Brianna. We both thought we could change the world."

"I don't think. I know I can change the world. Me, and everybody who has that fire of justice within them." Brianna stated, placing her cards on the table. "Anyway, night Grandpa."

Later that night, when she was struggling to get some sleep, the teenager pulled out her tablet and opened the video folder. Finding the video she wanted, she clicked on it.

The video showed Brianna standing on a large sheet of ice. Wearing her ice skates, she was dressed for competition. Wearing her hair in a bow, she was dressed in a finely-embroidered red and green competition outfit. Red and green were two colours of the Pan-African flag, symbolising the natural resources of the African continent and serving as a pertinent and unnerving reminder of the African slave trade that helped build the United States Of America. Brianna stood with her head bowed and her hands at the side. Her head shot up as the opening lyrics of the song she had chosen played over the PA.

"Alls my life I've has to fight…"

This was Kendrick Lamar's song Alright, which had become something of an anthem amongst the Black Lives Matter movement. The song served as a symbolic statement about the resiliency of the black community in the face of the struggles that disproportionately seemed to affect them, like crime, poverty and police brutality. This song and routine held deep personal meaning to Brianna , seeing as how the competition date was just over a year to the day since she was racially profiled. The incident had caused the teenager intense personal turmoil, coming as it did in the midst of the Trump campaign and racial divisions starting to cut deeper into the American psyche. However, like the song's protagonist, Brianna had faith in a higher power – that everything would be okay if she was her beautiful black self with her family and friends behind her.

And if the judges didn't like it, well, they could go fuck themselves!

Thankfully, such an anatomically impossible act was not necessary, because the judges loved her routine. In fact, she won.

They say that figure skating is much closer to ballet than an actual sport. If that were the case, than Brianna's performance would be worthy of the Bolshoi. Moves that she took particular pride in were the opening step sequence on the intro and first chorus, the Lutz as the first pre-chorus shifted to the second chorus, the Salchow on the second pre-chorus became the third chorus, and the double Axel that concluded the routine, culminating on the last sung words of the song "Dark nights in my prayers". In between, Brianna made good use of the entire ice, doing a series of smaller loops and turns leading up to the signature jumps. It was an ambitious task, setting a routine to rap music – but she pulled it off.

Unconsciously, she realised that the message of Alright was alive and well, within herself and her friends. Over the past couple of months, they had watched on in horror and dismay as COVID-19 ravaged New York City. Carrie, Olivia, Danielle and Renee had all lost loved ones to the virus, causing them untold heartbreak and despair. However, the awful tragedy in Minneapolis had given them an opportunity. An opportunity to help her create a better country and world. Like the song's protagonist, they were about to shake off their sadness and fear, find a way to solve the problems facing the nation and cry out for justice alongside her.

We gonna be alright. Brianna thought melancholically as she switched her tablet off and drifted off to sleep.

*** BLM ***

Next chapter: In Part 2, Carrie and her friends use their platforms to spread the BLM message. However, Carrie has to face some uncomfortable truths about Stark Industries' past and present. Meanwhile, an incident of police brutality at a protest brings the movement to Olivia's front door, and Danielle reflects on past instances of racial bias in her life and questions a family member..