What happens when the marching stops

Five years after George Floyd's murder, the promises and protests are a distant memory but the guardians insisting we remember, persevere.

I visited Minneapolis two Januarys ago. And in between learning to cross-country ski and discovering Sauna culture, I went to the corner where George Floyd was murdered.

I don’t make a habit out of visiting crime scenes when I travel. But I felt compelled to see the space that had launched a movement and become a shrine for a community’s grief.

There is nothing particularly remarkable about the area where George Floyd was killed. It’s a corner that looks a lot like ones I’ve seen all over the country. But the memorials that are laid out across the street and sidewalks - art, posters, prayer candles, items of clothing - made it instantly recognizable to anyone who saw the news of the time. This was the place where an atrocity happened that was so heinous, so painful, so universally human that it ignited an outcry from a city, a country, the world…only five years ago.

When I was making arrangements to visit the city, I knew that I didn’t want to visit this area without someone who could offer perspective at my side. I found that person in Jeanelle Austin at the headquarters - of Rise and Remember. The organization was created after the murder, when locals took it upon themselves to maintain the area, care for the items that were left at the memorial and speak to the people - yes, even gawking tourists - who wanted to understand.

She showed me the painstaking work they were doing to manage all of the memorial items. To preserve the signs and art left in tribute. She talked to me about the museums across the country who were interested in showcasing some of the artefacts, all in the name of continuing the conversation.

And then Austin kindly offered to show me the neighbourhood. She walked us past the giant raised black fist sculpture that marks the blocks most affected. The took us over to the makeshift graveyard where the names of dozens of people who’ve died at the hands of police are printed on tombstone-shaped stakes in the ground. She walked us through the greenhouse where some of the plants that were left are cared for. To the gas station turned mural and graffiti laden expressionist art that depicts the rage, grief and pride of a community. She told me where things stood. And I understood, better than I ever had, the grief and rage that simmer here.

I didn’t cry when I was in the square, but I was filled with sadness. The kind you feel as a human when you understand that another human once stood where you now stand, and cried out for their mother as they lay dying in front of a crowd of people who couldn’t/wouldn’t/didn’t intervene. It was a choking sadness. And one that never relied on the question of why it all happened to be understood

But when I think back on my time in George Floyd Square, what I feel more than sadness is pride. It’s pride for a community that stood up and said, “he was ours, this neighbourhood is ours, and we’ll decide what happens next.” And who, five years later, continue to monitor, protect, preserve, push for better.

And as strange as it is to say, that day in Minneapolis left me hopeful. I hope that Austin and her neighbours and their allies will somehow continue to find the strength to use their grief and rage to make their community better. And though it’s too much to ask, I find myself hoping that they can keep the fire burning until the rest of the world wakes up and once again remembers what injustice looks like.

Things I’m reading/watching/loving at the moment

Forever on Netflix: I’ve loved Judy Blume for most of my life. My weathered books still live on my bookshelf. Forever was likely the last of her books I read before becoming an adult and I loved it. To see it reinterpreted with a modern day context gave me so much joy. Do yourself a favour and don’t binge it. Let it linger.

Planning for PEI: I’m heading to eastern Canada in a few weeks with my folks and can’t wait to show them this gem of a province. I’m taking all suggestions on where we should go and what we should see. Drop me a note.

Shopping for waterproof mascara. If the city of Ottawa has a flood in a few weeks, it’s likely my fault. I have no intention of holding back the tears as I watch my first-born son cross the stage for convocation. So proud of that kid.

Getting the inside scoop on Mexico City and Oaxaca : My youngest son just came home after three weeks in Mexico and I’m reminded of how travel can transform. If your kids have opportunities to join work abroads, summer semesters abroad or exchanges and you can make it happen, I strongly encourage you to invest.

Thanks for reading. Travel well.

Heather