On Main Street

Fearmonger: ˈfir-ˌməŋ-gər n. someone who spreads fear, or needlessly raises the alarm.

Last week, armed with face masks and hand sanitizer, my family and I went to the corner of Maple and Main in a nearby small town here in Virginia. We marched with others who wanted to make their voices heard in support of the Black Lives Matter movement. A group of folks stood in front of the local gun store, toting large weapons and yelling insults at the peaceful marchers. Their guns were not loaded, which means that they were not carrying them for protection, but simply to instill fear.

One fellow shouted directly at me, “My mother died of an opiate overdose! Are black lives more important than my mom’s life? Are you saying that my mother’s life didn’t matter?” It was ironic that he had chosen to direct this question at me, a nurse practitioner who specializes in pain management. I have spent my career walking the delicate balance between adequately treating my patients’ pain and mitigating the risk of drug abuse. I have seen, first hand, the ravages of opiate addiction and the heartbreak of families left behind after a fatal overdose.

I wish I could say that I remained calm, but my hackles were up immediately. How dare he accuse me of not caring about his mother? “Of course, your mother’s life mattered!” I yelled back. “I devote my life to helping save lives like her’s, but today, we are talking about black lives!” He screamed at me a bit more, but by then I had moved on and rejoined my family.

The encounter has troubled me all week. I see it as a missed opportunity and wish I had responded differently. What if I had introduced myself, instead? What if I had said “I am so sorry for your loss.” Would it have stopped him in his tracks?

Hate is the outward manifestation of fear. As segregationists fought the integration of schools, they proclaimed that white children would be in danger, corrupted by the mixing of races. As white supremacists marched through the streets of Charlottesville, they chanted “Jews will not replace us.” Cops who kill unarmed black men are driven by fear and those who perpetuate hatred, stoke these fears. Our corrupt and morally repugnant president is a masterful fearmonger, painting a picture of a lawless nation. He won his election by tapping into the deep seated anger of white Americans who suffer from the fundamental unfairness embedded in our economic system. By misdirecting them to believe that the root cause of their dissatisfaction is the invasion of “others” who will take their jobs and steal their opportunities, he obfuscates the reality that the economic divide is built on a system of corporate greed.

As we made our way through town, kind people on the side of the road held up signs and offered water and cupcakes to the marchers. We ended up at the town hall, where the mayor, the police chief, local officials and young people from the NAACP gave rousing speeches about the important moment we find ourselves in. The words were stirring, but I was even more moved by the undercurrent of love. It felt like the beginning of something.

In my fantasy, the man with the gun and I could have started a dialogue. He understands the pain of losing a family member to a horrible epidemic tearing through vulnerable communities. Could that experience enable him to find empathy for the families of Breonna Taylor or George Floyd? Could his feeling of marginalization be the key to understanding how people of color have been marginalized and brutalized for generations? Some may say that a man who chooses to greet a peaceful protest with a large rifle is incapable of change. I have to believe that isn’t true. The basis of all protest is the belief that we can change the hearts and minds of others. We shout in the streets to drown out the hatred. But when the shouting is done, we must listen more closely and acknowledge the fear behind the hate.

Originally published at http://rebeccafullerdotblog.wordpress.com on June 19, 2020.