riding for Black lives

It’s been a hell of a year by any standards: a global pandemic; multiple murders and a distinct lack of justice for Black Americans; and an election nightmare that honestly makes me want to crawl into a cave until it is over. (Instead, I requested my mail-in ballot and will be working the polls again in November, because I believe small acts of civic engagement still matter.)

In that spirit, once a month this summer and fall, I’ve been taking my bike (on the train) down to Franklin Park, near the heart of the Black community in Boston and the starting point for the Rides for Black Lives.

I am – as I should be – there to show up and listen, and sometimes to help hand out water bottles. I am a white cis woman who has no direct experience of racism. (I am also an introvert who hates showing up alone to events involving big crowds, and a novice-ish cyclist who is still new to group rides, let alone protest rides. But neither of those things matter as much as the injustice and violence done to Black folks in this country.)

We gather around midday, and listen to a few speakers from communities of color before taking off. Congresswoman Ayanna Pressley and two Boston City Councilors, Michelle Wu and Andrea Campbell, have been among the speakers, as have Black folks who work in mental health, the cycling industry, community organizing and other areas. I learn something new every time I hear them speak, and I join in bearing witness to their stories.

The route is different every time: we’ve ridden to the Common, up to Nubian Square in Roxbury, even over to Cambridge. Sometimes we chant while we’re riding: Black Lives Matter. No justice, no peace. Say her name: Breonna Taylor. (That last one hit me in the gut, since we rode in September just days after the woefully inadequate grand jury verdict in Taylor’s case was handed down.)

I have heard other white folks say they’re “ready to be done” with protests, and I often question (to myself) what the rides will “accomplish” – whether they will effect any “real change.” I put those phrases in air quotes because I don’t think that’s ultimately the way to approach these rides. I don’t think the protests will stop until we have a more just and equitable world. I don’t think a protest ride is a box to check off, or a step on a ladder, or any other linear movement toward change. And I honestly don’t know, sometimes, what we accomplish other than simply saying: we are here. And we believe the violence and racism has to stop.

I am learning along with everyone else: trying to read and listen to voices different from my own. (This includes my Black partner, but it’s not his job to educate me.) I am showing up in small ways, where I can: donating to bail funds or the NAACP, supporting Black-owned bookstores. It’s not enough, and it’s better than nothing. It is a small part of the work that will be ongoing for my whole life.

We have to confront our own racist history, and our current biases, if we truly want a country that allows everyone to thrive. These rides are one small way for me to do that: to show up and listen and then add my voice to the chorus. I am new to both protest and anti-racist work, but I am here for it. And (at least) once a month, that work takes place on two wheels.

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