What would you lose to stop injustice?

Revisiting an essay, a reminder of choice

“Problems cannot go away without truth.” ~Latasha Morrison

I found myself recounting the story in this essay to a window seat friend on my flight to Chicago last Friday after he mentioned how hard it was to understand why people didn’t step in to help George Floyd, to stop the police officer from killing an innocent man. Upstander was a new concept for him that morning as it had been for me in July 2023 when I originally wrote this essay. Upstander - a person who will DO SOMETHING upon noticing an injustice. My friend and I talked about recognizing the need to have a plan for how you want to respond if you become a witness to an injustice. Cognitive rehearsal can help us act when fear might otherwise cause us to freeze or flee. I hope this essay encourages you the way it just encouraged me as I reread in preparation to publish it here on substack. We are living in a time when governmental leadership is promoting oppression, hatred, and violence toward specific marginalized groups of people. Will you join me in preparing to be an upstander?

What would you lose if you saw an injustice? Essay originally published in July of 2023 for readers of the 8KP Newsletter

Publishing this essay somehow feels uncertain and intimidating. I feel like I’m exposing a personal flaw that I should have eliminated by now. However hard to share, it is an essay of truth.

That first call for pre-boarding filtered down through the terminal audio system. “Military, special needs; families with young children” - the invitation extended to people who need more time to board. I watched the man step into line, his large dog clearly marked with the red service dog vest. I wouldn’t have thought another thing about it, but several minutes later I peeked my head up from my book and noticed that as the next round of passengers was being invited to board, this man was still standing at the front gate.

A wondering trickled through my mind. Was it the large dog that was causing the boarding delay or the color of his skin?

Yes, he was a black man. My wondering transformed quietly into discomfort as more passengers boarded while this man did not. What was going on? Was I noticing this more because the book I had just cracked open, was Tyler Merrit’s I Take My Coffee Black, or was desolation stirring in my spirit because I was witnessing an injustice?

Pay attention.

God whispered to my soul. And so I watched the man as they asked him to pull out files. The gate attendants' faces remained somber fortified barriers against humanity. As the man pulled out more documentation, his soft voice complying with each new request, group two was called to board.

I peeked at my ticket. Okay, I have until group seven, I thought. I don’t have to leave yet. And suddenly within my gut, I knew that I could not board that plane until the man with the service dog, the man who tried to board in the group identifying as needing more time, the man who was being held up group upon group to prove something that had already been proven to get him to the gate, was allowed to board.

I clipped my spot in the book with my fingers. I will pay attention. As the decision solidified in my mind, I started to process possibilities for how this could all play out. Was I truly willing to give up my trip for a stranger? Was I willing to risk not being able to fly again for a man I didn’t know? And suddenly I felt so disappointed in myself.

I get the privilege to ask these questions. He gets asked for more documentation. I get to doubt that the situation I’m witnessing is racially motivated. He has never known a world in which the likelihood of poor treatment might not be tied to the color of his skin. At that moment I became aware of just how easy it is to contribute to oppression as a bystander. “A bystander is an individual who observes or witnesses a situation of discrimination or violence committed by a perpetrator toward a victim and has the opportunity to either condone, intervene or do nothing.” (APA.org) The person who allows injustice to occur because the threat of losing your freedom feels real or who thinks that if something needed to be done, certainly someone present would do something. On the flip side, I became aware. I could remain a bystander OR I could be an upstander. An upstander is a bystander who recognizes acts of injustice and takes a stand by interrupting and challenging situations that normalize discrimination and potential violence.

I heard the man say this was a connecting flight, and he didn’t have to show all of this documentation (that he absolutely had with him) for his first flight. (After all, he and the dog had made it through TSA). I watched. Was this treatment from the gate attendants harassment? Document after document offered by the man as the gate attendants diligently double-checked his identity in their three-person team. I don’t fly all that much, but I’ve never seen a person with a service dog invited to pre-board scrutinized for the entirety of the boarding process so that in the end, he boarded almost last.

Time slowed to molasses as time tends to amid high levels of stress. In the minutes I watched, suspense wrapped my senses. I knew that the right thing to do was to make sure he boarded the plane, and still, I prayed that they would let him pass. I didn’t want to use the scripts I was silently preparing. Would the words exit upon command? Could I live out the belief I hold strong enough to teach it?

Bystanders contribute to oppression.

Upstanders contribute to freedom. Even if it costs them their own.

In the middle of my cognitive chaos, they let him on.

I exhaled, suddenly aware I had been holding my breath, and got in the line. As I walked past him, sitting in the first row, I told him I was sorry he had been treated like that. I wanted him to know that I was paying attention. I wanted him to know he wasn’t alone. I didn’t say it, but I hoped it came across that I would have done what was needed to make sure he was treated fairly (though I realize as I write this, he already hadn’t been.)

Truthfully, I wondered if I would have done anything bold and necessary if the situation warranted action. Would I have “lost my trip?” for the dignity of another human being to remain intact? Had I already missed it? Was the interrogation and delay enough to diminish his dignity? Was I a bystander after all? I honestly don’t know. I hate writing that, but it’s true.

I continued to read Tyler Merritt’s book over that weekend. I devoured the last half on the flight home. As I read the final pages, I began to weep.
“And I would hope that if things got tough for me…

Maybe really tough…

Maybe because of the color of my skin…

Maybe because some people don’t see me as a real person because of my melanin…

It’s my hope that you’d stand.

And that you would say.

In a loud and clear voice.

Stop.

I know that man.”

It’s two years later, and the likelihood of witnessing injustice seems to increase with every passing minute. To my neighbors who survive in the margin: I want you to know that if I see another situation in which I wonder, is it worth losin’ my trip or any other freedom my privilege allows? I refuse to let fear win and so I plan to stand up and in a loud clear voice say:

STOP.