magic bullet

Saturday was magical. I went to Lancaster for the fourth time and came home convinced that I was making the right decision to move out there. I spent some time alone in the apartment and started to imagine how I could improve the space and where my furniture would go. Then I had lunch at a new Vietnamese spot just a few blocks away before heading over to the town square for the African American Heritage walking tour. I seemed to be the only person taking the tour on my own, but before long the other members of the group started chatting with me and by the end, I think I’d shared an exchange with just about everyone. I gave a book to the two Black boys on the tour and learned one of them had dreams of becoming a writer himself. A retiree asked if I knew anyone in Lancaster and when I said not really, he asked our guide for a piece of paper and stopped to write down his name and number. There were quite a few seniors on the tour and I’m not going to lie—I really needed to see some good-hearted White people this weekend. The interracial group that runs this tour is using the funds they raise to put up markers around the city so that everyone can learn about Black residents’ contributions to Lancaster. There are the official historical markers put up by the city but none of them references people of color. Our “conductor” Debbie stressed at the very beginning that one goal of the tour is to show the cooperation of Blacks and Whites in the struggle for social justice. And “station masters” (some descended from 19th-century Lancaster residents) repeated that message, referencing the Fugitive Slave Law and the occasions when Whites stood up, defied the law, and prevented Blacks from being forced into slavery. Today we see neighbors doing the same to prevent ICE agent from separating families as they try to deport immigrants. I connected with an immigrant educator from Sweden whose students in the county speak 40 different languages…I met a woman who works with survivors of domestic violence. We all learned about Thaddeus Stevens and the way his own disability might have shaped his politics as a radical Republican and abolitionist, how he asked to be buried in a cemetery that wasn’t racially segregated. I felt like I’d found my people and for the firs time, I even thought about looking into applying for citizenship. I came home from Lancaster ready to write but then I went on Facebook and found out about the White supremacist mass shooting in El Paso; woke up the next morning and there was another mass shooting by a White man in Dayton who seems to have targeted Blacks. And suddenly I didn’t want to write. I didn’t want to think about a future here. I wanted to burrow deep underground. I wanted my own secret compartment in a train that would carry me to safety. But no one reached free states without help. You have to have community. Allies. Accomplices. I have the option to go back where I came from, but it is an act of resistance to stay and fight for the home you truly want and deserve. The Free Dictionary defines a “magic bullet” as, “Something that provides an immediate and extremely effective solution to a given problem or difficulty, especially one that is normally very complex or hard to resolve.” There is no magic bullet, no quick and easy way to solve all the things that are wrong with this country. But there is so much worth fighting for…and we’re not new to this. That’s what I’m holding onto right now. We’ve always faced hatred and violence. It’s exhausting. But we’ve also built homes and communities and businesses…we’ve fought for our right to be here and be healthy and happy. I moved to Philly to learn more about my Black ancestors who lived here and left for Canada in the 1830s. I reversed that migration 25 years ago and I’m not ready to give up on the US. For now, “fight” is a stronger impulse than “flight.” For now.