Segregation

 

by Amanda Jones

 a chamomile tea

 

Alone. She sits curled, knees tucked up and head held down. People pass by and notice nothing. Sobbing into her skirt she dreads the next hour, or two, or three.

Inside her bag is lunch. Sandwiches with cheese spread, an Ambrosia pudding pot and sweet snacks. The same, carefully prepared meal she made the night before. Mum checked but could no longer make it. Later tonight she would go to the garage and get some potatoes from the sack and prepare dinner, and check on Mum, help her wash, change her dressings.

She didn’t understand why people didn’t love her. She loved them. A sensitive soul with worry on her mind, she was ten years old.

Music meant that some of the other children had a similar interest. But after she made friends they were taken away. Trust, friendship and fun was had, then they were gone. Every year was the same, had been since they moved and met the girl who bullied her, constantly using relational aggression. The passive aggressive ostracism.

But, now, she still loved and remained in touch with her best friend from then. Now, she knew what she had been missing.

Now, she loved herself.

And this fitted with everything in her life. Segregation taught her a lesson. Feminism was held high. Disability was experienced with Mum and now with her. She thought of her Black friends during that time; also segregated. They were blamed for fights, disruption in class, and the girls had to tie their hair back tightly to prevent their natural, beautiful Afro style.

Who was the bully here?

The intersectionality of prejudice, discrimination and abuse crosses paths. But she didn’t think any less of herself by supporting her Mum as a child carer now. Then it had been beyond recognition, it was just called love. By thinking Child Carers Matter, Disabled Lives Matter would to her be an equivalent of Black Lives Matter. She thought no less of Black Lives Matter because of her own struggles. And she didn’t think All Lives Matter because that’s at the top of the stairs. She thought that we have to support all of the different matters first before all lives can even be named. Every single one of us has a cause close to our hearts. Name it. Say it ………..Matter then consider someone challenging it by saying All Lives Matter, not your cause.

So, she sees a child, in the corner, and thinks, with all of the others to-ing and fro-ing, ignoring her, passing on by, that That Child Matters. Not all of the people in the scene, at this time.

That is where she sees people of colour and Black Lives Matter. Segregated.

She learns about White Privilege. She came from poverty, abuse, bullying and disability but still takes a step back. Being White means that she doesn’t think about colour, unless there is a Black person nearby. She doesn’t think White. That is privilege in itself.

Equality will come, she feels sure. But not now. As a Quaker she believes in it and fights for it. Every single person has the light of spirit within them, whether it’s God, or something else, it keeps us alive. She chooses to sit with spirit to see where she is led. Ever since she accepted life and followed spirit her life has changed into peace.

Her light is clear, and her dark. She chooses.

Watching the greed and jealousy she learns of the isolation and segregation of the Palestinians with annexation. She listens to the shameful treatment of the Windrush generation. The devastation of our environment has been a battle she has fought since being a child too. She hears fellow Friends saying they are hopeless and don’t know what to do.

Her light is clear, and her dark. She chooses.

Please take that decision, to see the light within. Close your eyes, allow thoughts to fade. See the bright, white light inside which is waiting to lead you and listen.

 

About the author 

Amanda has been writing since childhood and along with short stories she writes her Missy Dog charity series, poetry, non-fiction and horror. You can find her here:

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Website: http://amandababerauthor.wordpress.com/