When it finally clicked

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I've always thought of myself as an ally for PoC, but I never quite got it. I thought I did, certainly, but I was that person who'd take it personally if someone said you cannot be racist to white people. I'd throw in specific instances of what I'd experienced, as proof, even while backpedaling that I realized it was not so big a problem for white folk. I didn't realize how much this argument hurt the cause. I got my awakening by surprise. I was shopping at a health food store (shush, now; they have a lovely deli). I have a habit of sticking to the same few shops around town, and eventually becoming either friendly or actual friends with the employees in many of these places. This store is one such place. So, I'm standing there and speaking to one of my friends, as he's giving out samples. We're talking about life in general, and I step back and pause each time another customer or friend of his comes by. I ended up in this conversation by accident. Merely by presence. You see, my friend is a PoC. The customer who came up was also a PoC. This elderly woman comes up and starts talking to our friend, familiarly shooting the breeze. I don't even recall how the conversation got to this point, but we ended up talking about the most recent cases of police violence against PoC. At this point I'm rather active in the conversation, adding my token disgust at the situation and agreeing with the points made. Then she began to speak of her own experiences. She was elderly, and has had many memories of a life in persecution. She lived through the lynching of Anthony Crawford. She remembers it vividly. The fear. Terror. Hatred from all sides, pressing in on her purely because of the color of her skin. The everlasting fear of the police. Fear that anything could happen to her, anything at all, and she would have no place to turn. No recourse. No justice. All of her life, and we're still showing her she cannot expect even basic protection. Basic rights to justice. She lives in fear, always. By this point I was silent. Sure, I've had people say racist things to me, judge me by my skin color. But this? This was something else entirely. That fear has never followed me around, making me fear even those who should protect me. I could leave my worries behind with the incidents. She never will. I was too stunned even to tell her how much her story changed me. How well her words stuck in my heart, and in my head. I don't add my own experiences anymore. I just sit and cry, and take in just the edges of the fear. The edges I can taste. And I pray that if I'm ever present for such an injustice, I will be as brave as I swear to be, and I will stand in the way. I can only offer my presence, my voice. My hands. Shaking in a terror I only taste from the sidelines, I offer myself as a shield. As a friend. And I promise, I've at least learned not to speak over you. You deserve so much better than this.