The Sound of Silence

On Thursday, January 7, Los Angeles Dodgers former manager Tommy Lasorda passed away from a heart attack. He has been in the Dodger organization for more than 71 years in various roles. As a baseball fan, one of my favorite memories of Lasorda is him dancing and running with his hands in the air after Kirk Gibson unexpectedly hit a walk-off home run in Game 1 of the World Series in 1988. It was Gibson's one and only plate appearance in that Fall Classic, and because of a badly swollen right knee and pulled left hamstring, the home run was even more unlikely. 

When showing My Family that at-bat, preserved forever on the internet, I was struck by something. Vin Scully, the Hall of Fame announcer, went almost one minute and ten seconds saying absolutely nothing after calling the home run itself. Scully was silent as the images of this improbable celebration continued across the screen. In that silence, we saw fans cheering and heard players yelling while Gibson limped around the bases. 

For me, that silence is perfectly reasonable and welcomed - there's something magical about a sports moment like that. I've been present for a walk-off home run, in person, only once in my life. My friend and I stayed in our seats so long after the at-bat that the ushers had to ask us to leave. We were soaking in the moment for as long as we could. 

There are other times when silence is not only unreasonable, it's downright wrong. When people are treated differently simply because of their skin color, there is no room for silence. When there is injustice, there is no room for silence. When there is inequity, there is no room for silence. It may not be the popular thing to say out loud, and still, we need to have the courage of our convictions. We need to speak our truth, speak out against systemic racism, consistent injustice, and the lack of equity. 

When we are silent, racism, injustice, and inequity continue unabated. Those who are impacted by it don't know who their allies are. Those who are impacted by it bear the burden solely on their shoulders. Those who are impacted by it "hear" the message in the silence that it is OK. There is tacit approval in that silence. 

White privilege has served me for the entirety of my life. From long before I was born, when my parents met, to the zip code I was born into, to the schools I attended, to the jobs I have held, to the woman I met and married, to the children we have, to the very life I am living. I cannot change the fact that the world views me differently because my skin is white. What I can do is acknowledge it and work tirelessly within a system that tells people who have darker skin than mine that they are somehow less than me. 

To do that, I cannot, and will not, be silent.