The Talk

Flour. Wikimedia Commons.

In 2014, after the police shooting of Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri, protests erupted in the streets. Amid the images of tear gas, armored vehicles, and raised hands, something unexpected happened: People in Gaza, watching from across the world, began tweeting solidarity advice to Ferguson protestors.

They offered tips on how to endure tear gas, how to protect your face and eyes, how to stay resilient. They had lived through it. The hashtag #Palestine2Ferguson emerged, linking two communities who understood state violence and survival. Across borders, they reached for one another.

On Sunday, I listened to a powerful episode of NPR’s The Sunday Story called “The Talk.” NPR describes it like this:

“It’s been five years since George Floyd was murdered, yet for many Black families, the fear remains unchanged. In this episode, Ayesha Rascoe sits down with Ryan Ross and his teenage son Gavin to discuss ‘The Talk’ — the painful but necessary conversation Black parents have to prepare their children for encounters with police. From childhood memories of Tamir Rice to fatherly rules for surviving traffic stops, we take a look at how Black parents explain to their sons how to navigate interactions with law enforcement.”

There is great generational weight to that conversation. Black families must prepare their children to survive these kinds of encounters.

That same day, I read news from Gaza: Nearly 100 Palestinians were killed while approaching aid convoys, hoping to receive flour. Aid workers were accompanied by Israeli soldiers who opened fire. In the midst of the ongoing blockade, families are facing starvation. People are being killed trying to reach food — something that should never happen once, let alone repeatedly. And it is happening repeatedly.

And I couldn’t help but wonder: How many families in Gaza are having their own version of “The Talk”? Preparing their young ones and adult children to approach an aid line, knowing the risk that comes with simply walking toward survival.

We shouldn’t live in a world where families need these talks. No child should have to learn strategies for surviving interactions with police. No family should have to map a plan for approaching food aid without being killed.

But we do live in a world where people reach for each other, across borders, across traumas, across histories of harm — where care flows alongside grief, and survival is shaped not only by violence, but by the communities that refuse to let one another go.

What will we do?

Renee Roederer

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