When we were little girls, my sister and I were visiting our grandparents in Los Angeles when the 1965 Watts uprising broke out. Our grandparents, who lived in the Crenshaw area a few miles from the uprising, of course, kept us at home and I later learned they had packed up the car and were prepared to evacuate the city on moments’ notice if the violence got within a few blocks of their home.
When the violence quelled, Pop Pop drove us through Watts to look at the damage and try to explain to us what had happened and why. My starkest memory of that day was the sight of dusty, dark green military trucks filled with armed, helmeted soldiers in full combat gear driving through the streets. I was puzzled and frightened by what I saw. But our grandfather, as usual, was calm and reassuring so I knew we’d be ok.
Today, military trucks with armed soldiers drove through my Washington, DC neighborhood – much closer to my house than the distance my grandfather decreed would trigger our evacuation. I feel just as puzzled and frightened by this as I felt when I saw the same thing as a small girl a continent away and a lifetime ago. But although I am now just a few years younger than Pop Pop was then, I don’t feel nearly as unafraid as he seemed.
I just realized that he probably felt as uncertain and off-balance as I do now.
And I don’t know what to do with any of this.
I’m sure I’m not the only one at a loss …