Reflections On Leadership as a First Time Protester

I wrestled with what to do, say and share these last few weeks as I’m conscious of how easy it is to be performative with words and actions. I’m hyper aware of virtue signaling, and I want to share only where I feel I can add value rather than create more noise, especially given my whiteness.

On that note, where I feel called to share is about leadership, because strong leadership is what we need. Below are my reflections on leadership through the lens of my experience as a first time active protester at a recent rally in Manhattan.

People need leaders with a clear, unifying, inspiring message

As I approached Bryant Park, I noticed multiple small groups of two or three people sitting separately with signs. Clearly, they were all there for the protest, which was advertised on someone’s Instagram story, though it wasn’t clear if there was a specific organization behind the event.  For several minutes, there was this strange silence and uncertainty about where to go, what to do and who to follow. People sat quietly in their own space. I looked around to see if there were any larger groups gathering nearby, but didn’t notice anything. 

One person eventually emerged nearby the fountain and started chanting “Black Lives Matter! Black Lives Matter! Black Lives Matter!” The chorus of voices grew louder and within seconds masses of people from all corners of the park gathered close to join. In a matter of minutes, there was a crowd of people letting their voices be heard in the name of justice for George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery and all the other Black lives that have been taken by police violence.

We were looking for a leader, and all it took was one person with a clear message. Suddenly, there were thousands of people rallying together toward a common goal. There are ways to emerge as a leader wherever you are, however you can. Your family, your team, your organization. It doesn't matter. That person could be you.

You don’t need permission to lead

Over the course of the next three hours, a group of strangers with a shared purpose marched together through the streets of Manhattan. There were clear rules about not inciting violence, but there were no rules about who could or could not speak up to lead a chant. It was often the same voices that rallied everyone within their earshot. Most of them were organizers, some were not. But no one was standing there handing out permission slips to say “go on, you can start the next chant.” Anyone who spoke up became a natural leader for people to follow.

Inevitably, there were moments when a chant would phase out and deafening silence would ensue. Who’s going to lead the next one? It was in one of those moments when the discomfort of my white silence slapped me in the face and woke me up.

I raised both my hands in the air, yelled “hands up!” and immediately my fellow protesters responded, “don’t shoot!” 

“Hands up!” I screamed louder. “Don’t shoot!” they warned. And I kept going and going until my voice was tired. And then I kept going still because my breath was still moving through me. And that was a damn privilege in itself. It was all becoming so real.

No one has to give you permission to speak up and share your voice. The opportunity to lead is there. Listen to your gut and your heart, and if you’re feeling called to say something, say it. You don’t need the megaphone. And don’t apologize for having the courage to speak your truth. Your voice matters.

No one can do it alone

After a while, the same prominent voices began to tire out. There was a moment when one Black guy, who I didn’t know, was leading a chant alone proclaiming “no justice” and we would all respond “no peace!” This went on for several minutes, it seemed. I could sense he was getting fatigued, so I joined in to give more power to his voice. He looked over, we made eye contact, and he nodded as if to say “thank you, I needed that.” We continued.

While I cannot relate, I'm beginning to understand through what I'm seeing and hearing that there's a collective exhaustion in the Black community. I saw it very clearly during that protest. And it's so starkly juxtaposed to the ease with which me and other white people can move on with our lives in the comfort of our silence and privilege. So it's making me uncomfortable with my comfort and with my silence. For those three hours, with strong individual and collective leadership, we banded together. We supported each other. It was a common fight. It was powerful. Because we were in it together.