It’s Not Impossible

Mom told me that the protestors are shooting themselves in the foot. 

“These protests won’t change anything. Those foolish people are standing there, acting violent, letting themselves be sprayed with tear gas over a single man. How strange,” she says, while cleaning the table. 

“Did compliance stop George Floyd from dying, Mom? Will not causing trouble, bring back the thousands of black lives who struggled with racial prejudice? Mom, he asked to breathe, not to fight,” I replied, looking up from my phone. She becomes silent and looks the other way.

Looking the other way, yes. That’s what so many people have done. The “accident” of George Floyds’ death was not the first. People have looked away from the thousands of innocent or unarmed black people who died because of the color of their skin. As an Asian American, I would know what racial prejudice is, wouldn’t I? The Chinese Exclusion Act, the reason for the Asian American Movement, the racial slurs that still crawl out of the mouths of people today, was all that protesting for nothing? Martin Luther King himself told the oppressed to speak up. A quote from his speech still rings in my mind. “In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.”

I opened TikTok, an app on my phone, and the first video showed a girl telling her grandfather who lied on a hospital bed that racial prejudice still exists today. She told her grandfather that many black people still protest for the same central reason as the one in 1960. I watched as he started to cry and after a few seconds, he finally spoke. “I thought we had a lot of time to fix this problem.” My heart dropped, the screen turning black, my eyes wandering until I saw the palms of my hands. These hands, can’t I do anything with these hands? Can’t I take action, even though I may not be part of the community that is currently fighting for their justice? 

Murky clouds signaled the start of the storm, the rain falling with a loud pitter-patter sound, thunder rumbling from afar. I think about the protestors who aren’t at home, who feel the heavy rain falling on their shoulders as they protest in the cities, on the streets, and in front of buildings. I picked up and walked into my room, and sat down in front of my desk. Opening my laptop, the news is full of pictures and videos of people getting sprayed with tear gas, large protest groups standing in front of buildings, policemen standing there quiet as the furious people speak words of truth to their faces. I have read again and again of George Floyd’s, the video still vivid in my mind, his desperate pleads echoing in my head.  

Social media can be an effective tool just as it can be a dangerous weapon. It can easily spread rumors and false information as well as spreading awareness of massive problems all around the world. Looking through Instagram, I see people talking about how black lives matter, and expressing strong opinions. But many of those people don’t talk about how they are going to act, whether they are going to donate or go protest themselves. Mother and Father both stay silent, sharing similar opinions to those who decide to not take action. But how can I ignore such a problem that should have been solved decades ago?!

I slam a pencil on top of a paper out of frustration and the tip of the pencil breaks, the lead rolling aside. What can I do to help support black lives matter? My mother and father definitely won’t donate, and I don’t have money right now to donate. After all, I’m only a teenager. Talking about the issue on social media won’t do much, as only my friends see the posts. So how, how can I spread awareness to encourage others to take action? 

“What are you doing?” Mina asked, walking into my room.

I was never very fond of my siblings, but never have I been happier to see my baby sister. 

“That’s it!” I exclaimed, flipping through my sketchbook to an empty page.

“What? Oh never mind, you’re acting strange,” Mina says, rolling her eyes.

“Could you close the door for me when you’re on your way out?” I asked Mina, not looking away from my sketchbook. 

Mina pulls the doorknob as she walks out, but she didn’t close the door all the way. I was too happy to be bothered with that though. Children are the keys to change. Children are the future, what they grow up believing and valuing can drastically change the next generation’s society, and such morals will continue being passed down to the next. So if one was to influence anyone, it would be children. Mina, my annoying little sister, had been the key to an idea I would have never thought of alone. If I can help teach children the importance of bringing true justice to minorities and for all, if we can teach children that there can be such a thing as a world of equality, a world where different people can still live as one big community, maybe, just maybe, we won’t have to wake up to see lives of the those who were discriminated against torn apart. 

“Even if I am only one person, I can do something. I am capable of helping millions of people, maybe even more,” I tell myself, picking up the broken pencil and sharpening it. 

So I started sketching, drawing rough pictures of people holding signs with angry expressions, people facing away from the voices of minorities representing inaction, and those who are the source of this problem. By the time I got my ideas down on how to make an animation with a clear theme, it was already 2 am. Turning off the desk lamp, I laid on my bed, looking up at the ceiling of my room. 

“Every night, people walk home wondering if they will be alive tomorrow, and they lay in bed afraid of the new day because their death could be in the hands of a person who can easily say, ‘that was an accident’ and walk out of jail with no regret,” I whisper to myself.

Thinking about that fact, my eyes stayed wide open for another hour, until my exhaustion finally overcame me. 

The next day, after I finished online school, I opened my digital drawing app and started bringing my sketches from last night to life. Animating takes a lot of time, there are many factors that contribute to it and to make it run smoothly, I can’t just skip drawings and be lazy. Children also find color more appealing, so I also had to spend time coloring my work. Many children don’t usually care about movements and protests because it’s always connected to history, and a lot of people get bored when they hear the word “history.”But movements like black lives matter are happening now, so perhaps it would be easier for children to understand the importance of the movement through modern scenarios that directly relate to them.

I had my mindset on this animation. The real problem was how to hook children into staying on the video and not clicking the next video.  

“This is a lot harder than I thought it was going to be,” I murmured, sighing. 

Birds perched on the branches of a large tree in front of my window, and looking down, I saw an African American boy sitting down surrounded by small animals and petting a dog. Suddenly a group of boys around the same age surrounded the small boy and started throwing rocks at him. I turned away from the window and hurried down the stairs. 

“Stop throwing rocks at me!” The boy pleaded, his head faced down and he went down to his knees.

“Why? You’re scum. My mom said that your dad deserved to be put in jail and he deserved to die. You people commit all the crimes, you all were born evil and sick. You nasty-,” The bully cursed. 

“Don’t you dare say that word! You cannot judge an entire community based on the actions of a number of bad people who happen to share the same color of skin! Did you not learn anything about black history, slavery, and the thousands who stood on these same streets protesting for their rights just a few decades ago?!”I shouted angrily, snatching the bully’s arm and tightening my grip around his wrist.

“Let go!” He hollered, glaring at me.

“Drop the rock. Now.” I ordered, gritting my teeth.

The bully drops the rock, and the rest of his friends run away as I let go of his hand. The misguided boy scowls, and turns away, running after his friends. 

I turn around and offered the small boy my hand. He reluctantly took my hand and tried to pull himself up but he was unsuccessful. He was badly hurt, so I carried him on my back to a nearby bench.

“What’s your name?”I asked, after returning from my house to get a first aid kit. 

“Timmy,” he replies meekly. 

“Hey Timmy, could you tell me what happened to your father? Only if you want to talk about it,” I whispered, cleaning his cuts.

“My father was pulled over by the police, he was unarmed and he cooperated with the police. He wasn’t involved with any altercation or anything but the police didn’t listen to him when he was trying to explain. They forced him down and handcuffed him. One of the policemen shot him, and he later died that day.”

I looked up from cleaning his wounds and saw tears falling from his swollen eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry that you had to go through that and that your family had to experience the wrongful death of a loved one,” I comforted him quietly, giving him a big hug.

After treating his wounds, I carried Timmy back to his house and walked back home. When I got home, my parents scolded me, saying that the neighborhood next to us was dangerous.

“Why? Is it because that neighborhood is dominantly filled with African American people? Is that why? Is it because you guys think that they’re ruthless, cold criminals?”I retorted, frowning.

“You know that’s not what we meant. Look, those people are dangerous. Olivia, please.”My mom pleads.

“You don’t have to say the n-word to be racist, Mom,” I remarked, running upstairs and slamming the door.

I started to roughly type out my plot on my laptop. Talking with Timmy has really helped me see the situation from another perspective, the perspective of a child who saw racial prejudice directed at his own father. I decided that this movie will be dedicated to Timmy. The story would start off with the main character being in a similar situation as Timmy was. However, the main character will live in a fictional world, full of magic and creatures of all sorts of powers and bodies. The main character isn’t exactly the strongest person, but that doesn’t make him any less of a leader. The main character goes on a journey meeting creatures who were also treated poorly because of the body they were born into. The villain would represent the racist people in our own world, and smaller antagonists would represent those who look away from the big problem. It ends in a positive way, with all the monsters, spirits, creatures, humans all living as one large community where everyone has equal rights and racial discrimination disappeared into the air. I note that in the end, the world still isn’t perfect. But, it has become a better place and that is what counts.  

After a few weeks, I finally finished the animation, resting my head on my desk and falling asleep at midnight. It was June 19, 2020, when I uploaded the movie that would change my life and more lives. 

My alarm rang, the day was June 20, 2020. It was also my birthday. I’ve never really cared much about my birthday, it was just another day for me. I would always wake up to no one really saying happy birthday and getting a small gift like a keychain or a textbook.

“Bzz! Bzz!” My phone called out, vibrating and vibrating and vibrating.

I get up and walk over to my phone, and the animation I had posted last night was swarming with comments, likes, and views.

“How?”I whisper, my voice trailing off as my phone blows up with notifications not only from Youtube but from Instagram as well. The video had gone viral and I skimmed through my home page until I came across one post. A large influencer had reacted to my video and shared the video on their platform, crediting me. 

The comment section was filled with many positive comments, complimenting my art as well as the story. Parents all around the world talked about how their children were so angry when they saw the main character getting beat up by the bad guys and that they were glad that their children could learn about the black lives matter movement easily through the movie. Thousands of people commented on how this movie inspired them to try and make their own work to share with the world about the current movement. 

I got an email from a company that offered to sell my story as a picture book in bookstores and libraries. I turned my phone off, slapped myself, and then turned my phone back on again. The comments, the email, the views, likes, they were all still there.  I quickly sent a direct message to the influencer who helped me out, telling her that I’m really thankful for her reacting to my movie and also contacted that company, accepting their offer. This was the best birthday gift ever.

My movie continued to be streamed on Youtube and watched by many months after I uploaded it. It is now August 29, 2020. Today is the day I get interviewed about my picture book and movie, The Storm Before The Rainbow.  

“Why did you decide to create this animation?”The interviewer asked, smiling.

“Living in a household that tends to look away from big problems in which they can help fix, I wanted to share the consequences of inaction and provide people who cannot donate with other opportunities to help support the black lives matter movement. I also wanted to teach children, who are our next generation the importance and value of a world of true equality and how discriminating against others is definitely not okay.” I replied truthfully. 

The interview went on and more interviews came after my first interview. I sat down and continued to speak about the importance of taking action, and noted that I, who was only a teenager, was able to spread awareness and educate hundreds, thousands, millions of people all around the world. 

Decades have passed and it is April 14th, 2080. I lie in the hospital bed, thinking about the times when I was a young, nervous teenager who was afraid to click that upload button. I know I would have regretted not sharing my story to the world and instead of smiling I would be frowning in this bed. Out the window, I could see a small rainbow and a bright, colorful world. Suddenly, the door creaked open and a small boy with a blue hat walked in,

“Grandpa Timmy's last wish was that I would meet a lady named Liv. Are you Liv?” The boy asked, squinting his eyes.

“Yes dear, I am Liv,” I chuckled, patting the boy’s head fondly. “Do you have something for me?”

“Yes, I do. Grandpa Timmy said that the world used to be separated by the color of your skin, it sounds like a really sad word. Anyways, it’s a surprise so close your eyes,” the boy warned, watching my every move.

With slightly closed eyes, I peeked at his surprise. He was holding a book, the name Liv engraved on the book. With a small smile, I close my eyes.

The boy starts reading, “In a land of fairies, witches, tree monsters, humans and more, there was a young boy named Kai...”