#SayTheirNames and remember

Thirty-five years ago, Vincent Chin was beaten to death by attackers wielding a baseball bat who blamed the Chinese American for the loss of U.S. auto manufacturing jobs to Japan. He was buried in Detroit on the day he was to be married.

Two years ago, a white supremacist teenager shot and killed nine people during Bible study at Emanuel AME Church in South Carolina: Cynthia Marie Graham Hurd, Susie Jackson, Ethel Lee Lance, Depayne Middleton-Doctor, Clementa C. Pickney, Tywanza Sanders, Daniel Simmons, Sharonda Coleman-Singleton and Myra Thompson, a group who came to be known as the Charleston 9.

Almost a year ago, Philando Castile, a beloved African American school cafeteria worker in Minnesota, was shot and killed by police in front of his girlfriend and her 4-year-old daughter.

Over the weekend, teenager Nabra Hassanen was walking back from evening Ramadan prayers in northern Virginia with her friends when she was abducted, beaten to death with a baseball bat, and later found in a pond. Charleena Lyles, a pregnant African American mother, was shot and killed by police in front of her children after she called to report a burglary.

The names of the victims are a tragic roll call — and a rallying cry, too. People organize marches, write social media posts and letters to elected officials, and donate to families of victims and to social justice groups. After each incident of a hate crime, police violence or mass attack, outrage flares up, but what happens after the headlines fade? I’ve been thinking about how we can galvanize around an issue so that activism becomes lasting action.

We can reach out to friends and neighbors, and together, we can begin to identify organizations to support as volunteers or donors. We can aim to find common ground in the issues that we all hold dear — our families, our children and our safety.

The founders of Experience Ramadan are taking action around the dinner table. In late May, the night before the holy month began, Mariam Shirazi, a Toronto university student, and Usman Abdullah, a Bay Area software engineer, put together a website — www.experienceramadan. com — to match hosts with guests who wanted to attend an iftar, a traditional meal when Muslims end their daily fast at sunset.

“The best way to break barriers is to break bread,” Shirazi said. “It’s easy to depersonalize a faith group if you’ve never met someone. In the media, there’s a lot of hateful rhetoric. People have said they want to stand in solidarity with Muslims, but don’t know how, or they’ve never met a Muslim. We want to show we’re normal people.”

The understanding fostered has been gratifying to Shirazi. At an iftar in Fremont, they feasted on fried chicken, mac and cheese, and other American food. “I didn’t know Muslims ate food like that,” a guest wrote afterward.

Ramadan ends at sunset on Saturday, June 24, but Shirazi hopes to continue to connect people through the website, for meals at mosques and in homes.

After Julie Schwietert Collazo watched the police dash-camera footage of the Philando Castile shooting, the journalist cried, and then wrote an impassioned Facebook post about how to make a difference. Her calls to action include: Fill in the gap in your learning about black history left out of schoolbooks. Get involved in your child’s classroom, and offer input on the curriculum. Support blackowned businesses, and at your alma mater, donate to funds that go toward black scholarships or student groups that celebrate black culture. Hire people of color, and suggest candidates for specific jobs. Keep up pressure on public representatives.

“Keep racial justice issues front and center of every agenda, which is where they should be,” she wrote.

With our twins, we teach them to treat others as they would want to be treated, and to consider how others might feel. I think of Vincent Chin, out with his friends at his bachelor party. Philando Castile, driving with his girlfriend after going grocery shopping. Nabra Hassanen, getting a late-night snack with friends after her prayers. Charleena Lyles, spending time with her children on the weekend. The Charleston 9, looking ahead to bedtime after their evening Bible study. It’s so poignant to me, these mundane details and their ordinary routines interrupted by violence.

The victims had so much of summer — of their lives — ahead of them: endless warm nights, long meals with their families, trips to the beach or the pool, and other adventures. How can we remember them? How can we make sure their deaths lead to lasting change?

We say the names of the victims to remember them, to show that behind someone’s religion or race or gender or sexual orientation, there is a person with a family, with dreams. We say their names to close the divide between us, to reach out in a way that educates rather than divides. Say their names, and remember their stories.

The names of the victims are a tragic roll call — and a rallying cry, too.