I took a walk today. But it wasn’t because I was tired of being cooped up in the house due to coronavirus restrictions. I walked today in honor of Ahmaud Arbery. (Technically, I was supposed to run, but Texas heat, my allergies, and my asthma don’t play well together.) Hopefully, you’ve heard his name recently. I wish we had all heard of him sooner . . . perhaps days after he had been innocently murdered in a modern-day lynching. But no one was talking about him those months ago. No one was investigating. No one was telling his story. The primary reason we even know about it now is that a horrific video of his innocent life being taken was passed around on social media.
I won’t post the video. I hope you don’t either. I hope that nobody in the black community ever has to see and relive the terror of what happened in real-time to Ahmaud Arbery. As news of this hate crime spread, I read so many comments of other people (mostly white, some from various ethnicities, none black.) trying to justify what the murderers did. Some were convinced that the media is just twisting things, later realizing that it wasn’t being twisted, then coming back to say that race had nothing to do with it. Some were saying that there is more to the story—oh is there, Karen from not-Georgia who didn’t see or hear anything and feels offended that someone would demand justice for this crime? All of it is heartbreaking. Sad. Disgusting. Devastating. It should have never happened. A ‘citizen’s arrest’ (the fluff being used by the perpetrators to excuse the racial profiling and armed confrontation) does not/should not include firing a gun at anyone. Ever.
I would be remiss if I did not also mention the overwhelming empathy and rallying cries on social media coming from a broad range of ethnicities. Even in the middle of heartbreak and anger, many white people elevated the voices of those in the black community. Because of it, there were many voices from people of color coming forward to share their stories, their truths, their histories to help us become even more aware of what really boils underneath the surface of our privilege. I want to share some here from people of color in my life as well:
A little processing today in light of Ahmaud Arbery. Going from anger to hopelessness back to anger to grief and feeling like a crazy person trying to make sense of it all.
It’s very difficult to put into words the thoughts that always follow these murders. I remember being warned as a kid to watch my words and actions around cops to avoid trouble, staying away from certain areas of our own state for fear of being harassed or worse. Being mixed and lighter than many other black people has meant that my experiences don’t always line up with theirs but being profiled and looked at suspiciously because of skin color and appearance definitely does.
Being a parent of a son now who will have his own cultural identity to wrestle with might be amplifying this a bit. That said, I think it’s important for everyone who lives in this country to take time to process where we are and where we want to be. Jesus help us.
— Sylvon Stevens
Ya know, I’m not really interested in having anymore conversations with white people who asks, “why are black people still mad about… or why do black people protest….or says things like, there’s too much talk about racism. Look, if you still don’t know, then you don’t want to know or you’re just sleep walking through life. Arbery was killed in February while jogging in a residential neighborhood in Brunswick, Ga. Video of the killing emerged on social media this week.
— Brittany Colleen Wadley
It could have been me. I’m a large, bearded, and brown-skinned man with an aversion to smiling. I love wearing hoodies and casual clothes. I would not stop if a stranger pulled up to me and aggressively said they needed to “talk.” I would be ready to fight. It could have been me. God save us from murder, hate, and a perverted view of “justice” and “force” that usually ends up with people who look like me getting killed.
— Carlo Serrano
Say what you want about murder hornets, but let’s focus on an actual problem/current threat—the senseless, consistent killing of black people in America.
— Daniella Iheanacho
This morning I thought it was important to maybe give some perspective. When stories of racism seem far off they can be easy to dismiss. My friends, the stories aren’t far off.
I made this picture and chuckled. The top is me speaking to a crowd of 10,000 ministry leaders about unity. Challenging us and pushing us to be the church Jesus prayed for.The bottom of the picture is my arrest record. On that night I wasn’t a speaker, a pastor, an author or a young kid with potential. I was black and it was a problem.
In 2008 I was 19 years old. I sat by a pool with some friends at midnight eating pizza and laughing. No drugs, no alcohol, just pizza. There had been robberies in the neighborhood recently so when a neighbor saw black kids at their pool they called the police. We were arrested. No warning. No explanation. I was taken to jail overnight and the next morning was transported in shackles to the county jail. After 21 hours or so I was released. When I saw a judge they laughed, dismissed the case and said we should have been giving a warning and sent home.
I wish that was the end of the story, but the mugshot taken of me that night was posted on websites all over the internet. It cost me days, thousands of dollars and multiple conversations with lawyers to have them removed. My reputation was attacked by people who saw it. My character was questioned. Because I was black at a pool. Fortunately for me, the neighbor called the police that night instead of approaching me with a shotgun and ending my life.This is one of many experiences with racism I’ve had.
Ahmaud’s story is our story.
It’s not too different from the man who tried to get me fired from my job and banned from my church because I dated his white daughter.
It’s not too different from when I was pulled over and accused of throwing Cocaine out of my window as a pastor.
It’s not too different than the small group of boys in the student ministry I led screaming the N word on the bus on the way to camp as loud as they could.
The only difference in our stories is I’m still alive to tell mine.— Gerald Fadayomi
This is one step forward to our healing. Listening to the voices of people of color. Honoring and valuing their stories. We have such a long way to go, but we would be wasting a walk/run tribute or social media post if we just left it at that. So my friends, I am asking you today to do some work. I know, you may think it’s easy for me to push you to bigger, bolder things—but I do it because it’s necessary. It’s the path to freedom for ALL. We have to be okay with naming racism, facing it and fixing it. We have to do the work because it’s the best work and it leads to a better future for all. If you’ve grown up chanting “I don’t see color,” “I’ve got black friends, I’m not racist,” “We’re not that racist,” “That black person uses that word, so we can too,” and a bevy of other shades to hide the white privilege you’ve been (perhaps unknowingly) clinging to, there is work to do.
I feel it’s worth noting that although I am a Chicana and not a part of the black community, I know what racism towards your people looks like/feels like/sounds like. I also know what it’s like to try to talk your 13 year old Hispanic foster daughter out of a fear tunnel after she comes home from school post-election week asking with tears in her eyes and throat, “Can the President really come into our schools and shoot us?” I’ve been there. I have had well-meaning white friends (even Christian leaders) who make racist remarks towards me and about my cultural people. And when I call it out, it’s dismissed as, “I was only joking.” or “You know I don’t really mean that.” or “Well, that’s just what Mexicans do.” I’ve got the stories. I’ve got the receipts. I’ve got the emotional/mental scars. I’m not just bringing this post and these thoughts out of left field. But this post isn’t about me. It’s about Ahmaud. It’s about my brothers and sisters of color who struggle to survive through the mess of oppression. It’s about people who have endured the worst of the worst when it comes to white privilege and hate and the plague of racism. It’s about a chance for us all to take a step away from the suffocation of prejudice, racism (both in general and systemically.), and hatred for those who are different.
If you would like to take a brave, bold step to do the work of racial conciliation,* here are a few resources for you to check out! Please do not take this as me shaming or condemning you—that is not my heart at all. Please simply consider this an invitation to a bigger story where ALL of us can go for a jog, sit at a table, ride a bus, etc. without the fear of being harassed, arrested, or senselessly murdered because of our differences. This is just a short list, but if you want to share some other resources you have used/are using to pursue racial conciliation, please feel free to share them in the comments.
BOOKS
- Be The Bridge by Latasha Morrison
- The Cross And The Lynching Tree by James H. Cone
- Stamped From The Beginning by Ibram X. Kenedi
- Me and White Supremacy by Layla F. Saad
- The Color of Compromise: The Truth about the American Church’s Complicity in Racism by Jemar Tisby
MOVIES
PODCASTS
*I prefer to use the term conciliation instead of reconciliation. The difference between conciliation and reconciliation is that conciliation is the action of bringing peace and harmony, the action of ending strife while reconciliation is the reestablishment of friendly relations, which we never extended to people of color to begin with.
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