On May 6, 2020, in an instant, my life changed forever. That may sound exaggerated but, to me, it’s true, and, since this is my story, I can tell it like I want to tell it. After all, this is My Story for My People. The day before, on May 5, 2020, a friend of mine, James, posted on his Instagram something that caught my eye more than other statements he’d posted in the past. Here is the actual wording of that post:
“The video of Ahmaud Arbery is stunning and triggering. The men that killed him must be brought to justice. I don’t recommend watching the video, but if you do, please know that it’s the nightmare of every Black man. He was killed for being Black in the suburbs. #ahmaudarbery“
Reading through it now, I think James’ words that drew me in were found in the sentence, “I don’t recommend watching the video, but if you do, please know that it’s the nightmare of every Black man.” PLEASE KNOW THAT IT’S THE NIGHTMARE OF EVERY BLACK MAN. That is a powerful declarative statement. As a 57-year-old white man from the deep south I wanted to know what the nightmare of every Black man could possibly be. Although he recommended his followers not watch the video, my curiosity got the best of me and the next day, May 6, I found it on the internet and began to watch it.
I didn’t watch much of the video, just a few seconds, before I quickly turned it off. I had heard and read enough to know that the video showed Ahmaud Arbery being shot multiple times. I stopped watching because I didn’t want to, I couldn’t, see that. James had recommended his followers not watch it, and from what I saw in those brief seconds, I agreed. But those few seconds I did see changed me forever. There’re those words again, “changed forever.” Yes, that’s exactly what happened. It’s not overly dramatic or hyperbolic to say those words because, as I write this three years later, the aftershock of those few seconds continues. As I watched Ahmaud Arbery struggle with Travis McMichael, as I watched “the nightmare of every Black man,” something snapped in me. I instantaneously became aware of my willful and sinful ignorance about race in America. I spent the rest of the day processing what I had experienced. I began May 7, 2020, writing this journal entry:
Thoughts on Ahmaud Arbery
This one has me finally trying to figure how can I be part of overcoming racism and not just watching from afar. Honestly, I couldn’t relate to Michael Brown’s or Trayvon Martin’s deaths. It appeared to me that they had some responsibility through action or attitude that led to their deaths. I’m not saying they deserved to die but their deaths didn’t make me try to understand the deeper issues. This death is different. A Black man jogging in the middle of the day because two white men thought he “might have” been involved in burglaries in the area. I want to look away and hope the furor dies down but that would be wrong. I’ve got to learn why two white men felt it was their rite (sic) and responsibility to police their neighborhood no matter the cost. Why have these men not been charged? How will Ahmaud Arbery’s death bring about change? In Georgia, the U.S., and me? How do I see around my blind spots? Why do people who call themselves Christians perpetuate the hate? How do I navigate personal transformation when I had no more control over being born a white man with some degree of privilege than the Black man born in the ghetto? What pieces of who I am can I keep and what pieces must I let go? When and how and with whom do I have honest conversations with people of color solely for the purpose of learning and not debating?
*IT WILL TAKE GENERATIONS TO CHANGE THIS BUT THE GENERATIONAL SHIFT IN MY FAMILY STARTS WITH ME. Would this be considered a modern-day lynching?
Rewriting this is good for remembering what I felt that day. I was launching on a journey that I didn’t really know yet where to begin, but I especially didn’t know where I was going. I see in this journal entry the beginning of awareness, but also a profound naivete. All I know was on May 6, 2020, in an instant, my life changed forever. Later, a friend would give me a name for what I had experienced- “ontological shock.” Ontology is the study of who we are and why we think and do the things we think and do. That phrase “ontological shock” gave me a foundation to this new structure of racial awareness being built in my life.
My Story For My People 