To My Brothers

Photos courtesy of Derek Wilson @aymrwilson

The year is 2020, and a young black man (Ahmaud Arbery) was hunted down in his neighborhood by two white men, one being an ex-police officer. It is still 2020, and a white woman threatened a black man (Christian Cooper) because he asked her to leash her dog in Central Park.  She threatened him by saying “I’m calling the cops, I’m going to tell them there is an African American man threatening my life.” Yes, it’s 2020, and a knee of a white police officer to the neck murdered a black man (George Floyd) on the public streets of Minneapolis in front of a group of onlookers who recorded the entire encounter. Lastly, it is 2020, and a black woman (Breonna Taylor) is murdered in the comfort of her own home in the middle of the night by officers who never announced themselves and shot more than 20 bullets hitting her more than eight times.

I am tired. Here we are in the year 2020 and 400 years past the Mayflower, which was the first known slave ship to reach “British colonies” that carried 102 African passengers. There are days I feel as if I was one of the unfortunate 102 African slaves ripped from their land and brought here to serve and fall in line at the crack of someone’s whip. Being a black man is daunting, exhausting, and numbing at times. We have to work three to five times harder than our white counterparts to have an attempt at equality, and we are still seen as three fifths of all other persons.

I refuse to be viewed as if I came off the Mayflower or any other slave ship. Black men don’t owe the world exceptionalism to live out our dreams. We want, and we expect the same things our ancestors fought for. We want our freedom, we want our respect, and we want our space. Since protesting has started and caught like wildfire across the nation, I have received well over 50 additional text messages from white peers, friends, and coworkers. While I appreciate the thought, it was astounding how many of these text messages read the same words, “sending a virtual hug,” “sending my love,” etc. Replying to these text messages was exhausting, and it felt isolating. It made me feel even more like the elephant in the room, yet again the only person of color for most of my virtual work meetings. While listening to emotions and tears that were not coming from the single black person on the call was draining.

America is burning. Trump is our president. Police officers are slaughtering black people, and the last thing that will solve this or make black people feel any better is a virtual hug. We need advocates. We need you to help. We need sponsors. We need voices. We want to see you utilize your privilege and get out on the front line, or step in when you see wrong things happening. We cannot afford any more white people using their privilege as a weapon against innocent black people in this country. It is merely not fair or ethical. We cannot allow you to continue to dominate the conversation when we finally open the race dialogue at work. We need you to listen, take notes, lean in, and empathize. Then get active, not solve, but activate. 

We cannot continue to be murdered by cops who are scared to properly police in neighborhoods and communities that they are not a part of. The general public should not continuously police black men in fears due to your ignorance and lack of comfort revolving around our skin color. If you are scared, challenge yourself to learn more about the black race before jumping to your un-justified fears.

To my white friends, look through your phone and count how many black people you have reached out to over this past couple of weeks. If the number is less than five, challenge yourself to meet and befriend more black people outside of work. You will never understand the perspectives of black people if you have two black friends. You will struggle empathizing and following our journey with your limited scope of knowledge and insight. Extend your hand, be ok with being uncomfortable, and get to know more black people inside and outside of your socioeconomic status if you genuinely want to bring about change.

During the worst time in recent American history, I have read and heard white people still bring up black on black crime being the problem over police brutality and wrongful deaths. I have also read and heard white people mention the argument that police kill more whites than blacks every year. While this is a fact, those very same people forget that America is made of 76% whites and only 13% blacks. To my white counterparts during this time, you should not be deflecting or trying to take away from the police brutality by benchmarking it against irrelevant statistics that purely do not correlate to the topic at hand. Black people are being killed openly and unjustly by white officers, so let’s address the problem directly.

I don’t agree with violence. I don’t agree with looting. But I agree with protesting a broken system. Black people don’t feel safe. We don’t feel heard. We don’t feel loved. Help us solve for this. Help us by using your privilege, and take action. Help ease the pain we feel and experience every day, not just when the media decides to pay attention, but every day. Help us from being depressed, from being oppressed. Step in this mess with us, and use your privilege for positive power.

Lastly, to my brothers. Every day is hard being black. Every single day there is a new battle we are facing. Allow yourself space to be upset, frustrated, and flat out tired. Learn from those feelings and continue to grow and understand them. I challenge you to do inward reflecting and challenge yourself to come out of this year better, more reliable, wiser, and healthier than you entered it. Seek peace, find your balance, find your voice, and continue to push forward as the world needs you dearly.