#blacklivesmatter, An Angry Hashtag Story, and How I Chose Not to Run

“One either allows racial inequities to persevere, as a racist, or confronts racial inequities, as an antiracist. There is no in-between safe space of “not racist.” The claim of “not racist” neutrality is a mask for racism.” ― Ibram X. Kendi, How to Be an Antiracist

I think I sat with this long enough to write about it. Today should be Ahmaud Arbery’s 26th birthday. Instead, it’s a day when folks are running 2.23 miles to remember him, to say #blacklivesmatter, or something about solidarity. They’re probably feeling like they have done something. I chose not to run. 

I chose not to run because I am angry that it was an option. I am angry that it took 74 days to make most of the arrests. I am angry that the McMicheals didn’t even try and flee over they last couple months, because they saw no need. I am angry Black men can’t run. I am angry towns, cities, states, and countries still won’t address their history of racism to promote healing. I am angry that without a video this is #TrayvonMartin. And I am angry that the only real justice would be having Ahmaud still alive. Nothing else comes close.

Some folks have checked in on me, some folks have sent texts, some folks engaged on social media or Twitter. “How are you holding up?” I’m not. And yet somehow I am, because I’m Black and used to this. I’m not shocked. And I was already scared and numb. “Just checking on you.” No, I’m not a hashtag yet, and no, I’m not angry enough to hate all white people or ignore them. Though, that reminds me, I do need to be checking on myself and the overdosing of trauma I am consuming of black bodies, white hate, and all my fears. “This is insane.” Actually it’s not; it’s the product of a white supremacist system working just as it should: killing black folks in their homes and on their streets. As if the COVID-19 minority death rates weren’t enough. 

What I noticed most this week was the silence. It echoed in meetings, emails, and updates. No mention of his name, no addressing of the weight of it all. How quickly we forget #blacklivesstillmatter, which is ironic because the whole reason for the hashtag is to make us remember. My employers didn’t mention a thing. To bring it up now seems fickle and forced. But isn’t this the rage Baldwin mentioned. This is the rage that makes you so angry as you look around, waiting for others to fight for #Ahmaud or #Trayvon or #Tamir or #Sean, but they won’t do it on their own. They need you to tell them again, to remind them of the Black bodies littering history. And when they finally do acknowledge it, you are annoyed and exhausted that you had to prompt the awareness. And you know that others were thinking about it but they didn’t say anything. And you don’t understand how they couldn’t say anything, but at the same time you don’t always want to be the one to say something. And yet no one ever speaks. They run.

Two lessons I have learned this week: first of all, I learned not to engage with anyone on any platform if that person doesn’t have my personal phone number. Secondly, I learned that folks who haven’t mentioned minority death rates and the birthday boy might not really know how to truly engage with me on a personal level. 

Did I mention I was angry?

(Ed note: this post is originally from May 9, 2020.)