Running with Ahmaud

Well, I finally watched the video.

I had been waiting because that kind of stuff tends to stick with me. I didn’t really want to watch it. But eventually, I realized there’s no convenient time to watch a video of the murder of an innocent man. It just doesn’t work like that.

And the fact that I had the privilege to actually choose when I finally decided to see the events of February 23rd, 2020; to choose when I finally saw the truth in black, white, and red; illustrates the precise reason why Ahmaud Arbery was shot to death while out on a run back in February, and I wasn’t.

Because, in America today, white people are given justice. Black people are not.

When I run through the neighborhoods of my city, I have nothing to fear. I am blissfully unaware of what’s happening around me. I run through middle class blocks, down country lanes, and around high dollar resort homes. I’ve ran through construction projects. I run at lunch time. I run in the middle of the night sometimes. I have the power to run wherever and whenever I please.

I won’t have the cops called on me. I won’t have people wondering if I’m breaking into homes on their street. I won’t even elicit a head turn from the hermity guy at the end of the cul de sac. Nobody cares what I do, where I go. A perfect stranger. A privileged runner.

But Ahmaud didn’t have that same power. He was noticed. He was suspected. He was villified. He was hunted. He was trapped. He was lynched.

Black people in America have everything to fear. And in that video, their fear is realized. But, the reality is, that’s just the beginning.

The death of an unarmed, innocent man is a violation, yes. But, turning around and telling the black people of America that it was conscionable, is sacrilege.

“It was in self defense. He was suspected of theft. It was a citizen’s arrest.”

And in one perversely stupid and dismissive sentence, the truth no longer matters because the guilty has become the victim. White people become the judge, jury, exectutioner, and prosecution.

Reality doesn’t need to be acknowledged. Comfort doesn’t need to be relinquished. We don’t need to watch the video. We can all just go for a run and forget this ever happened.

Unless you’re Ahmaud.

Or one of the thousands of black people in America who are fearful that today might be the day they slip up in front of the wrong white guy or go jogging through the wrong neighborhood.

For them, life itself is life and death.

And that’s why, from now on, I’m not allowed to not watch. I choose to listen. I choose to trust. I choose to believe. I choose to speak.

Until everyone can run with me, I’m running with Ahmaud.