On expectation, silent allies, and Ahmaud Arbery.
This is not the most important thing you will read about Ahmaud Arbery. It is not the most profound, or touching, or inspirational. But it is important that I write it.
I find news about another young black man murdered in America depressing and sometimes debilitating. It makes me feel helpless. So I am going to ease into those feelings by approaching from an angle I am comforted by. Food.
What do you eat after a run?
I haven’t run in years, but when I did (years and different bodies ago) it always helped add extra motivation and ritual when I prepared my pre-run fuel and post-run treat. I remember going for runs at a reservoir halfway between home and work, and near the end of the run starting to salivate thinking about my work cafeteria’s incredible breakfast burritos. There were weekends where I prepped all the smoothie ingredients in advance so I could have my refreshing smoothie between peeling off sweaty socks and hopping in the shower. I cycle now, and I plan whole rides to my favorite pie or donut shops.
The way my body presents and the identities that I hold give me the reasonable expectation that I will return from my run and get my treat. Even in my most hopelessly low moments, my life has been one of expectation: I worked hard in school, expecting that that alone would get me into a good college. I went to college, expecting that to lead to a stable job and fulfilling career. I save money, expecting to be around to spend it later. I have prepped meal components, expecting to be able to cook and eat that meal. Every time I leave my house, I expect to safely return.
This expectation is unconscious and unquestioned.
And not everyone lives with these expectations. For some it is quite the opposite.
I’ve spent days thinking about Ahmaud Arbery and today I wondered: Did he expect to make it home safe? Did he have a smoothie waiting? A big treat meal? A protein shake in the fridge?
This is silly. I need to take action, I need to shake off this grief and anger and do something to change the conditions under which this happened (again).
But then I think about Bystander Intervention. The organization I work at, IMPACT Bay Area teaches skills for safe intervention when you witness violence. But I wasn’t there. I didn’t witness it. What can I do?
Well the reality is that we’re not always going to be there, we aren’t even likely to be there. And that brings me back to why it’s important for me to write this. Because Bystander Intervention is not just swooping in to save the day. It is also changing the conditions and social context under which the violence occurs. In the case of racist anti-Black violence, as an ally, this means the very least I can do is make my anti-racist voice heard*.
In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends. -Martin Luther King Jr.
When an incident like this occurs, and no one speaks up about it being wrong, what are the victim’s families supposed to think? That this is just ok with everyone? What is every young black man and every person who identifies with the victim supposed to think? That they can be murdered by racists and no one would say anything? This deafening silence is what robs people of the expectation of safety, and the ability to live with future expectations. It is what gives lynch mobs past and present the confidence to act with the expectation of impunity.
So will you join me in speaking up? I don’t just want to see my black and brown friends posting on social media about how it could have been them, their son, their cousin… I want to hear all my friends saying that THIS IS NOT OK. Loud voices got Ahmaud’s murderers arrested, so let’s keep it up!
*Humbly, and without taking up space and drowning our black voices or co-opting ideas and intellectual property from people of color.