Thoughts in the Aftermath of the Murder of George Floyd

These are my thoughts in the aftermath of the murder of George Floyd.

Everything hurts. Seeing the image of Derek Chauvin kneeling on George Floyd's neck hurts. Seeing the same image with George's face blurred out hurts. Seeing people lash out in anger at police officers hurts. Seeing police officers abuse their power hurts too. The unreasonable angry statements made on social media platforms out of an overflow of pain hurt my heart, but I appreciate them. It hurts when well-meaning people check on me, their black friend, because it reminds me that I'm "other" to them. But I thank God that they care to check in. It hurts when people are silent and it hurts when they speak. Nothing about this situation feels good. 

However, acknowledgement helps. I've found that it hurts differently when church leaders, community leaders, politicians, law enforcement officers, and friends of all races have acknowledged systemic racism and the lack of justice for black people in this country. Yes, the pain is still real but it's like the knife is being removed from the stab wound by the hand of someone who cares to help us heal.

But this wound runs so deeply and has been festering for so long, it will take much time and much intentional care to even begin to close it.

There is trauma for those who feel affected by black lives being consistently devalued and even taken away in instances of police brutality. I honestly hope that not only black and brown people are traumatized, but that all races of people are traumatized because injustice shouldn't sit well with anyone. And this trauma in police encounters may feel like seeing a knife after you've been stabbed. Though it is a useful tool and can be used for good, it serves as a threatening reminder of what has happened to us.

Part of my personal emotional struggle over the past few weeks stems from the fact that so many people around the world have risen up in protest of the murder of George Floyd. I'm so glad they've noticed and responded with so much support for black lives. But this too hurts because the pain of it is normal for some of us. 

It's like one person has been suffering in chronic pain for years and suddenly a friend becomes aware of it and fusses to find a quick cure. It's a good thing. It's really nice. But it's not new for the suffering person which leaves a certain type of divide that is difficult to cross. Yes, let us fight for justice, let us find the cure. But let us not forget that some have suffered longer and without so much support which, for me, leaves me hesitant to trust and to rely on the newcomers to the cause.

I spoke with someone I respect and admire the other day and he told me that he honestly wants to move forward from this crisis because it's uncomfortable. I deeply appreciate him sharing that with me so honestly. I told him that I too want to move forward and I too am uncomfortable here, but it's his privilege as a white man to have that choice. I don't feel that I truly have that choice. I told him that I feel like I just have to manage these emotions and wait for another incident of injustice against the black community. As usual, I didn't have to wait long. The choice to move forward eludes me for as long as black lives don't matter to those in power.

I do want to talk about race in America with my friends and acquaintances. I believe these conversations can be beneficial and are necessary for change. But my heart aches wondering where these same people were a few weeks ago when Ahmaud Abery was killed, or Breonna Taylor, or Laquan McDonald, Trayvon Martin, and others on the long list of black lives that mattered and were lost amidst racism and injustice. Why wasn't it enough each of those times to stir the world to this level of protest? When it happens again, will anyone be left to fight for the next victim? Or will our stamina for this cause run out?

For many this is one moment in time to protest. For some this is a moment that comes again and again, though we protest, though we cry out. I want people to see this and try to understand the pain of it and the urgency for real, lasting change.

While I don't want people to be hurt or property to be damaged in protests I couldn't condemn certain rioters any more than I could condemn an abused child who acts out violently. Though I acknowledge the added pain of violence and looting, and I acknowledge what it takes away from peaceful protest, there is no proper way to express these feelings which should never be felt in the first place. I know there are some who only come out to incite violence and chaos to take away from progress. But I don't forget about those who are genuinely hurt and lacking another productive way to process extreme pain. I pray for those in this situation and I hope they receive support, not condemnation.

Again on the issue of choice, I've seen people ask that we not post disturbing images like Derek Chauvin kneeling on George Floyd's neck in order to allow others the choice to look at something so traumatizing. That's a nice and considerate thought, but it hurts because some of us don't have any real choice in the matter. Whether we see it or not, the BIPOC community must be aware of these tragedies because they continue to happen to us. I appreciate the intention to spare people additional trauma but I also see how it can be a problematic thing to request. No matter what you post or not, I still have to be black in America. Your choice is your privilege.

But again I say yes, we should have the hard conversations and raise awareness and grieve together and to better. But I want the world to acknowledge that there is no quick solution. We can't wrap this up and move on any time soon. Maybe you can actually, but the BIPOC community cannot. We need the whole world to stand with us until racially-motivated police brutality is no longer normal because black lives would truly matter to officers as much as all the other lives.