I Run, With My Hands Up, But I Can’t Breathe by L.E. Lord

Ahmaud Arbery was murdered. My sister says I need to work on getting right to the point of a thing, so there it is. Ahmaud Arbery was stalked and murdered, and gregory and travis mcmichael are murderers. Let us not forget william bryan is somehow complicit. If the scales of justice prove once again off-balance, we will lament and press on, and wait for the fire next time.

   …and we line church pews, perform salat and cypher…

     

     A little over 11 years ago my wife and I attended one of our last pre-natal visits together, as we did all the visits before. The thing that made this visit extra special was that we decided to accept the doctor's offer to find out the biological sex of the baby we were oh so eager to receive. Somewhere near the end of our scheduled time together the doctor removed his examination gloves and asked “So, are you ready to find out what you are having?” My wife and I locked eyes and nodded the affirmative in unison. “It’s a boy!” For our own reasons this was a special pregnancy for us. Expectant parents are trained to “…just pray for a healthy baby.” Ask any anxious parents what gender they fancy and they will almost always instinctively respond “We just want a healthy baby.” I venture that if you get the father alone, in confidence he will admit that he wants a boy; I do not know a father that did not want a son. 

   …and we listen to hip-hop, jazz, and rhythm&blues…

      My wife smiled and I cried. A boy. MY boy. Someone to nurture, someone to care for. Someone to buy all the sneakers I wanted but could not afford. Someone to pull books off the shelf for when I think he is ready, placing them in his open hands with the sacred decree to “read these.” I cried tears of joy and gratitude. I distinctly remember that at some point a different feeling crept in. I recognized it but felt it was out of place in that space, at that moment. I was sad. Well, I was sad and anxious. My wife is Black, as am I. My seed would be Black. Black like Till, like Martin and Malcolm. Black like Michael Griffith, Yusef Hawkins, and Amadou Diallo. Black like Eleanor Bumpurs and all of the people in the incidents that happened around a budding me that helped shape my worldview. I was sad because I knew then (as I do now) that my Black son would be born into a world that does not love him, and for no reason other than the color of his skin. Please do not misunderstand. There are non-Black people on this Earth that have shown me love and love me, no doubt. Some of them prayed with us for our Black son before he was born and loved him without limitation once he arrived. I am talking about the societal framework of the American system and beyond. The actual architecture of a system designed to oppress non-White and poor people systematically: mentally, physically, and financially.

    …and we sip bourbon, smoke cigars, and self-medicate…

      Have non-White and poor people made great strides over time on the globe? Absolutely. Through grace, persistence, and resilience a good number of us have moved on up. The Talented Tenth is alive and well. Staying alive was, is, and will be the challenge. In the middle of a global pandemic and at the mouth of challenging economic times for all of us, one might think that Americans would muster that September 12^th. spirit and re-discover our “…crown thy good with brotherhood from sea to shining sea” Americanism. My father served this country in the United States Marine Corps during a time when the powers that are did not want Black recruits to serve, and certainly did not intend to keep them in service after they served their purpose. Proud does not describe how I felt when I draped the Congressional Gold Medal my father was posthumously awarded around my mother’s shoulders. I’ll stand for the national anthem, don’t mind that I am slow to rise.

…No refuge could save the hireling and slave, from the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave…

     I awoke from a well-deserved nap to a television commercial about opioid addiction. The faux lawyer informed of a class-action lawsuit filed by American cities and counties against the makers of popular drug OxyContin, the drug infamously credited with helping to fuel the opioid crisis. I was a latchkey kid and I watched more than my fair share of after school television before my parents got home. I assure you, the 1980's and 90’s offered no t.v. spots inviting poor souls with crack additions to participate in a multibillion-dollar lawsuit. All things considered; I am certain a commercial that called the bodies responsible for fueling the crack-era out by name would prove uncomfortable for some. Do the research.

     And please know, we are more tired of talking about it than you are of hearing it. Every eye roll and “here we go” you proffer is eclipsed by a personal experience- a story, a pang of fear, a shed tear, a drop of blood. The fabric of this nation is stitched with painful thread. The benefit of the doubt and a second chance are sweet treats not all get the chance to taste. During this COVID-19 pandemic, the CDC recommends wearing face coverings in public to help slow the spread of this wicked disease. As Paul Laurence Dunbar so eloquently proffered, We Wear the Mask, but our masks fit different.  Is it lost on you that during such trying times, whether you agree with the science or not, that some of your fellow countrymen struggle with the decision to wear the suggested face coverings in some settings? Your firearm permit allows you to stand in the face of law enforcement officials and spew insult; my permit grants me the award of being shot in my seat, as I “just comply” the way so many say I should. If Dameon Shepard’s mother was not home, he would most likely be another hashtag.

…and we earn the degree, and mow our lawns, and head nod in the elevator to say “I see you…”

     Review the data the Constitutional Rights Foundation, the Prison Policy Initiative, the Equal Justice Initiative, Repairers of the Breach, and countless other organizations have provided over time (again, I will not do your homework for you). Overall, Black, Brown, and poor people do not get the accommodations. The opportunity to call in a favor, to reach out to mommy/daddy’s friend to discuss “how we can make this go away” is not afforded to all. It is insensitive, disingenuous, and ignorant to criticize the person paying for groceries with public assistance, while you vacation on the disability check from your trick back. “Why do you look at the speck of dust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?” That’s in the Bible you claim to love.    

     

     Our son was born in October, SpelHouse Homecoming season. One of my brothers gifted me a picture for our son’s room that I unwrapped joyfully. When I saw my present I understood immediately, as my father did before me.

…and we vote, and debate, and plot, and pray.

*A prayer for the peaceful repose of the soul of Ahmaud Arbery, and all God’s children that lose the gift of life because of who they are and what they look like.

                                                                                     

                                                            Image: “A Father’s Prayer” by Sidney Carter