Black noise

To the colleagues from across the globe who thoughtfully expressed a personal concern for my well-being, as well as those here in my own backyard courageous enough to be honest about their limited appreciation for the severity of the matter, I thank you.

For the last several weeks I have felt a heightening unease, for my personal safety as well as that of my country. While I have at times been moved to tears by video of the hundreds of thousands of people in the states and abroad who have taken to streets to protest the killing of George Floyd, my eyes have become equally as watery watching as officers across the country have responded with military gear, weapons, and the violence to match. On May 25th former Minneapolis police office Derek Chauvin casually kneeled on George Floyd’s neck for 8 minutes and 46 seconds until he could no longer breathe, and with all of the subsequent scrutiny on their institution, Friday night June 12th Atlanta police officers escalated a situation from a man harmlessly sleeping in his car, to shooting Rayshard Brooks in the back killing him in a fast food parking lot.

I have listened to Donald Trump invite the vigilance of the same supporters who have publicly adorned images of nooses, and read that for the second time in two weeks that black men, Robert L. Fuller and Malcolm Harsch, were found hanged from trees 50 miles apart in California. While local officials have hastened to deem these deaths both suicides, one in as few as 24 hours, my suspicions persist.

Moment to moment my thoughts run along the intertwined paths I traverse simultaneously, but separately as a Black man in America. They reach infinitely further backwards and forwards beyond the public execution of Mr. Floyd.

I flash back to what should have been the innocent age of 9 years old. One day as my mother reminded me to not to hang out the older boys who hung out in the park (and were only presumably up to no good), she sorrowfully felt compelled to take the opportunity to warn me about police officers who might take the color of my skin as a reason to harm me based on their presumption of my guilt. It was a mere four years later at the age of 13 in eighth grade that a plain clothed white man twice my size grabbed me on a city bus on the way home from middle school. As I tried to evade him he punched me in face splitting my lip before handcuffing me. All before identifying himself as an NYPD officer and arresting me - I was standing in a seat, but to the best of my recollection no specific explanation was offered. Hours later after the police learned my father also worked for the department they drove me home and explained to my parents how it was all an unfortunate misunderstanding.

From that point forward, I have had to navigate the world with the understanding that at any moment my freedom and well-being could lie beyond my control, at the discretion of an authorized militia who could claim to see me as a threat. Three decades later, every day, I have to consider that the people sworn to protect and serve, paid with my tax dollars, could unilaterally decide to take my life, with impunity as overwhelming evidence shows.

So intermittently throughout the day as I attempt to focus in on my professional responsibilities, I also wrestle with these delightful internal debates; what would I do if after my best attempts to deescalate I find myself with the barrel of an officer's weapon in my face or back? Or, what would I do if I witness an officer snuffing out the life of another human being who was clearly not resisting?

Compliance did not spare George. Eric Garner tried conversation and that did not work. Mr. Brooks’ and Walter Scott’s attempts to flee ended with bullets in their backs'.

Should I just go for a jog after work to clear my head? Maybe. Now I just need to wear bright clothing… and of course to not put on a hood. Don’t look any non-black people in the eyes so they do not think I am trying to intimidate them; oh yeah, also do not look away so they do not think I am being suspicious. If anyone feels entitled to stop me and question my right to be there, I should promptly, humbly rehearse my name and address and request their permission to proceed being. Affirming that I have every right to be, in the country of my birth, may be perceived as an act of aggression and cause them to reach for their firearm - the one their forefathers had the right to bear three score and four years before my ancestors had the right to their own personhood. At least if unauthorized armed gunmen draw on me and I attempt to defend myself, at least my assailants will see swift, and harsh justice…. well that remains TBD (RIP young Ahmaud Arbery).

Stop and think Derrick. If I stop going out where I know there is even a remote chance of being harmed, I will be fine. I will just watch TV on my couch; maybe even escape my stresses in a bowl of ice cream – that didn’t work for Botham Jean. <For God’s sake go to sleep man.>

The next morning, grateful no one shot me in my sleep as they did Breonna Taylor, I muster the strength to turn down the volume of this omnipresent Black Noise in my head and diligently prepare for the professional tasks at hand. I need coffee. Wait, why are all the images from major media of mayhem in the streets, conflating the stories of peaceful protesters with that of desperate looters, and fed up rioters?

After 8 minutes and 46 seconds of evidence to the contrary the news media we rely on to document this moment in our history still hesitate to call George Floyd’s death a homicide. Instead they safely opt for some language to the effect of “Mr. Floyd died”. After 8 minutes and 46 seconds of watching George Floyd’s life being taken people have the nerve to utter a mention about Target, Starbucks, or even Black-owned businesses being vandalized? Couldn’t any of them see my face ground into that pavement, or hear me call for my momma – I did?

Maybe the actual story will help bring some relief. Holy <expletive>, are you kidding me, the Medical Examiner went on record with a creative alternative cause of death? No, stop, seriously, the District Attorney saw the video and still declined to bring charges… could it have anything to do with the fact he used to work with the murderous vigilante caught on tape? And that other officer, murdering that other brother, on that other video is getting a taxpayer-sponsored leave of absence.

So yeah, I cringe daily each time I hear people in the majority discuss what’s happening in America politely as matter of solving racism. No! We are facing a much more heinous, much more immediate threat. The matter at hand is state-sponsored lynchings.

The kinds of killings we have witnessed with Dion Johnson, Breonna Taylor, Tamir Rice, Michael Brown Jr., Philando Castile, and Alton Sterling, black people whose lives were extinguished with no trial, no due process. While these are names that many know, for each of these incidences there are dozens more that do not make the news. As painful as it is to acknowledge, I regularly hear of black, brown and Indigenous people being over policed, stopped and frisked, and abused - jailed (if they are lucky) for misdemeanors for months on end because they can't put together a few hundred dollars for bail. When the major weather event knocks of basic services our communities are the last to come back on line. When the COVID-19 pandemic arrived, my community is disproportionately affected, RIP Auntie. Frankly it is frightening how well we have adapted to conditions that are so inhumane with all of our underlying traumas constantly be agitated, but executions are where we draw the line.

Many reading this may not know me personally, and for many that do I am the “well spoken” “I do not see your color” black guy you work with. Either way know this, it is not my nature to burden others with what I carry; I only have here in the hopes that, for anyone not fully dedicated to this fight, I can illuminate the humanity at stake, fortify their resolve to remain engaged, and even ignite a fire in whomever might have been on the fence.

This is not just my story; these are realities most black and brown people in this country live with, even as we join you on the next Zoom call.