Saying goodbye to George Floyd

This Saturday morning began like most every morning of the week for me. The first thing I do is look over at my dog Brutus to see if he’s still asleep and then grab for my smartphone. I check to see if any late night text messages came in, I check the weather for the next few days and then I check to see what news stories are trending. Not surprising, news of the protests around the country and even around the world were still top of the headlines. I also read one of the articles where the NFL Commissioner finally said out loud that they were “wrong” about the peaceful protest and their commitment now to do more. Of course I wondered if George Floyd and so many others would be alive today had the NFL used their influence and bully pulpit almost four years ago when Colin Kaepernick first sat in peaceful protest over racial injustice. The next news story that caught my eye was an article about George Floyd’s memorial service yesterday morning in Raeford North Carolina. I had no idea why there was going to be a memorial service in Raeford N.C., how far it was from Charlotte N.C. or that my morning would ultimately take me on the two and a half hour drive to Raeford. But as I thought about how much I’ve been struggling to sleep most nights since May 26th and as I continued to think about George Floyd and how he has now galvanized a movement that even an NFL starting quarterback couldn’t do, I needed to go. 

My struggles to sleep and the exhaustion from the past two weeks was proving hard for me to get out of bed. I also really dislike memorial services and funerals. As a matter of fact, I haven’t been to one in almost six years when my father died and speaking truthfully, I would have rather not attended that one. See I don’t like the last memory of seeing family or friends laying in a casket, most times swollen or with make-up on that make them look unrecognizable. Whether you consider it a good trait or a bad one, I am big on first impressions and last impressions. I want my first impression to be one that’s like the sun hitting your face in the morning and I want the last memory of someone doing something where they are happy and at peace. This is why I’ve been struggling to sleep. My last memory of George Floyd is of a man caught in the double standards of life and justice, gasping for air, begging for his life, calling out for his momma, blood coming from his nose or mouth and then watching him die. Yes, most all of us have unfortunate stories of lives lost too soon to tragic events and it’s also a fact, I didn’t know George Floyd. But see, when I’ve closed my eyes at night to fall asleep the last couple weeks, I do know him. My dreams replace George Floyd’s face with my own. My dreams replace his face with my black nephews, my black friends, my black mentors, my black co-workers, my black heroes. My last memory of George Floyd has haunted my last soul the past two weeks.

After dropping off Brutus at the doggie sitters, I started my journey to Raeford. I had no idea what to expect when I got there. I thought to myself, was I dressed appropriately in the shorts I had on? Or when I got there would there be a place for me to change in the pair of pants I also brought along? Should I wear the ball cap with the word “LOVE” written across the front? Should I have worn the sandals I had on or better shoes? There questions were running through my mind because I wanted very much to give George Floyd the respect at his memorial that he didn’t receive at his death. 

The drive to Raeford N.C. also gave me an opportunity to reflect in appreciation on the number of professional colleagues and friends that have reached out to check on my well-being the past couple weeks. It also gave me time to think about and mentally process who among those colleagues and friends are also truly allies. The word “ally” has seemed to come up the last two weeks as much as George Floyd’s name. It’s also been mentioned from friends who have reached out and told me that they are an “ally” and want to do more, want to be part of the solution. So on the drive to Raeford and then back to Charlotte, I had time to reflect on the three simple pieces of advice I’ll offer on being an ally. The type of ally that George Floyd needed from those uniformed officers on May 25th.

My first piece of advice would be to ask you to acknowledge that black people (focused on black for now, it will help you with gender and other ethnicities) are held to double standards in our communities and in the workplace. George Floyd was accused of trying to pass a counterfeit $20 bill at a small grocery store and died as a result of the accusation. Dylann Roof murdered nine people during bible study in a Charleston South Carolina church and was later taken into custody without incident or harm. Patrick Crusius walked into a Walmart in El Paso Texas and murdered 23 people and was taken into custody without incident or harm. Black employees are called aggressive, angry, hostile or loud when stating an opinion or offering a counter position. White men in that same example are referred to as being strong willed, high energy or exhibiting executive presence. To be an ally, you must acknowledge that black people are held to a double standard.

The second piece of advice on being an ally is to reflect on those instances when you’ve held black people, whether they were your neighbors, your co-workers, your employees or your friends to unfair treatment or a double standard. This one, will be the hardest of the first two, because it requires you to take a deep look inside yourself, your past, your present and even your morale compass. It’s also one that starts to derail the process because of the internal inventory that’s needed to be taken for progress forward. Here’s what I mean. People have said to me that they are fair to black people, not racist or that they’re an ally because, they have black neighbors, because they had a black roommate in college, because their kids have black friends (and they’ve stayed over), that they love Beyoncé or they love soul food. None of those are proof points on being an ally.  When you've felt a pit in your stomach because you've seen a store clerk wait on you before the black person in front of you or that same pit in your stomach when you've seen a coach treat the little black kid differently than your own, that's your moral compass saying something to you.  You'll also feel your moral compass pointing in the right direction when you're at work and that pit in your stomach reacts when you hear someone taking credit for the exact same thing you black co-worker had mentioned in the same meeting.  I’m sure at least one of the four officers who stood by and/or participated in George Floyd’s death has enjoyed a black soul food restaurant, has lived near black people or been in meetings with black peers. Their boss, the police chief in Minneapolis is black and has been a part of the department for 28 years. Apparently none of the four officers on scene May 25th had taken an inventory of their moral compass, had that pit flare in their stomachs or had the morale courage to question their fairness or double standard, when it comes to “protect and serve” that George Floyd deserved.

Lastly, hold yourself accountable and speak up when you see or hear the double standard being played out in your community or workplace. The reason why the second piece of advice is so critical is because if you don’t take a morale inventory and acknowledge where you’ve fallen short in the past, you will never be able to see when you’re caught up in the word ally and not the actions of being an ally. Allies don’t make excuses or let wrongs go unchallenged. Allies speak up. As I’ve mentioned, this last two weeks has been extremely tough, but like many of you, I’ve had to put my professional game face on and try and focus on work. Last week I got a “not nice” email from a white female co-worker. You know the kind of email with the matter of fact like tone, that isn’t anything close to how we’re supposed to partner and work together as one team. It wasn’t the first time I’ve received a note like that from her, but this time, perhaps because the events of the unrest, it felt different to me.  I reached out to a couple of folks to get their advice on how best I should address or if I should just let it go. I even received a note from my co-worker’s boss, who wanted to speak with me after he saw her note. In short, all three leaders, leaders if asked I’ll bet would think of themselves as allies, told me almost the exact same thing. “She’s actually a really good person, she’s good at her job, we really need her expertise, she’s been under some stress at work”, etc.  I’ll extend grace and believe it’s true. However, even when I mentioned that this wasn’t the first instance of that tone from her, it didn’t register. What I wanted to say to them, but didn’t, was to remind them that a week earlier I watched a black man named George Floyd, a man who could have been me, someone in my family, a black co-worker, a black friend, a black mentor, a black hero die with a knee pressed on his neck. I wanted them to know that I was exhausted, that I had been having trouble sleeping at night, that this pandemic and me being an extrovert trapped inside and adjusting to being an introvert also has me very stressed out. That my last memory of George Floyd was him calling out for his momma and watching him die face down in the street, because not one of those officers spoke up for him, yet I’m able to respond to emails with respect. What if I had sent that tone in an email?  Would an ally had stood up to me or "coached" me?  George Floyd deserved an ally day.

Walking the quarter of a mile to the church from where I had to park, I had no idea what I was going to encounter. I could tell from the cars lined up for a least a mile both ways, there were going to be a lot of people. But what I wanted to see, what I was praying to see was just photos of George Floyd smiling, happier times of his life. I needed to rest my mind, to get that last image out of my head. As I got into line and finally made it to the entrance, I realized in my haste to the church, I’d left my face mask in the car. Luckily, they were prepared, handing out donated masks. Entering the church and struggling to put this unfamiliar mask on, I see him in an open coffin. I see nothing else but him. I don’t see other people, I don’t see flowers, I don’t hear anything, but I see him. He’s in a shiny gold casket, brown suit, dark shirt and dark tie. George Floyd is at peace.  Now I just need to get my mind there with this last memory of him.