The Privilege of Safety
I don’t usually post about current events, and I try to avoid posting anything negative or critical. Unfortunately, there’s nothing positive I can say about this.
National attention was finally brought to a tragedy, in which a young black man, Ahmaud Arbery, was shot and killed by two white men while jogging down a road in Brunswick, Georgia last February. The men, a father and his son, thought Arbery had been responsible for crimes committed in their neighborhood and said they were trying to talk to him about it. However, a video that someone had taken shows that they drove their truck up behind Arbery while he was jogging. It shows that Arbery was not armed, and was not doing anything that could possibly be construed as a threat. The son then approached Arbery with a gun in hand. We can’t see exactly what happened next but we hear a shot fired, and then we see Arbery struggling with the man. Another shot is fired, again out of the camera’s view.
The two men believed they were within their rights in approaching Arbery, based on their suspicions that he had committed burglary. By Georgia law, anyone is allowed to make a citizen’s arrest. However, they must first actually witness someone committing a crime. It is also legal in Georgia to openly carry a firearm, provided the carrier has a proper license.
However, if I was jogging down a street and a gun-toting stranger jumped off a truck to “talk” to me, I would certainly be on the defensive. When he approached me, gun in hand, I would certainly fight him to save my life. Even try to wrestle the gun away from him, if he came so close to me that it seemed like the best plan of action to save myself from this man who had addressed me for no reason. I would certainly not feel the least bit safe.
And I’m white.
Is it surprising that a black man would feel threatened by a white stranger approaching him with a gun, saying he wants to “talk?” What astonishes me is that these two men thought the best way to follow up on their suspicions was to approach a suspect with guns in hand. Of course, they also called the police, before and at the time of the shooting, saying that Arbery had been caught on camera several times, in relation to recent robberies, and was now back in the area and, after being seen at a house that was under construction, was running down the street. I wish they had taken time to seriously consider the fact that the 911 dispatcher could not understand exactly what the man – Arbery – was doing wrong.
Perhaps, as some people have suggested, these men had an internal belief that, as white people, they had authority over black people, the same way a police officer would have authority over a citizen. As if a black person was required to give account to any white person with a gun who chose to question him. I don’t know if that was what those men believed, but that possibility seems far more likely than the suggestion that a black jogger somehow posed a threat to two armed men in a pickup truck.
Some people believe that saying “black lives matter” is counterproductive. That such a statement is, in itself, racist. After all, don’t all lives matter, no matter what color of skin they have?
I used to think that way. I hate all prejudice, against all people, and don’t favor any race over another. So I used to believe that saying “black lives matter” – spotlighting black lives over all others – would cause an even greater racial divide between white people and black people.
But there’s a huge difference. Because unlike white lives, black lives are in serious and ongoing danger.
My wife and I are both white. Both of our adopted children are black. This past week, my thirteen-year old daughter posted to our community Facebook page to organize a local event on May 8th, to honor Ahmaud Arbery on what would have been his 26th birthday. The plan was to run or walk 2.23 miles – representing the 2/23/20 date he was killed – along with many others around the country, sharing the communal phrase, “I run for Ahmaud.” I had to work during the event and was not in a position to take time off, but my wife went with both of our kids. I was proud of all of them for doing this, to honor Ahmaud and raise awareness for this injustice.
At the same time, as they left and I returned to my work – working from home during the COVID-19 crisis – I was struck and saddened with the recognition of how privileged I am to be safe in my home, working a job, waving good-bye to my family. Trusting that I’ll see each of them later that day. Glad that they are doing something good.
Meanwhile, many other people cannot enjoy this privilege of safety. They have to be careful where they step, what they say, how they dress, who they talk to – because their dark skin color presents a target to some people. Because some people will dislike them, distrust them, disrespect them, or disregard them, without even realizing they are doing it. Without realizing they are behaving in a way that is criminal and savage. Without realizing that their way of viewing other people is not only racist, ignorant, and hateful, but at times, it can also turn deadly.
A young black man was shot and killed in February shortly before his 26th birthday while doing nothing more than jogging. A man like me, but with a different skin color.
A man who might still be alive if he wasn’t black.
An innocent man is dead.
I’m not proud of that.
His life mattered.
