Jogging in Color

For some time now I had been tossing around the idea of a writing series called “In Color”. The purpose of the series would be to, in a nutshell, focus on different situations or even everyday activities and share how those experiences are changed drastically when they are “in color” [happening to a person of color].

From being a performer to watching and seeing representation in films or working in corporate America to makeup and hair, the reality is my entire world is filtered through a lens that often feels more separate than equal. This idea has sat with me for some time. Why? Because even the most mundane things are amplified when a person of color and more specifically a black/African American person is experiencing it. The truth is that everything is just different as a black person, and even more so as a black woman ( but we will get there, soon enough).

I wanted to be able to share stories and experiences in a way that forced the reader to see things through a lens of color, in a lighthearted way, and hopefully gain a bit of knowledge on how the color of one’s skin quite literally changes everything.

But then, as the world we live in often does, my series had a sudden and unexpected point of reference to begin, and it is no laughing matter.

Jogging in Color.

I will do my best to keep this short because I could easily go on and on about the injustices that black people face but this story hit a note that I wanted to make clear. The way in which black men, women, and children are treated here in the place we call our home, a place that, lest we forget, we were forced to come to, is beyond disgusting. That’s it. That is the tweet in its entirety sis.

 I watched the video. 

What has happened to Ahmaud Arbery is truthfully one of the worst things I have seen with my own two eyes in a very long time. Every piece of the story, no matter how you slice it, is gross. From the very deliberate choice those two men made to follow and hunt him down because he “looked like a person suspected in a series of recent break-ins in the Satilla Shores neighborhood”, to the quickness in which they pulled out their guns and decided at that moment that his life was not important, to how it took two whole American months and a hashtag to bring them in for questioning at all, is infuriating. 

The problem, and trust me, there are many, is this: when the world decides your value based on the color of your skin, nothing you do is truly equal, fair, or safe. Buying snacks. Playing video games. Visiting a friend. Wearing a hoodie. And now: jogging. 

Beavis and Butthead McWhitey assumed that they had the right to take matters into their own hands. They did not see him stealing or engaging in any type of breaking and entering. They did not see a weapon. They did not even see him actively doing anything remotely suspicious. They saw him jogging (not running) and they hated to see it. They saw the color of his skin, and for them, in the year of our Lord 2020, that was enough. 

And it is not lost on me that a large majority of “mutuals” are more upset about the possible changes to their next Disneyland experience than they are the fact that a man was simply jogging and was quite literally shot to death. Your tic toks and Instagram stories are riddled with a silence that I do not take lightly.  Know that I see you, I see what and who you care about and the disappointment is there.

I see how easy it was for a crowd of angry protesters to hit the streets of Huntington Beach and Santa Ana, openly defying state-ordered social distancing guidelines in the midst of a global pandemic, loudly demanding their right to burn their skin at the beach, touch up their roots and go into Costco without a mask, and I am reminded our worlds are simply not the same. You see, you can scream slavery (which, Karen if you don’t knock it off), make signs that say “Give me COVID or give me death”, blocks entrances to hospitals, demand change and then pack up your stuff in their confederate flagged truck and go home, safely to your families in one piece. Because you are white.

Must. Be. Nice.

Today is Ahmaud Arbery's birthday. And although I am upset, I know that he is really what is important here. A young man lost his life, for jogging. JOGGING. And I wish that this wasn't the case.

I also wish that black skin was celebrated and not just immolated.

I wish our lives mattered BEFORE we became a hashtag. 

I wish black women were treated with the same grace as white women.

I wish black men were treated like sons, fathers and brothers, and not automatic thugs.

I wish that black people were loved with the same arms in which we embrace everyone else.

I wish we could wear black sweatshirts, but snacks and jog like everyone else.

I wish our stories weren't laced in trauma and negative undertones.

I wish non-black people spoke up for us when they see how tired we really are.

I wish the world cared about us when we were doing things that didn't involve basketball and music.

I wish I wasn’t exhausted.

I wish we could celebrate birthdays, milestones, and live long fulfilled lives.

I wish the world loved us, the way we love it. 

I wish things were different.

I wish Ahmaud Arbery was alive.

If you are reading this, I hope you take a moment to read up on this story, and I hope it makes you feel something. I hope it angers you, upsets you, and then makes you want better for the world we live in. I hope you use your voice today, hug your loved ones because you can, and then maybe go for a jog. Not for me, but for Ahmaud Arbery.