Member-only story
Calling in Black
When Black Death meets White spaces
Ahmaud Arbery’s death felt like a ripping in the earth. I can’t say living in America has ever felt like I was standing on solid ground, but if extra unstable yesterday. I think there comes the point in every black person’s life where they realize the world works differently for them. We realize that we don’t have the same playing field despite what version of racial utopia they tell us we live in. We live in duality, code-switching, hiding pieces of ourselves for fear of being stereotyped.
I woke up thinking of Ahmaud. I thought about what he felt at that moment — the terror and anxiety. I thought about his flight or fight response. Thought about what was the moment he knew we wouldn’t make it home. They stalked him like prey and hunted him like they were on safari.
I wondered what he felt when he saw them.
Wonder if he saw glimpses of his life up to this moment. I wonder if it was the jogging that made them feel insecure, or was it his stature? Did they feel he had no right to be in their neighborhood? Did they come with their profile story before or after his last breathe?
I wondered if the ancestors covered him in peace.
