The Broken Mind of a Black Man
A conversation with my therapist about how I feel about recent events
How do you feel about the recent events that have been going on? — My therapist
I hadn’t seen the video of George Floyd. I had recently watched the video of Ahmaud Arbery a couple of months before and was left feeling distraught. I couldn’t understand it. He was hunted and killed like an animal — nothing decent about the way they took his life. You can only imagine his final thoughts after the first shots hit his side. Two civilians took matters into their own hands and assaulted a man without evidence. They must have felt pretty superior to the animal they were about to take down.
My wife had come in after a run that morning and said to me, “There’s another killing in America (we live in London), I’m not going to watch the video, but I think you should see it.” It couldn’t have been worse than Arbery, I thought. I hoped that I was slowly getting desensitised to the killings by now. Horrible thought, I know, but I was tired of getting affected by them. Can a guy not go for a jog without the fear of being lynched? Events like this only increase the collective anxiety of being a black person.
I read the article on the BBC; it was pretty vague; no one was talking about it on LinkedIn. I couldn’t understand what he did. I tried to imagine the scenarios that would warrant the force used. Maybe he was a gang member with a gun that they managed to disarm and restrain? Perhaps he had opened fire at the police or was a suspected murderer? Maybe the officer was alone and didn’t have a backup so had to fear for his life? I decided to jump on CNN to watch the video. I only needed to watch it once to get it.
Four police officers kneeling on one black man. None of them seems to be in any danger or distress. He is restrained. There is an empty police vehicle by the side. He repeatedly says he can’t breathe. No one seems to be listening. That’s not true; everyone else is listening. The officers can hear him loud and clear. A few passersby try to call out to the officers. The very same people that we trust to protect us, ignore the pleas of those they are sworn to protect. His crime? He was suspected of using a counterfeit note. Excessive much?
I think the most surprising part of the story is that the officers would have gotten away if the footage had not gone viral. It didn’t even matter that there were civilians present or that it was a blatant misuse of force. The officers knew they would get away with it. The assailant was just another black man. They were doing the world a favour. No one would care. The other officers involved clearly didn’t.
Their attitude makes you question the moral and ethical standards of the institutions they represent. Is that really the culture of the organisation as a whole? Are these really just a few bad apples? If they were, shouldn’t they be afraid of the repercussions of their actions? Shouldn’t they be afraid of committing these acts in front of members of the community? That didn’t seem to cross their minds.
Why am I getting upset at what is happening 3,700 miles away? Why is it causing anxiety in my life? Because of Racial Battle Fatigue (RBF). The stress of being constantly judged by those around you. The stress of knowing that should circumstances have been different, it could have been you. To be constantly seen as the aggressor so that others can use that to be aggressive towards you. Morgan Taylor Goodwin writes about RBF here.
coined the term “Racial Battle Fatigue (RBF). The cumulative result of a natural race-related stress response to distressing mental and emotional conditions emerging from constantly facing racially dismissive, demeaning, insensitive and/or hostile racial environment and individuals.”
In the video, we saw years of racism and injustice captured on camera. We saw the effects of the continued microaggressions that as people of colour we continue to receive. Acts that might seem subtle or almost accidental, yet causing impacts that led to a population feeling anxious and depressed. The carefree look on the officer’s face summarises the story. The man beneath his knee is not important.
I didn’t know how to respond to my therapist. In black families, we don’t talk about racism. We accept it as a way of life. I grew up as the only black kid in school in Singapore, and I have defended most of the racist acts I encountered as pure ignorance. I suppose it made me feel better, not being a victim. Why the colour of my skin was always a conversation for some people? I did not understand. They didn’t care about what we shared in common. They just wanted to point out another difference.
How do you feel about the recent events that have been going on? Do you mean the death of George Floyd? I said. Yes. I’m not sure. I feel rejected. Rejected by society, I try so hard to fit in every day. Rejected by people who will use the colour of my skin as a criterion to see how they will treat me. Rejected by a society that will judge me by the sound of my surname on a job application. It’s made me re-live those encounters all over again.
I checked in with my brother on the phone after. He spent a couple of years in the US. The conversation went like this:
“David, how’s this whole thing affecting you?” He was a little confused.
“Why are we talking about this?”
“My therapist asked me, and I didn’t know what to say,”
“Yea, because there is nothing to say.”
“There should be.”
“What makes you think things will be different after this?”
I think my brother captured a common sentiment that many black people are feeling — a generally pessimistic attitude towards social justice as a whole.
The stress we undergo becomes even more compounded when we think about how our children will navigate a world of systemic racism. I’m in my late thirties, and I have accepted and come to terms with what I went through. I harbour no hatred to those who still have not seen the merits of an integrated society and probably never will.
It saddens me to think that our children may have to undergo some form of unfounded aggression because of the colour of their skin. It seems too trivial to be relevant in a world full of issues such as poverty, malnutrition and inequality. Have we as a civilisation not progressed in our attitude towards race after 400 years? I guess not.
My wife and I decided to take the kids to the Black Lives Matter protest in London. Yes, it was during the pandemic, and we felt pretty irresponsible to expose them to the perceived risk of the virus. However, many of us that attended understood that there was something much more significant at stake. To stand together for those who will be born into a society defined by structural racism and systemic injustice.
We wanted our children’s education about race and inequality to start now. Zach was two and Laila a few months away from her first birthday when we attended the protest. I get so proud when I hear Zach say black lives matter. He may not fully understand what it means now, but he recognises it was a significant moment. They will look back in a few years and be proud to have contributed to the movement.
“No Justice, No Peace” — Zachary (3) when he sees a police car.
The education has to start early. It’s not enough to try and justify why you aren’t racist. There’s no point. We don’t even care. What we care for is a fair future for our children. Acknowledge the bias and educate against it. Don’t teach your kids to simply dismiss it. It won’t go away. The world has a lot of healing to do before it becomes a fair place for all.
Hate me all you want. I’ve learned to live with it. Most black people have. Don’t hate our children. They didn’t choose to be born into it. I’m sure in their little imaginary world of knights and dragons, they don’t have to deal with inequality or racism. Maybe we have to think more like them.
The prince will slay the dragon and it should be cause for celebration, no matter whether he is black, brown or white.
