Georgia On My Mind

I live in Atlanta, the Black Mecca, where the Mayor’s name is Keisha. I often say that I don’t stray too far outside of Atlanta – because it’s Georgia out there.

Last week, along with the rest of the country, I watched the video of a Black man, Ahmaud Arbery, being shot to death in Georgia. I haven’t read and I really don’t have any new thoughts to offer about the pain and the history of such things in America. An unbroken chain of White men have displayed their barbarism, inhumanity and racism since the country was founded. America’s original sin is an indisputable fact, as is its legacy. The ability of these men to inflict pain and torture and unspeakable violence against Black people is part of the genetic code of the country.  

Still, deep fundamental questions about the humanity of this brand of White men remain unanswered. What must be fractured, or underdeveloped in them that enables this kind of barbarism? Their commitment to brutality is inexplicable. In fact, beyond the pain and rage and yearning for vengeance they engender in us, they also invoke a sense of pity. I wonder what it must be like to be caged in such a sordid state of sub-humanness? To have such a distorted sense of human value, connection and spiritual responsibility? Their minds and hearts must be frightfully dark.

In some quarters the clarion call will go up for justice for Ahmaud, as it has gone up for Black people since the beginning of the republic. We want to see murderers convicted and punished. It is a component of the American social contract that we’ve come to believe in, even if we seldom see it. His murderers, a father and son, two generations joined by the genetic barbarism of the same family, may well meet justice. That would be a good thing, but it doesn’t answer the question. What is wrong with these men and White men like them?

I can’t answer that question, but right now their inhumanity puts the condition of Black people in stark relief. COVID-19 is decimating Black communities. The disproportionate rates of our suffering and death is another manifestation of American violence and neglect. The concentration of the pre-existing conditions that make us so vulnerable, coupled with our lack of institutional protection are themselves a form of national violence.

One of my family’s closest friends, my father’s childhood friend from Guyana died in Brooklyn week before last. Another friend’s uncle died in Detroit after attending a funeral in February. All told, 30 people who attended that funeral are now dead. One of my closest friend’s mother died last Saturday in Brooklyn. The hospital called to say she had 7 days to pick up her mother’s body or they would bury it in a mass grave in the Bronx. Another friend of mine, one of his college boys, who is my age with a young family, went from coughing to dead in 11 days. In places where there are Black people in significant numbers, the disproportionate rates of our sickness and death are unfathomable.

Needless to say, the suffering is global. COVID-19 is a human challenge. By no means do Black people have a monopoly on suffering, but the patterns here in these United States are distinctly American.

Where does that leave me?

Right now, like so many others, I’m aching so deeply I can scarcely breathe. Scared of a virus that will attack my biology, and scared of White men that will attack my humanity. The images of them gathering, armed and brazen in front of states’ capitols brings its own burden. Historically, they gathered like that to block Black people from attending school. They gathered like that to stop Black people from voting. They gathered like that to castrate and burn Black men. They gathered like that in Charlottesville. Just a couple of weeks ago, two of their kind, a father and son, gathered and shot and killed Ahmaud Arbery.

The strain of this combination is more than a notion. At times, it has left me paralyzed and chocking and unable to express myself. I really don’t have any new words on how I feel about Brother Ahmaud’s murder or to capture what I think will be the catastrophic generational impact of COVID-19 on Black people in America. I have to rely on old hope and lasting Grace – the same hope and Grace that have seen us thus far along the way.

Perhaps COVID will force us all to affirm our shared humanity and help us create a new world. I’m hopeful.

kamau (@kamaubobb)

Related Blog Posts