Do I really run with Ahmaud?
As I ran my 2.23 miles this May 8th, which would have been Ahmaud Arbery’s 26th birthday, this question was heavy on my mind. I ran by myself with headphones in, with zero fear. I ran through blocks of homes with white families, past white couples on walks. I ran wondering if Ahmaud would still be here if any of us had truly been running with him in February, knowing full well the answer in the privilege of my white skin.
White folk: Have any of us truly been running with Ahmaud?
Ask yourself, have you let a family member’s racist comment slide at the dinner table? Looked the other way when your friend rolled up the window when driving through a community of color? We didn’t pull the trigger, yet every time we are silent we contribute to this reality of #LivingWhileBlack in 2020.
Thank you for running today. It’s something. It’s just not enough.
Running with Ahmaud means being proactive instead of reactive. It means being uncomfortable to prevent the future discomfort and horrid pain of a bullet and senseless death. It means getting loud, speaking up in person and online, calling out bias, and fighting microaggressions at every turn.
Let’s not wait for the next headline to keep running.
