Sojourns in a Foreign Land: The Plight of Blacks in America

by David Pickens

It has happened again. And again. I first began this post shortly after the video of the death of Ahmaud Arbery was made known to the world. Ahmaud was an unarmed African American male, like myself, and was murdered while on a run on February 23. He was 25. He was Black; his killers were White with connections to the police.  And then George Floyd was murdered by a police officer who refused to take his knee off the neck of this man who was pleading for his life. Their deaths have once again shined the light on race in America. 

How do we make sense of these events and the reaction it has caused? How do we process the “why” behind the happenings? For many Whites in America, this can be hard to do. They may find the killings abhorrent, but there are many unjust things that take place in America. Why is it that when a Black man is killed, most Blacks viscerally react in a way not present in the White community? 

I have had a mixture of emotions over the past few weeks with the deaths of Ahmaud Arbery and George Floyd. They ranged from anger to sadness, from hopelessness to numbness. For most of my life, I did not actively talk about race. Growing up with a Black family, friends, and church, it did not seem to dramatically affect my life. I did not always know how to address the topic or feel the need. But that has all changed.

To answer these questions takes perspective. To enter into our despair takes listening and a willingness to see how our history so dramatically affects our present in ways many are blind to. That past and our present are what I want to expose in this post. I want to open peoples’ eyes to our despair and show you why it is so easy to have no hope with our current system. 

Past

It is not an understatement to say that racism, in all of its egregious forms, has greatly impacted the Black experience in this country. It is often said, “Black history is American history.” I remember learning about the horrors of the slave trade in school. What I did not know then was how embedded this sin was in our country and its pervasive effects over our lives and in our society. Now, when I reflect on the history and present status of African Americans in this country, two words stand out: disenfranchised and disproportionate. 

Blacks have been disenfranchised since the day we were brought to America on slave ships. There was a concerted effort by many slaveholders to dismantle family stability by separating children from mothers and husbands from wives, changing their names, and ensuring historical records of family lineage were discarded. This had many long-lasting repercussions, one of which is the fact that many African Americans (including me) do not have certainty of our country or exact place of origin. Through the vicissitudes of American life post-slavery, a new type of ethnic group emerged in which African Americans were excised from African family history as well as American social, civil, and economic life. We were African by descent and we were American by transportation, but African Americans were neither in terms of connectedness. This disenfranchisement led to a disproportionate type of living in which “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” looked entirely different for Black America than White America.

Without a doubt, there was a ceiling to the amount of life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness Blacks could attain. Slavery was not the end of the plight of Blacks in this country, it was only the beginning. Post-slavery, we were disproportionately deprived of many things. We were not deprived of beatings, lynchings, and basic service. We were, however, deprived of many economic opportunities, fair housing, and quality education for decades on end. There were strategic, intentional laws and obstacles sanctioned by federal, state, and local governments that set African Americans back. A prime example is the redlining that prevented Blacks from obtaining home loans and sectioned us off to live in certain areas of the city. Chicago was notorious for this. If government-sanctioned discrimination was not enough, de facto segregation assisted in providing a devastating blow to the Black community. At present, Blacks are disproportionately incarcerated, profiled by law enforcement, and convicted of crimes at greater rates than Whites. Even amid this pandemic, Blacks are dying from COVID-19 at a much greater rate than any other ethnic group. The reasons for this are plentiful (as Ashanti outlined in this post earlier), but the overarching reason connects back to systemic injustice and inequitable treatment as it relates to healthcare disparities between Black and White populations.

“But what about Black-on-Black crime?” You may ask. Or, “Shouldn’t African Americans take any responsibility for their own health?” Fair enough. I want to be clear that I am in no way absolving personal responsibility and accountability for one’s own actions. The thrust of my argument is that these questions relate to the symptoms and effects of a systemic problem that has significantly limited the access that Blacks can procure to have a better-quality life. 

As a simple example, the “War on Drugs” administered by the Reagan administration and the crime bill under the Clinton administration disproportionately incarcerated Black men, which produces austere consequences on the entire Black community. If the father/breadwinner is removed from the home, mothers are left to be the sole providers. Losing half of a household’s income leads to twice the stress. Children feel the need to find a job, which means their attention is divided from school. Young men lose a positive male role model to instruct and teach them, and so they turn to gangs to find that affirmation and approval. This cycle naturally leads to lower graduation rates, higher recidivism, and higher poverty. 

In terms of healthcare, I can personally attest that predominantly Black neighborhoods in Chicago are depleted of high-quality food outlets. Trader Joes, Mariano’s, or Whole Foods are nearly nonexistent in certain areas. Occasionally, it can be difficult to find a Jewel-Osco within a reasonable distance of some of these neighborhoods. Consequently, poor food options lead to higher health risks, such as diabetes or high blood pressure, which certainly exacerbate a COVID-19 prognosis.

What does all of this have to do with Ahmaud Arbery and George Floyd? 

Everything. 

Race simply cannot be ignored. The recent killings of Ahmaud Arbery and George Floyd are not isolated events, but rather the latest public murders in a long line. In 2012, an unarmed Black teenager was killed by a neighborhood watch volunteer. The teenager was Trayvon Martin and the pursuer was George Zimmerman. This high-profile case took our country by storm and clearly showed the racial divide. Zimmerman was not convicted, opening up old wounds for millions of African Americans who have been historically deprived of justice in America. This tragedy would not be the last. Michael Brown, Freddie Gray, Alton Sterling, Laquan McDonald, Philando Castile, and Eric Gardner were some of the individuals killed in recent years that sparked outrage nationwide. These killings were caught on camera. But the ramifications of these tragedies become even more pronounced when you ponder the innumerable times this happens when no camera is rolling. 

As each of the aforementioned cases occurred one by one, I began seeing myself in these individuals and became more self-aware of my place in this country as a Black man. More importantly, I began understanding how race was deeply interwoven in the fabric of our country from its inception to the present. 

 As a Christian I embrace the understanding that we are pilgrims and aliens in a land that is not our home. Black Christians can embrace this on a much deeper level because of how we identify as sojourners in a land that is not our home simply because of the color of our skin. To that end, we are treated with a level of contempt that makes our otherwise normal actions questionable in the eyes of the majority. Back in 2018, there were an inordinate amount of social media videos captured by either bystanders or the alleged perpetrator, in which police were called to the scene. In all cases, the alleged perpetrators were Black and the offended parties were White. Some of the actions for which law enforcement officers were called included barbecuing, playing golf at too slow a pace, moving into their own home, sleeping outside of their dorm room, selling lemonade on the sidewalk (these were children mind you), allowing their dog to hump the offended party’s dog, taking their children to a community pool, performing maintenance work on their car outside their residence, and more. Throughout all those viral videos, the message that was sent was clear: being Black is sufficient probable cause. We seem to be held to a standard that is contrary to the judicial theme that individuals are considered innocent until proven guilty. 

For Blacks in this country, it seems that we are presumed guilty and have to constantly fight for our innocence. It has been this way from the beginning. Why would we expect any different now?

Present

Vigilante attacks on Black citizens and police brutality or corruption are all too familiar to us. Ahmaud Arbery goes jogging in a neighborhood only to be chased down by a father and son because they believed he was tied to “a string of burglaries” that occurred in the area. Why? Because he was Black. Ahmaud did trespass on someone else’s property, but there was no evidence that he took anything. The police had in their possession the video of his killing since February 23rd and decided there was nothing in that video that should prompt an investigation. That is, until there was a national outcry for something to be done. And yet, just two weeks later, police kneel on George Floyd’s neck while he is not resisting, repeatedly saying, “I can’t breathe,” and onlookers plead with the police to stop. He dies, and they don’t even remove the knee for minutes. Nothing has changed. 

These are prime examples of why there is a high level of mistrust of police officers within the Black community today. While not all officers are bad, there have been quite a few that have lied, intentionally hid information, falsified documents, planted contraband, and coerced individuals to put people behind bars. And most of this occurred in the Black community. A personal friend of mine was in prison for 20 years after being convicted of a double homicide that he had nothing to do with. The officers on the case hid documentation indicating that my friend was in jail at the time of the murders, which made it impossible for him to have done it. His name is Daniel Taylor, and I encourage you to read his story. That is not a unique story! As far as Ahmaud’s death is concerned, the sobering reality of the level of caution a Black male needs to take while living in America is not a figment of our imagination. Death is imminent for us all (Hebrews 9:27). However, the imminence of death for Black men living in America seems all the more palpable for reasons explained above. Our normal movements and actions are viewed as suspect, which makes it all the more difficult to father a Black son in this social climate.

Future

My son is 3.5 years old, and right now, he is adorable to all who interact with him. But when he gets older, the perception of him by others will change. He will be seen as a threat, even (or especially) by those who have sworn to protect and serve. You may disagree, but what evidence do you have? He will get taller, he will grow facial hair, and he will be living in a society where he has to psychologically and socially cope with a way of living that would be unique to him and people who look like him. In order for my son to stay alive in 21st-century America, I will need to instruct him on what he cannot do outside the home. When he comes of age to understand these things, he will have a firm understanding that his freedom will be limited in more ways than one. Sadly, I would need to bring my son into the world his dad lives in and burden him with the daily psychological battles that rummage through his father’s mind. I will tell my son that he will automatically and instinctually be perceived as a threat by most people because of the color of his skin and that any action he does will only serve to amplify that perception if it’s not done with care and caution. Where he is a minority, my son needs to know that he has to watch how fast he walks in the street, especially when he is walking behind White women. I will tell him to walk on the side opposite of the one where they are carrying a purse if you need to pass them. I will tell him that there is a good chance he will be profiled when walking into a store, and if he walks out of that store and does not buy anything that could raise alarms in the eyes of the employees. I will tell him that if he ever interacts with police officers, he should not make any abrupt movements and only do exactly what the officer says. I will tell my son that he needs to be comfortable with smiling a lot at people to mitigate an otherwise “intimidating persona.” I also will tell him that if he gets upset and slightly changes the pitch of his tone, then he would appear threatening. While the list does go on, I will need to employ the same tactics as the general surgeon’s warning messages of smoking and use real-life examples such as Ahmaud Arbury and George Floyd to make clear the take-home message. My son will know that being Black is a societal stigma, and this message has reverberated throughout American history and resounds just as loud even in the present.

This is the reality. This is our past, our present, and we are preparing our children to endure this in the future. I, along with many in the Black community, have lost hope in our society and sunk into despair. I don’t know how else I can explain and process our current situation. Yet, while I have lost hope in our society, I am clinging to the hope of Christ and the gospel as I look to the future. That is what I will address in the second post.

David Pickens is an elder at Holy Trinity Church. He is enrolled at Northwestern as a PhD candidate in Mechanical Engineering. He currently works in the mechanical seal industry in Morton Grove and lives in Chicago with his wife Chiagozie and son Judah.