What To Do When Finding Out You’re Black

A How-To on wrestling with the weight of yet another black lynching in modern America post discovery.

Some people go through life not understanding what it means to be black in America. A common cause for this cognitive dissonance is being white. However, sometimes one can be black and not realize the imposed societal limitations of their blackness. This ignorance can stem from a place of origin, financial status, or, in my case, being a first generation Dominican-American kid. Some side effects of not realizing one’s blackness include, but are not limited to:

• Not realizing common activities like jogging or shopping may be fatal
• Navigating a lack of access to resources or opportunities
• Being a target of insufficient financing and predatory lending practices
• Understanding the consensus by the greater culture that your essence of being is, indeed, considered aggressive

This was my reality for the bulk of my life. I was unknowingly ignorant and objectively disadvantaged, but truthfully, it was also nice to not understand my home country’s affinity for anti-blackness. By the time I realized I was black, and by proxy subjected to systematic racism, I was already an adult. Finding that blackness also came with the realization that I was in no way, shape, or form prepared to be black in America.

Upon coming to this conclusion, I did what all good, honor roll, product-of-immigrant children do best to prepare for the rest of their life: I researched. I listened to black American stories, read about colonization and the world’s history, and began digesting how the fuck I went 23 years without realizing I was black. Years later into my discovery, I still don’t fully feel like I’ve got the hang of it.

(NOTE: It’s important to say, I’m not blind. But I am Dominican, which means that when it comes to identifying as black, I might as well have been.)

The cool thing about learning you’re black, is that you can never forget it again. It’s easy to get swept up in appreciation of the beautiful contributions to humanities, art, culture, science, mathematics, and literally everything else black people have brought to the world (hellooooo peanut butter!)

Then, just as you begin to bask in all of this black excellence, you’re smacked with its side effects yet again. This time it looks like scrolling past yet another video of an unarmed, non-aggressive or dangerous, black man being violently murdered in his own neighborhood. You scroll past it because you’ve seen it before and you can’t bear to watch it again, but every time your heart sinks. Your chest tightens and you feel restricted and you think: this can’t be happening again. But it is, and it’s been happening on this soil since 1619.

Reading about Ahmaud Arbery’s murder hurts differently while black. Empathetically, you obviously feel for him and his mother. You can imagine Ahmaud’s terror and share in the hurt of his loved ones, not only participating in the burial of his spirit, but also his potential contributions to the world. Selfishly, it’s a reminder that you’re never safe. A prompt to inform you that no status, amount of money, or intelligence will rid anyone of the weight of being black in America.

In 2020, you’ve heard this story before. It’s exhausting, but still tenaciously angering. The redundant excuse of someone “feeling threatened” or “looking like someone else” or [insert whatever tired ass justification for murder], still works. While millions of people wait inside jails and prisons terrified of contracting Covid-19 and black and brown bodies continue to be tossed into prisons for not social distancing — the two murderers of Ahmaud Arbery spent almost two months comfortably at home. The proof of their action was so cemented that not only is there the wildly distributed video of his execution, but two prosecutors even stepped away from the case so they wouldn’t have to pursue action against their former colleague.

Considering this whole “being black” thing is still fairly new to me, I thought maybe I was equipped to bring a different perspective to help folks understand why the continued over-incarceration and lynching of black bodies is a pervasive problem in this country. But now that I’m here, there’s nothing left to share. The exhaustion of my ancestors and those that roamed this land before me has been inherited. There are no more chants, images, or words to better represent that my life matters. The life of my father, brother, cousins, friends, colleagues, community leaders and strangers alike — their lives matter. How many more centuries of oppression and prosecution must be endured before institutionalized policies and politicians’ actions reflect that black lives matter.

“It is our duty to fight for out freedom.
It is our duty to win.
We must love each other and support each other.
We have nothing to lose but our chains.” — Assata Shakur

There’s no grand solution from me, only a proposition that we continue to work towards and demand equal representation across the board. And a prayer that I’ve inherited the strength needed to continue the fight.

Ahmaud Arbery, Rest In Paradise.
Sign the petition to get justice for Ahmaud and send a letter to the officials who have the power to influence his case at runwithmaud.com