I don’t know what to say. What can one possibly say about this? This is what I said to my friend – a black, successful, gifted female pastor in Minneapolis who stood in protest and prayer for George Floyd. I wrote to her, “I’m so angry about this horrific and senseless loss of yet another precious life. You and the entire black community are in my prayers.” But, somehow prayers just don’t see like enough right now. It seems like action is profoundly necessary.
Today, I sat and watched the video for five minutes as the policeman held his knee down on George’s neck, I was horrified. He kept saying, “I can’t breathe.” I knew he couldn’t breathe. I suffered asthma as a child, and I could tell by the way his chest and back were heaving that he couldn’t breathe. I understood the terror of not being able to achieve a full breath or even a next breath. I found myself filled with fear that George must have been feeling because he couldn’t breathe. My grandma once told me that I acted like a wild animal when I had an asthma attack. My parents once shared this with my doctor, and he said, “Well, of course she does…not being able to breathe is the most frightening experience a human can experience.”
I’m a chaplain. Death is a partner in my daily life. I’m not frightened of death, but rather assured that it is the natural (well, at least for some of us) end to life. I have had the intimate privilege of being with people as they take their last breaths. I have had the intimate privilege of ministering to family members as they experience the death of their loved ones. Yet, as I watched this video of ugliness, I discovered tears running down my face and heard myself cry out loud, “I am watching this man die!” I wanted to reach into my computer screen and grab the policeman and lift him off of George. I wanted to scream at the police officer, “Listen to this man! He can’t breathe! He is asking for breath! Don’t deny him breath.”
One of my closest friends is this amazing black woman (although her preference is to be called a person of color). She is an accomplished woman, having worked a very successful career in a field that typically consists of men. She is beautiful. She is gifted in the arts. One time she said to me, “Ann, for people of color, we are only one traffic stop away from death.” I will shamefully admit to a knee-jerk white privileged thought of, “Wow, that’s dramatic.” However, my friend has very patiently nurtured and educated me in these things, and I can now say, I believe her statement to be completely TRUE!
I am SAD. I am ANGRY. I am STRUGGLING. I am OVERWHELMED. I am HORRIFIED. I am EMBARRASSED because this happened in my home state. We need to be better than this. Yet, my sadness, anger and struggle are absolutely NOTHING compared to the daily frightening reality of the possibility of this happening to black people in our country. What is wrong with us?
I think I am even a little angry with God right now. The thing that brought humanity to life was the very breath of God. Yet, the living breath is what George Floyd was so viciously and cruelly robbed of. God, where are you? Why do you let this persist? Will we ever learn? Will this ever stop?
To black people everywhere: I am sorry for whatever my role has ever been in being part of a white, privileged, racist system that continues to assault black people. We need to dismantle this racist system.
Today my writing is different. Today my writing is raw and uncensored. If I have offended any people of color, my apologies. Please tell me so that I may make amends and do better. If I have offended any white people, I don’t care. Maybe it’s good for us white folks to get a little uncomfortable; uncomfortable enough so that we CHANGE THIS!
SAY HIS NAME: GEORGE FLOYD.
George, may you find eternal peace and breathe fully the breath of God. And may we fight for JUSTICE.
