SEAHO Report - Fall 2020 - 9

FEATURE ARTICLES
White colleague: "Yea, man.
Excuse me if this is my privilege and
ignorance, but did you know Trayvon?"
Me: "No, not personally. But I feel I
am him, man. Not much in this world
separates me from being him at any
point."
I was almost shocked at the notion
of that White colleague to present
that question. It was to question
that if I did not know Trayvon
Martin personally, how could I
possibly be affected by his tragic
death? My colleague truly looked
puzzled as to how I could be so
intimately impacted by someone
with whom I did not have any
actual acquaintance. From that
brief exchange of dialogue, I
questioned if it was inappropriate
of me to bring that part of me to
work. I questioned if the institution
valued my talent and time at work
but not these other truths I have
to manage and survive on a daily
basis. However, it was not. It was
a part of me bringing my entire
being to work. The feeling that "I
AM TRAYVON" is more than just
about a cultural connection to the
Black community. I have worn a
sweatshirt and noticed the distinct
differences in treatment of me as
a human being. So yes, that could
have very well been me, my son,
or any other member of the Black
community in that hoodie instead
of Trayvon. I have felt connected
and reflected in EVERY incident
in which a Black person has been
wrongfully murdered by the police.
Despite the narrative manipulation
by various media outlets, national
figures, and whitewashed
educational textbooks, these
incidents should not be considered
as separate occurrences, but very
much as tragedies connected to
the larger, elusive systematic
secret America has attempted
to keep locked up and out-ofsight, buried in the basement of
its consciousness for far too long.
As a Black man, I do not have
the luxury to irresponsibly digest

them in that manner; especially
with the numerous and continual
police killings and the recent
uptick of more Black bodies found
hanging from trees that resemble
the "strange fruit swinging" that
legends Billie Holiday and Nina
Simone sang about during the early
civil rights movement. Those open
wounds include facts that it will
be 122 days on July 13, 2020 since
three law enforcement officers
murdered twenty-six year old EMT
Breonna Taylor on March 13.
Although one of those three police
officers involved has been fired, it
is a suspiciously extended period
for those involved to be known but
not arrested. It only contributes
to a longstanding issue where the
pain, trauma, and tragedies of
Black Women have been normalized
by society and as not needing
assistance, attention, or advocacy.
Black Women have been rendered
nearly invisible from the raised
awareness and visibility of these
tragedies from being named and
recognized as "victims too" in
national news coverage and the
worldwide movements demanding
justice to be served. The Black
community has to continually
self-nurse these injustices and
occurrences as internal and mental
open wounds. We have been victims
of racism-based generational
trauma for as long as America "first
discovered itself."
So, when I occupy work spaces
and I do not seem fully present,
engaged, or enthusiastic about the
task at hand during these tragic
and racism-coated times, there are
very specific reasons and realities
you need to be aware of and pay
attention to. One of which is that
I am Black and exhausted. I am
Black and exhausted from having
to digest these unfortunate and
disproportionate realities of racism,
hate, and oppression. For days, I
felt helpless and tired of crying
and fighting back the frustrations.
It was weeks before I could even

find the words to convey the waves
of emotions experienced until I
found strength and space to pen a
poetic expression entitled "Black
and Exhausted." Secondly, for the
first time in years, I truthfully
responded to a White colleague's
check-in text message as James
Meeks suggested: "Actually, no, I am
not okay." I am Black and exhausted
from having to contemplate and
navigate these realities at work and
in general society. It is difficult to
separate how and where my full
Blackness is supported to show up.
My entire being is still shifting,
hurting, healing, negotiating,
and navigating the firsthand and
secondary tidal waves of trauma
that Black culture experiences from
these types of human tragedies on a
daily basis.
The "I Can't Breathe" hashtag
and movement is not only a literal
and figurative cultural echo of
the countless Black and Brown
bodies that have been murdered
in hate and without justice, but
we literally cannot breathe in and
between these incidents happening
from one to another. There were
countless nights either sleep
escaped me altogether because I
stood in fear that if I slept I would
only wake up to more slain Black
victims or because the tears just
would not stop flowing. It was as
if before we could catch our breath
processing the murder of victims
like David McAtee, we were flooded
with news about the tragedies of
Specialist Vanessa Guillen. Tribute
resources such as Kadir Nelson's
"Say Their Name" website should
not even have to exist. According
to the Mapping Police Violence
organization, police-related
murders have reached nearly 600
in 2020 alone. Their research
and data shares that Black people
are three times more likely to be
killed by police than white people
and that between 2013 and 2019,
99% of killings by police have not
resulted in officers being charged
with a crime. The Prison Policy

9
SEAHO Report - Fall 2020

Table of Contents for the Digital Edition of SEAHO Report - Fall 2020
