That Summer

Yes, as it draws to a close for me today, I am technically talking about “this” summer of 2020. However, I have a feeling this summer will be referred to as “that” summer.

“That summer” of the pandemic.

 

“That summer” of civil unrest.

 

“That summer” of change.

 

… “That summer” Lebron won another championship (fingers crossed).

 

In times of transition, I think it is natural to reflect. This past week, I have been reflecting on many things, but specifically on this summer and how much it has changed me. Living through a pandemic, its economic fallout, and watching racial inequities “come to light” has been challenging for many, to say the least.

 

Yes, the pandemic obviously impacted me and changed my life. I was supposed to be moving, and my entire plan for college changed again. However, I have to be thankful each day that I and my loved ones have remained healthy so far. No matter how down I can feel somedays about my plans changing, I have to remember how lucky I am that nobody in my family has been on a ventilator or passed from this. Of course, it is not over yet, but so far, we have stayed safe, and relatively lucky in the economic repercussions. And the debating over masks has made me at times feel like I am losing my mind. 

 

No, this summer was not my eye-opener into the racial injustices that happen in this country. Watching George Floyd’s death on camera was infuriating, heartbreaking, and sickening, but for me, not surprising. I remember watching the very similar video of Eric Garner being killed and that officer continuing to be an officer for years afterwards. I remember when Trayvon Martin’s killer was acquitted. I remember visiting sites honoring Martin Luther King Jr. in early high school and seeing the confederate flag flying across the street from them. I remember visiting many of the state’s correctional facilities as a criminal justice major and noticing the clear lack of white people compared to people of color.

 

When the protests and riots came after George Floyd’s death, I was not at all surprised. These injustices stretch back 400 years in America, building with the disparities in the pandemic, Ahmaud Arbery being hunted down, and Breonna Taylor, an EMT, being shot by police while sleeping in her home. Watching George Floyd die with the callousness with which he was killed hit a boiling point. People are hurting, angry, and need things to be different to survive. I was actually impressed with the turnout around the nation, bringing forth the biggest civil rights movement in history. I was hopeful seeing people protest around the globe, with George Floyd and Breonna Taylor’s names reaching to other countries.

 

Though it didn’t necessarily surprise me, the police response to the protests across the nation set a new fire in me. It was as if all of the major cities in America had turned into 2014 Ferguson, with police responding with brutality. The number of Americans that were tear gassed and shot with pepper balls and rubber bullets disgusted me. (Here’s your reminder that using tear gas is considered a war crime, but somehow okay to use on your own people in the streets of your own nation.)

 

As a young-ish white person, until this summer, I believed that perhaps police could be reformed. This summer has proved to me otherwise. After attending some protests and seeing the clearly different stories the police told in comparison to what I saw with my own eyes (or saw on livestreams in other locations), I believe we need to completely reimagine our systems. Honestly, before this summer, I probably would have agreed that bigger places, the LAPD and NYPD, needed to be completely rebuilt, but probably not here. I thought the major problems were farther away, mostly in larger areas. I thought despite the issues I knew of, that perhaps reform was possible here. Now, I know it is happening at a much larger scale than I thought right here in Omaha, and it’s more than just police.

 

This is my summer of being 22. I survived this summer (so long as I make it like, 12 more hours). However, only about 40 miles away from me, that is not the case for another 22-year-old.

 

I have posted before that I attended the first night’s protest at 72^nd & Dodge back on May 29 and discussed those experiences and some of what I saw. I was unable to attend the second night of that protest, but I watched multiple livestreams (mostly Zeyela’s Live Reports) and saw OPD shoot pepper balls at and tear gas protestors on a side walk with their hands up chanting “hands up, don’t shoot.” The protest moved downtown because the police had, once again, blocked the intersection, and people wanted to be heard. Downtown that night, a white bar owner with a well-documented history of racism posted on Facebook that he was going to pull a “firewatch.” He shot warning shots into a crowd and a man my age jumped on him, seemingly trying to get him to stop shooting. This man my age, James Scurlock, was then fatally shot by the white bar owner, Jake Gardner. Jake somehow got away with “self-defense” despite his concealed carry permit being expired and Nebraska not being a stand-your-ground state.  

 

Since his death and especially in the last week, I have spent a lot of time thinking about James dying. He was my age. If this had happened one night earlier, it is actually possible I could have been in the exact same place. As much as I could have been him through circumstances – I could have been right there – I couldn’t have been the one that died. Jake is shown in a video profiling a group of Black people, thinking they were the ones that destroyed some of his property. Jake would not have profiled me, and he likely would not have shot me that night. And if he had, there is a much higher likelihood that Jake would be in jail right now facing charges.

 

Maybe that makes some white people feel safe or something, but it makes me absolutely furious. The color of my skin should not make me safer, but it does every single day. This is just a prime example of it. James leaves behind a large, loving family, including a daughter who will not get to grow up with her father. And this family doesn’t even get the justice of hearing the county attorney say, ‘yes, what Jake did was wrong, and your brother didn’t deserve to die.’

 

So yes, the civil unrest this summer changed me. No longer am I going to act like these systems could merely be reformed or that there are “good people on both sides.” Sure, your aunt that is a cop might be a good person, but when she puts on that uniform, she upholds this system and history of slave catching. If your dad goes to work and doesn’t call out the other “bad apples,” he is not being a “good cop.” Your uncle might be a nice guy, but if he’s the county attorney that declines to charge a man with a clear, documented history of racism that killed a Black man after firing warning shots into a crowd with a gun he wasn’t even supposed to have at that time… I don’t know what to tell you, he’s hurting an entire family and community.

 

Yes, this is ‘that summer’ that I kept reiterating this quote from Desmond Tutu, a man that worked to end the apartheid in South Africa:

 

“If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.”

 

Too many of the white people I know are trying to be neutral and people-pleasing. I’ve seen some post #BlackLivesMatter but then praise OPD or other police departments. Some of you have even tried to bring God into why you think we should be neutral, in the middle, and simply bring people together. I beg you – look into the history of our systems. Why were they formed? If you would truly dig deep into that history and have the answers about the foundations upon where these systems sit, I would hope you would start to see why it’s a good idea to place these systems on different foundations and rebuild them. And please don’t be that person who tries to say God would be okay with people suffering in this way.

 

This is “that summer.” That summer I am no longer going to accept people trying to be neutral. Yes, we can disagree on things. I can like summer, sunflowers, the beach, and watching TV. You can love winter, board games, eating sushi, and hiking in the mountains. We can hate each other’s favorite movies, hobbies, and many other things. We can have different political ideas. We can like different candidates. And we can still get along. But if what we disagree upon is something that violates the basic human rights of another human being, I am not going to just accept that. That’s not just an idea, preference, or political view at that point. We can even disagree on how to solve these issues. But we have to agree that all humans deserve equal rights, no matter what may make them different than you or me.

 

The full quote from Desmond Tutu is, “If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor. If an elephant has its foot on the tail of a mouse, and you say that you are neutral, the mouse will not appreciate your neutrality.” Let’s keep that in mind.

 

This summer is "that summer" where I have to choose hope. I hope that the grand jury happens soon, and James Scurlock’s family is officially told that his life mattered. I hope our communities turn away from the heavy presence of militarized policing and cops and turn towards care to bring a more equal existence for all people. I hope the movement we have seen moves towards real change. 

I hope for you, this summer is “that summer” too, in some way. I hope this summer's challenges have grown you. 

And I hope that someday, we will all look back on this challenging and tough summer and think, “Wow, that summer was worth it.”

Photo by Jaquan Rosa