Just less than three weeks ago I laced up my shoes and went for a 2.23-mile run. Then I stopped my watch, saved the activity, and returned home for another 2.23 miles. If you know me, you know I hate running random distances. I try to stop at .02 past a mile mark (just in case my watch or Strava tries to shortchange me), or I pick a .5 or something pleasing to my eyes. So why did I go 2.23 twice? Well, it’s not a random distance at all. I ran 2.23 on February 23, the one-year anniversary of Ahmaud Arbery’s murder. Like many others, I titled my run “I run with Ahmaud,” and applied the appropriate hashtags.
Those hashtags include #finishtherun, #irunwithahmaud, and #runwithmaud. It’s easy to stop my watch after 2.23 miles and save the run. It’s even easier to type out a thoughtful message and use a relevant hashtag along with it. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Ahmaud. Reading his story and then simply returning to my usual routine is not easy.
Ahmaud was out exercising, out for a run. Just like I do every single day. Yet he was chased and hunted down by three white men, who were suspicious of him simply because he was black. Then they cornered him, and when he tried to avoid them, one of them shot him multiple times with a shotgun from point blank range.
If you want to read the entire breakdown of the murder that happened in Satilla Shores, Georgia, The New York Times has done some incredible reporting on it.
Ahmaud was 25, and by all descriptions, an avid runner. He was out exercising on a sunny day. And then he was murdered.
So much has happed in this country since Arbery’s death. Officers killed Breonna Taylor and George Floyd in the following two months. The world shut down with a pandemic. Toilet paper became scarce, then N-95 masks. Then people fought over wearing masks at all. We had an insane election season. Everyone argued over Thanksgiving and Christmas gatherings. A mob attacked our democracy at our Capitol.
And Ahmaud didn’t get to see or live through any of the historic moments.
My hope is that his voice is still heard.
Ahmaud’s story should infuriate all Americans. His killers profiled him. They drove around in two vehicles following him, cutting in his path multiple times. The shooter, Travis McMichael, was standing up in the bed of his father’s pickup truck. Eventually, he jumped down and tried to hold Arbery at gunpoint. When Ahmaud tried to sidestep and fight his stalker off, McMichael fired three times.
It’s hard to imagine that level of fear. Being chased and herded by men with guns in the middle of the day where anyone could look out and see what was happening. But still knowing there is no help on the way. Ahmaud was in danger, yet he was seen as the problem.
I have run through so many neighborhoods. On occasion, I have gone through very nice gated communities. No one has ever chased me away or suspected me of being a criminal. I am white, so I never worry what someone will assume about me if he or she sees me running.
It is hard to accept that a person can be out doing the exact activity I love but end up murdered simply because he has darker skin.
The aftermath of the murder was also sickening.
Gregory McMichael, the driver of the pickup and Travis’s father, is a former police officer in that area of Georgia. He had ties to the first prosecutor assigned to the case. That prosecutor had to recuse herself. The second prosecutor argued that the McMichaels and the third participant, William Bryan, acted within Georgia self-defense and citizen-arrest laws. That prosecutor then resigned from the case because of family ties with the McMichaels.
A third prosecutor eventually decided to send the case to a grand jury to decide whether or not to file charges. It took a released video of the shooting for the story to gain more interest.
A fourth prosecutor took over the case and arrested the McMichaels on May 7. They were charged with murder and aggravated assault. Bryan was arrested later.
It took two and a half months for authorities to arrest men who chased down and murdered an unarmed black man who was running along the side of the road.
The following day, May 8, I joined thousands of people in running 2.23 miles for Ahmaud. That day would have been his 26th birthday.
Ahmaud’s story rattled around in my head for the rest of 2020 and into this year. How quickly his future ended. Exercise turned into death.
There is still no trial date for the McMichaels and Bryan, whom have all been denied bond.
It is easy to feel helpless in our country right now. The pandemic has kept us from living out what we consider normal life. Political extremism is splitting us in half. And much of the discord and discourse involves America’s history of oppression based on race.
I have struggled with my own privilege. I live a charmed life, and I know it. Born a white male put me on a path where I have rarely worried about my situation or environment. I have occasionally escaped consequences for my actions because of my name and the color of my skin.
So how do I make a difference and help create change?
Apart from voting, political activism, and donating to causes that will fight for change, I can continue to run with Ahmaud.
I didn’t know Ahmaud Arbery, and I wish he was alive and still running out there somewhere without me even knowing his name.
But he isn’t. I do know his name, and I’ve read his story. I’ve watched the video of his final moments on earth.
So I will keep thinking about him and running with a heavy heart for him. I will take any opportunity I find to make the world a better and more welcoming place for everyone, no matter who they are or what they look like.
Ahmaud’s life was important. He mattered.
#IRunWithAhmaud
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