“The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.” - Martin Luther King, Jr.
On February 23, 2020, Ahmaud Arbery, an unarmed 25-year-old black man, was fatally shot in Glynn County, GA. A black man who frequently jogged for exercise in and around his neighborhood. A black man who was pursued by two armed white residents of a South Georgia neighborhood because “he looked like a man suspected in several break-ins in the area”. A black man that could have easily been me.
Since I started running in 2013 to improve my health, I’ve never felt scared going out for a run whether early in the morning or late in the evening. In fact, my biggest fears as a runner were either getting hit by a distracted driver, being robbed or being attacked by a dog. Unfortunately, after the murder of Ahmaud Arbery, I am now thinking more and more about the issue of safety as a black runner. More specifically my fear of being racially profiled and attacked while running. Do I look suspicious because my skin is not the same color as theirs? Do I look threatening? Can I be targeted, chased, and killed because I am a black man? It happened to Ahmaud Arbery so why should I think that it couldn’t happen to me?
Since the video of the shooting was released and it received widespread media coverage, I have struggled to process this senseless killing of a man who was just out for a run. Something that I do every day. Running is generally a safe activity. It is the simplest of sports. I could completely immerse myself in my run. It was freedom. Running was my safe space but Arbery’s death has removed the sense of peace I get from it. That same run that I would normally use to clear my mind and relieve stress has now become more stressful because my experiences as a black man are different compared to those of a non-black or brown skinned runners. I have to pay closer attention to my surroundings to avoid being at the wrong place at the wrong time. When I run in predominantly white, residential neighborhoods, I make an effort to smile and wave to everyone I see in addition to wearing brightly colored clothing with a athletic brand logo in the hope that people identify me as a non-threatening runner instead of a potential threat because I am a black man.
Consequently, I now wonder if white runners really care? Do they feel the same way that I do about the continued brutality against black men like me? The running community (e.g. running clubs, brands, athletes, etc.) immediately rallies and shows support, compassion, and solidarity for women who experienced repeated sexual harassment and physical attacks from men while running. Where are those same voices, outcries, and support for black men? Is there any concern for our safety as runners? It’s has to be more than dedicating miles, taking selfies and posting messages on social media using a specific hashtag AFTER a tragedy has occurred. Making something a hashtag doesn’t make it go away. It’s the action you take in real time that bring forth change. Utilize your privilege to call out racism and protect those who don’t have that same privilege.
How many of my fellow white runners avoid addressing racial issues because they don’t think it is their responsibility to speak up? Silence is acceptance. Just because you haven’t personally experienced something doesn’t mean you can’t stand up and speak up for those who have. Be willing to have open and sometimes uncomfortable conversations on the topic of racism with your fellow runners. Ask questions. Take a moment to listen and learn. Really pay attention to what is being said instead of thinking about what you want to say in response.
The murder of Ahmaud Arbery is a sad reminder that racism is still very much a reality in 2020. Running has always been considered an equal platform of participation regardless of a person’s race or background. However, the reality is that running is a predominantly white activity. Very few black runners, male or female, are highlighted in the media, featured in running magazines, or asked to be guest on podcasts to the same degree as white runners. This divide is what needs to be addressed. The running community must hold themselves to a higher standard of equal opportunity and reject the status quo in order to be part of the solution going forward. Then and only then will we create a more inclusive atmosphere so that black men, as well as other black, indigenous, and people of color (BIPOC) runners, can enjoy the camaraderie of a safe and supportive running community.