20 Apr The Traumatizing Effect of Black Lives Lost

The Traumatizing Effect of Black Lives Lost
By Author Robyn Williams

Southern trees bear a strange fruit
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root

It wasn’t until after I saw the Allstate TV commercial that I recognized just how traumatized I was. My trauma from all the killings of black men and women by police became glaringly transparent as I watched the commercial. A commercial which features a young, carefree black man in a sleek-looking car driving along what looks to be a countryside road. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to see here. And yet, I found myself cringing, stomach knotting in fearful anticipation that something horrible was about to happen to this young black man. I felt an urgent need to warn him of impending doom. “Slow down and pay attention! Stop driving so fast!” I yelled at him. “They’re going to catch you and kill you!” I found myself screaming at the television screen as realization slowly brought me back, reminding me that it was only a television commercial. Just a young black man driving down a scenic road, wind in his hair, foot heavy to the pedal, loving his car, enjoying the moment, singing “Let’s make lots of money!”

Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees

It is during the George Floyd trial that I write this. I’ve watched bits and pieces of the trial, yet I still haven’t been able to watch all nine plus minutes of the murderous video evidencing a racist cop kneeling with his knee on Floyd’s neck, snuffing his life out, blatantly uncaring that the world was watching. Yes, it’s too traumatic. It’s deeply traumatizing to witness evil incarnate in the form of this officer as he squeezes the life out of George Floyd’s body—with no compunction as if he were deflating a balloon. To this evil man, George Floyd wasn’t a human being. He was just one more black body to be taken out…disposed of like garbage…all in a day’s work. One can only wonder, “How many more times has this officer, and other predatory officers just like him, done this?” The officer’s depraved actions appeared practiced, as if he knew exactly how much pressure to apply and exactly how long it would take to achieve his intended result. Death.

Pastoral scene of the gallant south
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth

In the midst of my trauma, at times I’m left without words. Unable to talk about the silent pain I’ve felt knowing that people can hate and kill us just because of the color of our black skin. It is maddening to know that we can do everything that is asked of us, jump through hoops that other nationalities would never be subjected to…and still not be afforded the grace of humanity. From the days of slavery and the Jim Crow era when black people were lynched indiscriminately. During this time and up to today, society has been indoctrinated to view black and brown bodies as an existential threat. So, it goes without saying that black people know there are police officers throughout this country who will shoot to kill first and maybe ask questions later. All without being held to account for their murderous actions.

Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh

Truthfully, I am still traumatized over the shooting of Laquan McDonald who was killed in Chicago after a policeman stood over him and pumped 16 bullets into his body. I’ll never forget the evening I viewed the video when it was finally released to the public. I was on the Greenline train coming home from work, sitting next to a woman I did not know. I pulled out my phone and together we watched in horror, hands covering our mouths as so many bullets tore through Laquan McDonald’s body. Until all you could see afterwards was the smoke wafting up from his lifeless form as he lay dead on the ground. Just another young black man annihilated, his life snuffed out. That officer shot Laquan like he was an animal in the street. He had no humanity to the officer who murdered him. And that is the one-liner that the woman on the train and I kept repeating after we witnessed the video: Laquan had no humanity to that police officer.

Here is a fruit for the crows to pluck
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck

After Laquan McDonald’s murder, I thought I had no more tears to shed. But when George Floyd’s murder was displayed for the world to see, another reservoir of tears came forth. And now, I’m sure this time there are no more tears. What then do I do with all these feelings of helplessness and hopelessness? I’ve had to reach out. I’ve had to talk about my feelings with people, some who I did not know and will likely never see again. Standing in line at the grocery store, the nail salon, I’m open to striking up a conversation with strangers. The commonality being that the majority of black people know that at any time it could be our father/son/brother/cousin who doesn’t make it home alive from a routine traffic stop.

For the sun to rot, for the tree to drop
Here is a strange and bitter crop

Yes, I pray. Father, hear my/our cry. And when that peace that passes all understanding eludes me? I have to reach out. I have to talk about the pain, anger and sadness that envelops me when I think about the plight of our black men and women today. I have to talk about the duress I feel when I reflect on all the black lives lost due to violence, whether the cause was lynching from days of old, to outright murder from black-on-black violence, to murder at the hands of law enforcement. My active prayer is that every black person will be allowed to live up to their potential. And that we will be afforded the grace of humanity.

Sung by Billie Holiday (Lady Day) “Strange Fruit” is a dark and profound song centered around the lynching of African Americans in the Southern United States during the Jim Crow Era. It was originally written in 1937 by Abel Meeropol,