Tina's TEOTWAWKI Journal, Day 54-55

Ahmaud Arbery, 25, left for a jog on February 23, 2020, and never came home.

He died of a shotgun blast on a Brunswick, Georgia street. 

As I understand the story, two men saw him running, thought that he was responsible for a series of break-ins in the neighborhood, pursued him, and shot him when he wouldn't stop.

Arbery is black.  The alleged shooters are white.

As of the time I'm writing this, May 7, 2020, 2:37 p.m., no charges have been filed.

And the only reason I know about this case is because of media coverage of a video that was just released a few days ago. 

I have not watched the video.  I cannot bring myself to do so.  But this CNN article gives the details.  The video clip is 36 seconds long, and I don't know who made the video. 

According to CNN, the video shows Arbery jogging down the middle of the street and veering around a truck blocking his path.  He then tussles with 34-year-old Travis McMichael over a shotgun McMichael was holding.  A shot goes off.  64-year-old Greg McMichael, Travis' father, pulls out a handgun but doesn't shoot. 

Arbery and Travis McMichael disappear briefly off screen, then come back into view.  Both are clutching the shotgun when a third shot goes off.  Arbery drops to the street.  Travis McMichael walks away, holding the shotgun. 

The McMichaels claim self-defense.  A prosecutor who's since stepped down said that the McMichaels "engaged in hot pursuit and had solid first-hand probable cause as civilians to detain Arbery."  He stated, "It appears their intent was to stop and hold this criminal suspect until law enforcement arrived.  Under Georgia law, this is perfectly legal."  Georgia does allow for a citizen's arrest if they "have immediate knowledge of an offense or if a perpetrator is trying to flee after committing a felony."

My first reaction, after hearing of this shooting, was, "This is Trayvon Martin and George Zimmerman all over again.  Black man shot by white man because white man thought black man was a criminal."

My second reaction was, "If these two people thought he'd broken into a house someplace, why in the world did they not let the police handle it?"  (Someone did make a 911 call; CNN did not release the caller's identity.) 

My third reaction is heartsickness, again, for my African-American brothers and sisters who, again, have to deal with a white-on-black shooting.  One of my Facebook friends, who is African-American and who attends my church, said today that he jogs, and now he's afraid to because someone might decide to shoot him simply because of the color of his skin. 

Others of my African-American friends say that they have had to have "the talk" with their sons.  It is "the talk" about how the police may treat you if you are black, about how you have to be careful, about how you have to behave . . . it is a talk I will never have to have with my son, solely because I am white and he is white. 

Today, Ahmaud Arbery's picture has shown up on Facebook multiple times, including in my son's Facebook feed.  Today, I had to explain to him that two men shot another man because they thought he'd been a burglar when he wasn't.  My son has autism.  I kept race out of it because I know of no way to explain to him that yes, there are white people out there who hate people who are not white.  They hate people like the man who leads our college ministry.  Like a favorite usher of my son's.  Like a former minister at my church who now preaches in Tennessee.  Like a young lady who is also part of our college/young adult ministry.  Like three elders at my church and their wives and their children. 

Yesterday, finally, a district attorney has decided to take the case to a grand jury. 

I pray that justice will be done and that truth prevails.

How much longer must we see crimes, shootings, anger, prejudice, bigotry? 

How long, O Lord?

I definitely feel like being snarky on this particular entry:

It's the end of the world as we know it
It's the end of the world as we know it
It's the end of the world as we know it
And I feel fine!

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

The wrong door . . . or no?

(The following is my own opinion, based on the facts as I am aware of at this moment.  My opinions may change as I learn more of the facts surrounding this case.)

In the summer of 1983, I lived in Dorman Hall at Florida State University.  One day, I came back from class and got into the elevator.  When the elevator door opened, I got off the elevator, turned down the hallway, went down a few feet and stuck my key in the lock of a door . . . and asked myself, why isn't the door unlocking?

That's when I looked up and saw that the number on the door was 206, not 306. 

I hadn't been paying attention and I got off on the wrong floor and went to the wrong door.  

In Dorman Hall, as in many residence halls built in the 1950's and 1960's, the corridors all look alike.  So unless you know what floor you've gotten off on, it's easy to go to the wrong door.

That's why, when I heard of the alleged circumstances surrounding Botham Jean's shooting, I understood how going to "the wrong door" could have been a possibility.  Amber Guyger, the Dallas police officer arrested and charged with his shooting, claims that, after a long shift, she parked on a level she normally didn't park on and ended up going to the wrong apartment.  Her apartment is directly below Botham Jean's.  The apartment complex where they both lived is described as having symmetrical hallways, and other residents, according to this New York Times article, have reported occasionally going to the wrong apartment.  Maybe that's why Botham Jean put his red mat in front of his door.

That doesn't explain, though, the door being ajar.

Although, if I thought it was my apartment, I'd be concerned. 

That also doesn't explain her not noticing the red mat in front of his door.  In the case of me going to the wrong door at Dorman Hall, though, I wasn't paying attention and I might not have seen a mat in front of the door. 

In her version of events, she opened the door to a dark apartment and saw a silhouette of someone, gave "verbal commands" and when he didn't respond, she shot him.  Then she turned on the lights and realized she was in the wrong apartment.

Lawyers for Botham Jean's family say that his door was closed.  Neighbors have said that they heard someone banging on the door shouting, "Let me in!" and "Open up!" before they heard gunshots.  They've also said they heard someone, maybe Botham Jean, saying, "Oh, my God, why did you do that?" 

Jean's family also say that he and Amber Guyger did not know each other.  

On the day of Jean's funeral, the media broadcast the results of a search warrant executed at his apartment.  The police found, according to an inventory:

• 2 fired cartridge casings
• a laptop computer
• a black backpack with police equipment and paperwork
• an insulated lunch box
• a black ballistic vest with "police" markings
• 10.4 grams of marijuana in ziplock bags (less than an ounce)
• a metal marijuana grinder
• 2 RFID keys'
• 2 used packages of medical aid

Of course, what did the media immediately pounce on?  The marijuana.  The lawyer for Botham Jean's family has accused the police of mounting a smear campaign against Botham Jean.  There's even been some speculation that the marijuana was planted in Jean's apartment. (The police had been called earlier to Jean's complex by someone complaining of a strong smell of marijuana on the floor where Jean lived.) 

We have yet to hear the results of any search warrant executed on Amber Guyger's apartment.  

In another account of events, Guyger was allegedly struggling with the lock when Jean opened the door and confronted her.  

Since I wasn't there, I can't tell you what happened.  There are only two people that know the whole truth, and one of them is dead.  In the early stages of any investigation, and especially a high-profile one with loads of media attention, there are going to be conflicting reports and reports that are downright wrong.

But what it all boils down to is this:  An African-American man was killed in his own home by a white off-duty police officer.

This is frightening.  

I'm a white woman.  As much as I may want to "get it", I will never truly "get it".  Just like people who want to will never truly "get" what my husband and I deal with in raising a son with autism. 

I'm a white woman who wants to believe that the Civil Rights movement and the laws that were passed as a result solved the race problem in this country.

I'm a white woman that wants to believe that law enforcement and the legal system is truly "blind" except to facts, and that people can objectively look at facts, piece them together, and come to a correct conclusion. 

But is this true?

There may be laws ending legalized discrimination, but those laws do nothing to change the hearts of people.  Attitudes cannot be legislated.  The attitude of racism and prejudice can't be changed by law.

And I only need to take a quick look at history to see that no, "the system" isn't blind except to facts. 

This particular shooting has resonated with me more than others have because Botham Jean was a member of the Church of Christ, as I am, and he graduated from the same university that many members of my congregation are affiliated with.  People I know are expressing deep anger and deep sorrow. 

Did Amber Guyger go to the wrong apartment by mistake, find the door ajar, go in, and shoot a man, thinking he was a burglar in her apartment?

Did she go to the wrong apartment by mistake, try to open a closed door, get confronted by Botham Jean, and shoot him?

Or did she go to his apartment on purpose to confront him and to shoot him?

Did she go to the wrong door?

Or no?

Right now, I don't know.  Right now, I don't have the answers.  Right now, I don't know all of the facts.  I only know that a lot of people are hurting and angry. 

This particular entry is mostly me, as a white woman, trying to work out my feelings and my observations about yet another white cop-black victim shooting in the United States.  The facts must come out.  Justice must be served for Botham Jean.  Amber Guyger must be treated as any other accused would be. 

I want justice.  I want truth.  And I don't want our anger and our grief to overshadow anyone's search for truth.  

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

Rawness, passion, and terror

(This is a somewhat rewritten version of a post I originally wrote back in January.  I'm revisiting this subject because today is the 50th anniversary of Bobby Kennedy's shooting.)

This man is your man

This man is our man
From California
To the New York island
From the redwood forests
To the Gulf Stream waters
This man is Robert Kennedy.

You can hear the raw passion in their voices on this audio, recorded on the night of  June 5, 1968.  (The audio is from the Pacifica Radio Archives and is posted on David Von Pein's YouTube channel.  DVP has hundreds of hours of JFK and RFK-era video and audio posted; I recommend him highly.)

They are exuberant and idealistic.

Their man, Robert Kennedy, is ahead in the California primary, a "winner-take-all" state as far as delegates are concerned.  Later, ABC newscaster Frank Reynolds would comment, there's nothing like an election night when everything is going your way.

The audio goes from singing to the chant of, "Sock it to 'em, Bobby!"

Eight minutes and thirty-one seconds into the audio, their hero enters to an ovation of shouting and the rousing cheers of, "We want Kennedy!  We want Kennedy!"

The first person he mentions is Don Drysdale, the Los Angeles Dodgers pitcher who'd pitched his sixth straight shutout that evening; Kennedy hoped they'd have as good fortune in their campaign.

He ran through a list of people he wanted to thank, including his dog, Freckles . . . and right afterwards -- after explaining that it wasn't in order of important -- his wife, Ethel.

At one point, while thanking the people who worked on the campaign, a young woman's voice yells back, "It was worth it!"

Tapping into the frustration people felt over rising violence and the war in Vietnam, he stressed that people wanted a change.  (Forty years later, another candidate would tap into similar frustration within the United States.)  

He finished his speech declaring that yes, Americans could work together; that we were a great country, an unselfish country, a compassionate country.

The speech ends with the triumphant words, "and now it's on to Chicago and let's win there."  Then, with a thumbs-up to the crowd and a flash of the two-fingered peace sign, he turns away from the podium while the crowd chants, "We want Bobby!"

Less than five minutes later, the screaming starts.

It's not the ovation the crowd gave a victorious candidate.  Rather, it's the screams of terror, panic, and confusion.

A second audio recording, of Andrew West from the Mutual Broadcasting System, also captures the moment:  "Senator Kennedy has been shot, is that possible?" "He still has the gun, the gun is pointed at me right at this moment," "Get the gun, Rafer . . . get his thumb, break it if you have to!"

And of the video coverage from the three major networks, perhaps two clips best illustrate the raw confusion:  1.  A bewildered Terry Drinkwater, CBS reporter, trying to figure out what had just happened (around 15:31 on the clip), and 2. the NBC coverage, about 40 seconds into the tape, showing one of Sirhan Sirhan's shooting victims being carried out of the Ambassador Hotel kitchen.  The NBC reporter speaking insists -- incorrectly -- that Stephen Smith, Robert Kennedy's brother-in-law, had also been shot.

In the first 24 minutes of the CBS video, there were no fewer than 28 pleas for a doctor and no fewer than 36 pleas, requests, and orders to "please clear the room", leave the room, or variations thereof.

These were the moments when panic took over, when terror took over and the raw jubilation of only a few minutes ago turned with fierce suddenness to raw fear.

John Kennedy's assassination also showed how quickly events can turn.  He'd received a warm welcome in Dallas, Texas only to be gunned down by an assassin who took six seconds to fire three shots.  (Oswald acted alone.  Deal with it.)  We saw the panic and terror of the crowds only after the film was developed; we heard the confusion as technicians in master control frantically flipped switches and yelled instructions into headsets offstage.

Five years later, broadcast technology developed to the point where we could see the raw panic, terror and confusion the moment it started happening.

This is life, at it rawest, unedited and unscripted, but captured on film and on audio.

And while the men in the anchor chairs -- Walter Cronkite, Frank Reynolds, Howard K. Smith, Frank McGee, and others -- may have been more polished in their delivery, you can catch their controlled, barely suppressed anger over the event; specifically, the failure of the Congress to pass gun control.

Twenty-six hours later, at 1:44 a.m., Pacific Daylight Time, Robert F. Kennedy died.  About 15 minutes later, his press secretary, Frank Mankiewicz, stepped up to a microphone and made the terse announcement of Kennedy's death.

Perhaps this was the moment that hope in our political system really began to fray, wither, and die. 

Jack Newfield, in his 1969 book Robert Kennedy: A Memoir, ends his book with these words:

Now I realized what makes our generation unique, what defines us apart from those who came before the hopeful winter of 1961, and those who came after the murderous spring of 1968.  We are the first generation that learned from experience, in our innocent twenties, that things were not really getting better, that we shall not overcome.  We felt, by the time we reached thirty, that we had already glimpsed the most compassionate leaders our nation could produce, and they had all been assassinated.  And from this time forward, things would get worse:  our best political leaders were part of memory now, not hope.  

The stone was at the bottom of the hill and we were alone.

Fifty years later, how much has really changed?  Has the raw passion and terror heard and seen that night in the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles morphed into a fatalistic depression about the future?

When Henry Jackson, U.S. Senator from Washington (who later ran for President in 1976), learned of Kennedy's shooting, stated, "The world has gone mad."

The world went mad in the early morning of June 5, 1968, there in the kitchen of the Ambassador Hotel, and fifty years later -- fifty years of violence, of mass shootings, of the murder of school children, fifty years of anger and hate later -- we have yet to regain any semblance of sanity.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

Going back to my morning coffee . . .

How can I go back to my morning coffee after hearing about the horrific events last night in Las Vegas, Nevada?

And yet, that's exactly what I am doing.

I am writing this at around 11 a.m., Eastern time, with a coffee container to my left.  I woke this morning to hear a report of 20 dead and multiple wounded in Las Vegas.  A half-hour later, the death toll had risen to 50. 

By now, we all know the drill:  Lone gunman, usually a white male, who opens fire on a crowd with a military-style weapon, then shoots himself as the police close in on him.  It's happened before.  It will probably happen again.  It happened at Columbine (in that situation, there were two gunmen).  It happened in Orlando.   It happened at Sandy Hook.  Last night, it happened in Las Vegas. 

And here I sit, going back to my morning coffee.

I've grown numb to the reports of violence, shootings, and stabbings in our world.  What was once a shocking, horrific, rare event has become commonplace.  I don't even know how many mass shootings we have had in the last ten, twenty years.  Statistics depend on how you define the term "mass shooting". 

The Islamic State has claimed responsibility for the shooting.  However, they have no evidence that they did it.  I will remind people that in the very early moments of 9/11, the PLO claimed responsibility for the attacks on the Twin Towers, and it turned out they didn't do it.

My friend Bron just posted the following tweet:  "We have reached a density of mass shootings where even pointing out that we aren't going to do anything feels tired and oversaid.@emmettRensin" 

We, as a country, are just tired and numb.  We're overrun with violence and bad news.  I have a filter on my Facebook feed that keeps out things I don't want to read about, and even then, reports of violence and turmoil creep in. 

Which is probably why I go back to my morning coffee.

What is there left to be said?  What is there left to be done?  Calls for gun control fall on deaf ears, and our pleas to "love one another" and "stop the hate" seem to do no good.  

Right now, I say my prayers for the people of Las Vegas, for the first responders, for the dead and wounded, even for the soul of the shooter, and for his family.

And then, I end up going back to my morning coffee.  :-(

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

I am just weary . . .

I don't know what to say about the massacre in Charleston, South Carolina that left nine people dead at the hands of a racist bigot. 

Except that I am weary.

I am weary of the violence in this country.
I am weary of the lack of progress in race relations.
I am weary of the constant charges of "racism" and the actual practice of racism.
I am weary of the bickering and fighting among people that changes nothing.
I am weary of my own impotence and inability to do anything about the problems facing us as a nation. 

Right now, I am also physically weary, and that isn't helping me any. 

But right now, I am just weary.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.