“You're right, it's not just about George Floyd aka ‘Murder and Trauma in a Life Course Perspective’”
I've been struck by constant evocations of "This (usually violence and destruction) is not about George Floyd." It's been interesting to note the predictable polarization as people struggle over the legitimacy of different forms of behavior. To be clear, I have no interest in doing that. I do not adjudicate appropriate emotional and behavioral responses to murder. I do think my experience can be helpful to understand the historicity of pain and rage, however. It can help us see that pain can never be confined to a single moment.
I was six or seven the first time I saw someone shot. I won’t say where. My neighborhood of origin is too often upheld as a problematic hotspot, rather than a complex and beautiful community thriving in spite of challenging social conditions. I’ll just say, if you know where I’m from, you know where I’m from. People who do may even appreciate that reference. So, I was six or seven. I was playing in the front yard in the middle of the day and this young man was shot in a drive-by. I remember being embarrassed for him as we all gawked while the paramedics cut off his underwear in broad daylight right in front of us. He had been shot in the ass.
I was in early elementary school the first time I heard someone die. I was no stranger to violence by then. Based on my quick estimations just now, I knew at least seven people who were murdered by my 10th birthday. I heard people dying at other times, but my first flits into my consciousness most often and is most relevant today. Kind of like an end to a particular kind of violence-virginity. I often wish that I didn’t speak Spanish so that the memory of that young man’s words, spoken using his last breaths, wouldn’t haunt me into my thirties.
As I said, I was no stranger to violence by that point. So, I lie awake on my couch in the living room in the middle of the night. Awakened by a young man screaming in agony. I was young, but I knew this was different. I could tell by the plea and fear in his voice that he was dying. I lie awake on that couch, dying a bit inside myself, though I didn't know it at the time. I listened to him beg for his life—a silent witness to what I knew was a useless plea. He had been shot. He was dying. He was begging for someone to comfort him in his death throes as he bled out in an alley. But all he had was me—and likely other neighbors—bearing silent witness to his misery. Do you know what he did throughout? Beg for his mother. Just like George Floyd. Just like so many other black and brown people in this country. Victims to race-based, class-based, police-based and lots-of-other-shit-based forms of systemic injustice.
And, that brings us back to today. I say to those who are perplexed: a moment can never be separated from its historical, material, and social context. When you strive to live a self-determined life amid trauma, systemic violence, and widespread victimization, pain is never crystalized in a single life. Indeed, murder has never been singular in the history of the oppressed.
So to those saying, "this isn't about George Floyd." I say to you, you’re right. It isn't. For me, and others like me, this pain is about much more. It’s about the countless ancestors who have been murdered and discarded. It’s about other friends and family members who have been murdered and antagonized by police and non-police alike. And, it’s about the socially-determined material conditions that pave the way for our suffering.
So, in a tale of murder and trauma over the life course, it’s about many people. It’s about Magdiel Sanchez. It’s about George Floyd. It’s about Breonna Taylor. It’s about Sandra Bland. It’s about Tony McDade. And, for me alone, it’s also about that nameless young man and my transmutation back into that terrified little girl who will carry the memory of him in his darkest moment for the rest of my life. So I say, behavior can never be disentangled from material and social conditions. Trauma is never separable from historical context. We need to stop acting as if it is.
I was six or seven the first time I saw someone shot. I won’t say where. My neighborhood of origin is too often upheld as a problematic hotspot, rather than a complex and beautiful community thriving in spite of challenging social conditions. I’ll just say, if you know where I’m from, you know where I’m from. People who do may even appreciate that reference. So, I was six or seven. I was playing in the front yard in the middle of the day and this young man was shot in a drive-by. I remember being embarrassed for him as we all gawked while the paramedics cut off his underwear in broad daylight right in front of us. He had been shot in the ass.
I was in early elementary school the first time I heard someone die. I was no stranger to violence by then. Based on my quick estimations just now, I knew at least seven people who were murdered by my 10th birthday. I heard people dying at other times, but my first flits into my consciousness most often and is most relevant today. Kind of like an end to a particular kind of violence-virginity. I often wish that I didn’t speak Spanish so that the memory of that young man’s words, spoken using his last breaths, wouldn’t haunt me into my thirties.
As I said, I was no stranger to violence by that point. So, I lie awake on my couch in the living room in the middle of the night. Awakened by a young man screaming in agony. I was young, but I knew this was different. I could tell by the plea and fear in his voice that he was dying. I lie awake on that couch, dying a bit inside myself, though I didn't know it at the time. I listened to him beg for his life—a silent witness to what I knew was a useless plea. He had been shot. He was dying. He was begging for someone to comfort him in his death throes as he bled out in an alley. But all he had was me—and likely other neighbors—bearing silent witness to his misery. Do you know what he did throughout? Beg for his mother. Just like George Floyd. Just like so many other black and brown people in this country. Victims to race-based, class-based, police-based and lots-of-other-shit-based forms of systemic injustice.
And, that brings us back to today. I say to those who are perplexed: a moment can never be separated from its historical, material, and social context. When you strive to live a self-determined life amid trauma, systemic violence, and widespread victimization, pain is never crystalized in a single life. Indeed, murder has never been singular in the history of the oppressed.
So to those saying, "this isn't about George Floyd." I say to you, you’re right. It isn't. For me, and others like me, this pain is about much more. It’s about the countless ancestors who have been murdered and discarded. It’s about other friends and family members who have been murdered and antagonized by police and non-police alike. And, it’s about the socially-determined material conditions that pave the way for our suffering.
So, in a tale of murder and trauma over the life course, it’s about many people. It’s about Magdiel Sanchez. It’s about George Floyd. It’s about Breonna Taylor. It’s about Sandra Bland. It’s about Tony McDade. And, for me alone, it’s also about that nameless young man and my transmutation back into that terrified little girl who will carry the memory of him in his darkest moment for the rest of my life. So I say, behavior can never be disentangled from material and social conditions. Trauma is never separable from historical context. We need to stop acting as if it is.