PREFACE

Note on capitalization: I capitalize “Black” and lowercase “white” when referring to these two identity groups to follow Brookings’ recent decision, after months of research, to change its style guide in this way. Brookings’ rationale is as follows: “It is an act in recognition of racial respect for those who have been generations in the ‘lower case.’”¹

When I conceived the idea for Black Fatigue in the fall of 2019, Black colleagues and friends urged me to write it as soon as possible. They said we need to chronicle the fear, frustration, anguish, and, yes, rage that is a regular part of many Black people’s daily lives and how it affects the mind, body, and spirit. “Living while Black” is a term coined to embrace the myriad unjust and inequitable experiences that are relentless and too often lead to violence against Black people.

This was before the COVID-19 outbreak in January 2020 and the global, organized, and powerful rebellions against systemic racism that started in May 2020. These events changed the world as we know it forever and served to put a spotlight on Black fatigue.

Hundreds of thousands of people all over the world died from the highly contagious virus, for which there was no vaccine at the time. Black and Brown people were disproportionately affected, dying at rates two to four times the rate of white people. Black people were also more likely to lose their jobs during the pandemic or have essential jobs that meant greater exposure to the disease. Shelter-in-place orders were enacted, and food and other essentials were scarce. Makeshift hospitals were set up to accommodate the surge in cases, and miles-long lines of cars waiting for food rations were common. People all over the world were enduring unimaginable stress and pain. Black people were even more severely affected.

And then, over the course of 30 days in the spring of 2020, the public learned of the tragic deaths of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, and George Floyd. They were unarmed Black people killed at the hands of law enforcement. There were others who did not get the same media attention, such as Tony McDade, a Black transgender man who was killed by the police in Florida, though the reports indicate that the circumstances around his death are “murky.” Nina Pop, a Black transgender woman, was stabbed to death in Missouri in a possible hate crime. Two Black men were found hanging from trees in neighboring communities in California under suspicious circumstances.

George Floyd’s murder was the tipping point. Many sat in disbelief and horror as they watched the video footage, taken by a 17-year-old girl, of Minneapolis police officer Derek Chauvin, with his hands in his pockets, blatantly and cavalierly pressing his knee against Floyd’s neck for 8 minutes and 46 seconds. Floyd pleaded for his life. He said 15 times, “I can’t breathe, officer.” He was pronounced dead at the scene, and it would be days before any charges were brought against Chauvin and weeks before charges were brought against the other three officers involved. In the case of Ahmaud Arbery, he was gunned down in Georgia as he was jogging in his neighborhood; the public did not hear of it for almost two months, and it took another month for the perpetrators (self-proclaimed law enforcers) to be arrested. Breonna Taylor was in her apartment in Louisville, Kentucky, when police, executing a no-knock search warrant for drugs in the middle of the night, shot her at least eight times. They had entered the wrong house.

These tragic incidents in a short time span in 2020 amplified, in gory detail, the centuries-old, willful disregard for Black lives. We were reminded of the period in our history when Black men were lynched, put on public display as a means of terrorizing and controlling. These recent deaths are examples of modern-day lynching. And there are so many more examples throughout history of Black people being targeted and killed. One of the most famous atrocities is that of Emmett Till, the 14-year-old who was lynched in Mississippi in 1955 for allegedly whistling at a white woman.² There are a number of high-profile cases in recent history, such as those of Trayvon Martin (2012), Michael Brown (2014), Tamir Rice (2014), Botham Jean (2019), Philando Castile (2016), and Eric Garner (2014). A NewsOne report released in June, shares the stories of 83 Black men and boys that have been killed by police since 2012.³

Around the same time as George Floyd’s murder, Amy Cooper (a white woman) was walking her dog in Central Park and Christian Cooper (not related, a Black man) was bird-watching. He requested that she keep her dog leashed in accordance with park regulations. She refused to do so, and a verbal dispute ensued, with Ms. Cooper calling 911, ranting that an African American man was threatening her and her dog. Mr. Cooper remained calm throughout the ordeal, urging her to call authorities. Ms. Cooper was fired from her job at a large financial services company.

With the Black community already at a heightened level of stress from dealing with the multiple disparate impacts of COVID-19 on Black people, these all-too-familiar racist incidents were the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. They sparked monthlong fervent protests by people across the spectrum of diversity who globally denounced police brutality and demanded racial justice. These rebellions, mostly peaceful, signaled a new movement against anti-Black racism that proclaimed, enough is enough. We are exhausted from dealing with racism and violence against Black people. Symbols of racism such as confederate flags and other historical monuments were dismantled forcibly, and in other cases, lawmakers decided to remove them.

When I conceived the idea for Black Fatigue, I certainly could not have foretold the imminence of this renewed demand for racial justice. The accumulated pain and trauma from centuries of violence perpetrated against Black people reached the boiling point. It was inevitable because history has taught us that oppressed people will rebel when they just cannot take it anymore.

In response to this outcry to end racism, many organizations seemed to wake up overnight with a frenzied sense of urgency and began to develop new strategies and initiatives. They issued statements of solidarity, scheduled town hall sessions with all employees to proclaim their commitment to ensuring racist-free work environments and pledged millions of dollars to organizations focused on eradicating racism. The Winters Group was retained by several companies to conduct sessions with Black employees to provide a safe space for them to share their feelings and with white employees to summarize the history of racism and provide guidelines for allyship.

Perhaps not surprisingly, many white people claim to not have much understanding of why Black people are fatigued. We conduct a poll during virtual sessions with white employees that asks, How much knowledge do you have about the history of racism in the United States? Only about 10 percent of the mostly white audiences say that they are very knowledgeable. This book will provide a great resource to enhance white people’s education.

In the sessions with Black employees, they overwhelmingly reported that they were already exhausted and, because of the events of 2020, they were now downright fatigued. They openly shared stories of the emotional burden of living and working in spaces that diminish their existence. Many were skeptical that the proclamations by their organizations to do a better job of creating safe and welcoming environments for Black employees were more than empty promises.

In 2013, before the 2020 rebellions for racial justice, the Black Lives Matter movement was started by three young women in response to the acquittal of George Zimmerman, who killed 17-year-old Trayvon Martin as he walked home from the store with a bag of Skittles. Now known as the Black Lives Matter Global Network with chapters around the world, its purpose is to intervene when violence is inflicted on Black communities. This new age of activism ignited by millennials (1980-1996) and members of Generation Z (1997–2012) is reminiscent of the civil rights movement of the 1960s. For example, the Black Panther Party for Self-Defense was born, in part, out of a response to the killing of Matthew Johnson, an unarmed Black 16-year-old, in San Francisco in 1966.

Black Fatigue highlights the history of white supremacist, racist systems that have led to Black intergenerational fatigue. It focuses on the impact of Black fatigue not only on Blacks but also on society. The racist system is not just literally killing Black people; it is tearing the whole nation apart. In every aspect of life, from socioeconomics to education, the workforce, criminal justice, and, very importantly, health outcomes, for the most part the trajectory for Black people is not improving. It is paradoxical that with all the attention over the last 50 years on social justice and diversity and inclusion, we have made little progress in actualizing the vision of an equitable society.

I have been concerned for some time that the modern-day diversity movement, especially in corporate America, obfuscates racial issues that are unique to Black people. So often, I have been cautioned not to focus too much on race in diversity sessions. Of all the popular diversity topics (age, sex, gender identity, disability), white people, by and large, are most uncomfortable talking about race—especially Black people. It may be because of internalized white guilt. My hope is that, as a result of the new racial justice movement, the corporate world will no longer minimize the issues of Black people.

I ask white people to read this book not only to be educated on the history of racism but also to be motivated to become an antiracist, an ally, and a power broker for systemic change.

For Black, Indigenous, and other people of color (BIPOC) who read this book, I hope that it will also be educational and affirming, and that when one of your white colleagues asks you to educate them, you can refer them to this resource, so as not to exacerbate your fatigue.

Our lives have no meaning, no depth without the white gaze. And I have spent my entire writing life trying to make sure that the white gaze was not the dominant one in any of my books.

—Toni Morrison, American novelist, essayist, book editor, and college professor