By Donna Evans
The day of George Floyd’s funeral I was homebound and feeling vulnerable. I’d just entered into remission from cancer and was still battling a number of medical issues. These conditions made me a high-risk patient who couldn’t risk going out during the pandemic. That’s why I was home in my bedroom on the day of the funeral.
Like most people, I never liked going to funerals, yet I respect the value of them as a way to honor the dead and instruct the living. This is one funeral I would never have missed. Even though I was alone in my bedroom, I felt at one with the countless others who were watching and rewatching the video of George Floyd’s death, and who kept up the “No Justice, No Peace” demonstrations.
As Reverend Al Sharpton began delivering the eulogy, I felt myself merge with and embrace the other mourners at the funeral. I remembered myself as a child watching the funerals of John F. Kennedy and Dr. Martin Luther King. I realized there was a common thread.
As Reverend Sharpton walked us through the journey of George Floyd’s life, I thought, “Wait! This journey sounds familiar.” Yes, my family and I had many negative experiences growing up in Black and Brown communities.
During my childhood, my family struggled financially and I ended up in the projects—“subsidized housing.” Instead of a welcome basket when we moved into the neighborhood, we got a message written on our sidewalk, “Niggers go back.” Someone had dumped food on our walkway as well. Over and over again I watched my family struggle against prejudice, racism, and social injustice, whether it was in housing, employment, or education.
And yet, my mother was an independent, god-fearing woman who raised us to be respectful and responsible on every level. She knew what responsibility was—her parents had thirteen children and she had helped raise her siblings. Yet, no matter how hard she worked, she was always kind and loved to speak to everyone.
One day she went to the bank to cash her check and then go to the local convenience store. At the cash register she paid for her items with the hundred-dollar bill she got at the bank. The clerk informed her that her money was counterfeit. My mother explained where she got the bill and the clerk told her to go back to the bank, but he kept her money. When my mom called me, she was upset by the incident and angry that the clerk stole her money. When I look back, I feel bad for my mom—but then I realize that George Floyd’s story could have been my mom’s story.
These problems aren’t over. There have been days I’ve been stopped like a cheap watch—every second. I’ve worked at places where people would walk by me every day and not say hello. You’re wondering why I didn’t go to human resources? It’s that privilege thing. Often the person who was the problem was a friend of the human resources director. As a result, I’ve lived with countless acts of blatant disrespect.
That’s why it felt like Reverend Sharpton was speaking for me and my mother and all the people in the Black and Brown community when he said at the funeral:
We are not fighting some disconnected incidents. We are fighting an institutional, systemic problem that has been allowed to permeate since we were brought to these shores and we are fighting wickedness in high places. When you can put your knee on a man’s neck and hold it there for 8 minutes and 46 seconds, that’s not even normal to a civilian, less known to a police officer. Try it when you go home to put your knee down on something and hold it there that long. You got to be full of a lot of venom. Full of something that really motivates you to press down your weight that long and not give up. . . . George Floyd’s story has been the story of black folks because ever since 401 years ago, the reason we could never be who we wanted and dreamed to be is you kept your knee on our neck.
Hearing those words, remembering those pains, made me feel sad, and tired, and angry as the day went on. But I knew I couldn’t be so discouraged that I gave up. I remembered that Martin Luther King told us:
If you can’t fly, run;
If you can’t run, walk;
If you can’t walk, crawl;
But by all means keep moving.
And suddenly Reverend Sharpton’s words cut through my thinking, reminding me of the simple truth of how we can all move forward together.
Jesus told the story that there was a man laying by the side of the road. He’d been robbed and beaten. They said one man came by that was his same race, his fellow brother, and he kept walking. Then another man came by that was steeped and well-read in the scriptures. Knew every scripture, knew how to quote the book back and forward. But he only quoted the book, he never lived by the book. And he kept walking. But Jesus said a third man came by and he stopped and looked at the man. He wasn’t the same race, wasn’t the same religion. But he picked the man up and he took care of restoring the man to his rightful being. And Jesus called him the Good Samaritan. The problem is too many of you have been walking by the Eric Garners, been walking by the Trayvon Martins, been walking by the Arberys, been walking by. And now we stopped for George Floyd.
Depending on who you are, watching the video of George Floyd dying may or may not remind you of your own mother or brother or husband or father. But the Bible reminds us that the Good Samaritan stopped for the man who wasn’t the same race or same religion. It’s a simple story with a powerful truth. Why not make this the beginning of a new age of Good Samaritans?
