How we save the next young black man’s life

On a hot afternoon in 2004, the summer before my senior year, I was cycling alone on a bike trail in rural Pasco County, where I was well known in the community as a standout high school athlete. I excelled at football. My doctor had advised me that riding a bike was a good alternative workout given the tendinitis in my two knees.

As I cruised the rural bike trail, I was suddenly approached by a police officer, who commanded me to stop.

I complied. It was just me and him. A black teenager and a white police officer. He told me that someone had called to report suspicious activity along the bike trail. He peppered me with questions. He asked where I was headed. I responded — naturally and truthfully — that I was cycling for exercise. He asked for my name and identification.

I complied. I grew anxious and tense with each minute. He then looked at my ID and appeared to recognize my name. He asked if I played football. I said, “Yes, sir.” He then returned the ID to and told me to be safe.

Fortunately for me, that bike ride was not my last.

The same cannot be said for Ahmaud Arbery, who went for a jog on February 23 outside Brunswick, Georgia, was pursued by two men, confronted and shot to death. Or 17-year-old Trayvon Martin who was shot and killed by a neighborhood watch coordinator in 2012 in Sanford, Fla.

Deaths like that of Arbery and Martin, two young African-American men, are way too common. We’ve learned that the combination of vigilantes, citizen’s arrest, and racial profiling are recipes for tragic deaths of unarmed black men in this country.

In the cases, of Arbery and Treyvon, the shooters were acting as law enforcement, judge, jury, and executioner — when no crime was committed. In both high-profile shootings, and so many others, the men were seen as threats, for no other reason than they were black.

Ask yourselves, if any of these victims were not black, would they seem out of place and would their presence in the neighborhood even be questioned?

Racism is a social disease. It kills compassion, empathy, and all levels of reasoning. Rather than seeing a young man going for a Sunday afternoon jog to feel the sun touch his skin and the cool Georgia breeze hit his face, the killers saw “a black male running down the street.”

So what can be done to save another innocent black man’s life? I genuinely believe that if implicit bias and sensitivity training is incorporated in grade school curriculums, this could be a revolutionary step in fighting the disease we call racism.

This should also be the norm and not the exception in hiring practices for every industry — including law enforcement and prosecutor’s offices. Reducing the influence of implicit bias can strengthen the relationships between the various institutions and minority communities.

According to The Stanford Open Policing Project, blacks were stopped and searched at a much higher rate than any racial demographic in Broward.

Law enforcement offices, State Attorney’s and Public Defender’s offices should have robust implicit bias training programs.

Nearly 57% of Broward’s population are racial minorities and we must create an environment where all children and lives are safe. My wife and I have a two-yearold son and we worry every day how we are going to shield and raise our son in this dangerous world.

As a black man, husband to a wife who is an immigrant, as a father to a black son, and as a concerned Broward County citizen, I beg that all of the stakeholders — the School Board, the Broward Sheriff ’s Office, various police chiefs and business owners, do everything in their power to incorporate implicit bias and sensitivity training in their institutional practices.

Viewing young black men as human beings — not as an imminent threat — could help finally bring to an end this violent cycle of injustice. It’s a matter of life and death.