White Militias | Black Lives - The Good Men Project

I want to continue to reflect on my time at the Louisville protests for Breonna Taylor as time moves along. I feel there was so much that I pulled from my experiences, and some of the more intense experiences are something that I need to debrief about by way of writing. With that said, please join me in walking through an experience I will never forget.

Before I get started, I want to take a brief pause to note that I am not writing this piece to shine a light on what I did at the protests. These protests are not about me. However, I do think it is important to share the experiences from these protests as it helps provide evidence of what it truly means to stand up in this fight.

The Game Changed

As I was driving into Louisville, I kept trying to picture in my mind what these protests would feel like and what they would mean in the grand scheme of things. I figured they would be different from the protests that we have frequently held up here in Michigan. I understood that I would be a part of something that was not like anything I have ever experienced.

On the first day of protesting, I truly began to feel the weight of what was happening in Louisville. I learned that the local community had been protesting non-stop for over 120 days. The community looked tired yet determined. They looked bruised, but not broken. They looked weary but presented with a strength not understood by those on the outside.

Photo from the author

As we began our second round of marches around the block, we came across a group of people in a parking lot. We all noticed that they were white folks who were wearing camo, carrying guns, and who were standing with smug looks of righteous indignation plastered across their faces. Much of the group I was with went inside the fence to confront these people. I stayed on the outside in order to stay with one of our group members that wanted to go around the backside of the parking lot. As we were walking around the corner, we ran into a group of protesters standing by and observing one of these white militiamen by his car.

As my friend and I stood there for about 10 seconds, we heard one of the protestors scream, “everybody move, get out of the way!!”.

At that point, I realized this man that was about 6 feet away from us had his finger on the trigger of his rifle, and it was pointed at the crowd. So we quickly sprinted out of the way to try to avoid any bullets that could be coming at us at any second. As we rounded another corner, I saw another protestor calling out this man who had the gun and told him to never point his weapon with the finger on the trigger. The protestor said, “yea, you aren’t gonna do shit.” while the militia member maintained his finger on the trigger.

I followed my friend around to the backside of the parking lot after this incident and witnessed two other white men getting dressed in body armor and loading guns. As I got closer, I realized he was wearing a red patch that showed us that he was a 3 percenter. These 3 percenters are supposed to be a group that protects people from the government by any means necessary. They are reportedly anti-government and are very vocal about this.

Photo from the author

Scared and Confused

Yet all these anti-government white militiamen were there to stand in solidarity with the cops, the National Guard, the FBI, and Homeland Security.

So they weren’t there to stand against the government. They were there to stand against the movement. They were there to aggressively posture against those of us that stood on the side of justice. They came in to flex their white fragility for the world to see. They didn’t have a problem with the government; they had a problem with the fact that we were all marching for Black lives.

During this time, most protesters were still inside the fence calling these white folks out. The militia didn’t do anything. They were scared. They were physically trembling. They talked about it, dressed up to try to prove something, but they weren’t really about it. They were cowards hiding behind guns, just like the cops that killed Breonna Taylor. They wore camo as if their faux military presence would strike fear into anyone.

As the parking lot cleared out, one of Louisville’s main activists walked out, and he was livid. He was screaming at the militiamen to shoot him. He said, “Fucking do it! You aren’t gonna do fucking shit!”. This was the same activist that told people at the beginning of the march, “If you’re scared, stay the fuck home.” He wasn’t lying about what this could cost.

After seeing him confront these folks, I realized fear had no place in this fight. It is all or nothing. We were there to fight for justice, and I had to come to the conclusion that there was a chance that my life could be taken for doing this. I embraced that thought, and I let it fuel me to never back down.

Real Life

The streets of this country are soaked with the blood of Black folks that never received justice, and I will be damned if I allow my whiteness to protect me when I have the chance to step in and stop what folks like these cowardly militiamen were doing.

After this particular experience, I realized a few different things. I am not in this to be a superhero. I will learn to do my best to protect Black voices by any means necessary, but I will only act under the direction of Black leadership. I will stand against white supremacy even if it kills me.

This isn’t a game, and white folks that dip their toe in just to say they did something need to stay far away from the movement.

White militias are just white supremacy groups without the hoods. They have camo outfits, and they have guns to “protect people from the government”, yet they stood in solidarity with the government they claim to hate. They did not want Black voices to be heard, but Black voices never backed down even in the most dangerous of situations.

This all showed me that stepping into a warzone means accepting the idea that I may die for this cause but that it was my responsibility to push forward regardless. It helped me understand that cowardice and hesitation have no place in the fight for Black lives. It allowed me to understand that I must be willing to scream “Black Lives Matter” while staring down a barrel of a gun, and I must do so with conviction and with an understanding of what those consequences may entail.

Change is here. The time is now. If you are unsure how to fight in this war, seek out Black leadership and Black activists in your community and ask what you can do to make a change.

Standing up for justice could mean that we use our white bodies as shields between armed white supremacists and the Black lives that we are there to stand up for.

Black Lives Matter.

There is no sacrifice in writing that statement. However, proving that I believe that statement could cost me my life.

I am ready.

Are you?