Alan Tucker told Inside Edition Friday that he was responsible for releasing the vision, which showed his pals Gregory and Travis McMichael shooting Ahmaud Arbery in Brunswick on February 23.

At a press conference Friday, the director of the Georgia Bureau of Investigation Vic Reynolds said William 'Roddie' Bryan may also face arrest over the murder of black jogger Ahmaud Arbery, 25.

The unfortunate truth is that even in our ability to retreat into ignorance, we betray the disparity in our experiences and the systemic injustice in our culture.

For many in America, responding to the seemingly-endless shootings of African Americans has become a horrific form of muscle memory. After yet another tragedy like the shooting of Ahmaud Arbery occurs, we see similar patterns: an initial burst of reporting, followed quickly by social media commentary, followed by think-pieces across various platforms, followed by social media commentary on the think-pieces.

Within a week, however, the entire matter is tied up nicely and everyone is able to move on. Most of us forget as we return to being engrossed in our lives, only to be thrust back into this cycle when another new shooting is jarring enough to penetrate the blaring noise of our daily news-cycle.

The fact that Arbery was killed in February and many didn’t know until May speaks to our dependence upon images to incite response—a dependency that, as many have pointed out, dehumanizes victims and establishes a bar of proof we don’t demand of others.

Moreover, the fact that only images push us to take seriously these stories underlines the frenetic nature of our media landscape. So few stories not drenched in the political and culture wars theming our day are able to rise above the chaos to capture our attention. That many are feeling oversaturated and digitally burned out during our current crisis has only exacerbated this problem of ignorance.

The unfortunate truth is that even in our ability to retreat into ignorance, we betray the disparity in our experiences and the systemic injustice in our culture. While this story (despite being so relevant and discussed currently) will fade for most of us, for others this story is their experience. They carry it with them when they wonder if it is safe to go for runs in ...

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I wish the world saw me as a Christian first, not as a threat.

I was on my morning run as the sun was rising in the blue California skies. There was hardly anybody out at that time. You learn real young not to run too early in the morning or too late at night.

I guess I forgot the lessons, the safety agenda my parents taught me. They knew what would happen. I brought my identification like my wife tells me to every time I leave. During the run, I wasn’t worried about anything, and I felt good. I couldn’t wait to check my pace on my fitness tracker.

Then it happened. I looked in the distance, and there was this white man on his porch taking photos of me. Every shot he took, I got more confused. I said, “It’s a good morning out here, isn’t it?” as if me being respectable was going to shield me in this situation or get him to finally see me as a human.

He didn’t answer. Here we go again.

My fear quickly turned to rage. I wanted to fight for my dignity in the face of being documented by a stranger and being told I didn’t belong here. Policed by a man standing on his front porch. Right there in Southern California, the ghost of Jim Crow’s “What are you doing here, n—r?” showed up.

But ultimately, I felt powerless. I couldn’t even call the cops because they might’ve mistaken me for the aggressor. This is what black men have to deal with, while others can enjoy their runs. Again and again, year after year. This rage forces me to be angry about our reality and have the faith to believe that better is possible.

But on that day last year, my rage that turned into deep sadness. On the walk home, I stopped, bowed my head, and cried. These were not tears of weakness. I cried because I felt what many of those who looked ...

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