无码视频

As  fell to the ground, the sound of the gunshot that took his life echoed loudly throughout his Georgia neighborhood.

I rewound the video of his killing. Each time I viewed it, I was drawn first to the young Black jogger鈥檚 seemingly carefree stride, which was halted by two White men in a white pickup truck.

Then I peered at Gregory McMichael, 64, and his son, Trevor, 34, who confronted Arbery in their suburban community.

I knew that the McMichaels told authorities that they suspected Arbery of robbing a nearby home in the neighborhood. They were performing a citizen鈥檚 arrest, they said.

The video shows Arbery jogging down the street, and the McMichaels blocking his path with their vehicle. First, a scuffle. Then, gunshots at point-blank range .

My eyes traveled to the towering trees onscreen, which might have been the last things that Arbery saw. How many of those same trees, I wondered, had witnessed similar lynchings? And how many of those lynchings had been photographed, to offer a final blow of humiliation to the dying?

A series of modern lynchings

It may be jarring to see that word鈥斺�攗sed to describe Arbery鈥檚 Feb. 23, 2020, killing. But many Black people have shared with me that his death鈥攆ollowed by 鈥檚 and now 鈥檚 police-involved murders鈥攈earkens back to a long tradition of killing Black people without repercussion.

Perhaps even more  is the ease with which some of these deaths can be viewed online. In my new book, 鈥�,鈥� I call for Americans to stop viewing footage of Black people dying so casually.

Instead, cellphone videos of vigilante violence and fatal police encounters should be viewed like lynching photographs鈥攚ith solemn reserve and careful circulation. To understand this shift in viewing context, I believe that exploring how people became so comfortable viewing Black people鈥檚 dying moments in the first place is useful.

Images of Black people鈥檚 deaths pervasive

Every major era of domestic terror against African Americans鈥攕lavery, lynching, and police brutality鈥攈as an accompanying iconic photograph.

The most familiar image of slavery is the  of 鈥淲hipped Peter,鈥� whose back bears an intricate cross section of scars.

Famous images of lynchings include the  of the mob who murdered Thomas Shipp and Abram Smith in Marion, Indiana. A wild-eyed White man appears at the bottom of the frame, pointing upward to the Black men鈥檚 hanged bodies. The image inspired Abel Meeropol to write the poem 鈥�,鈥� which was later turned into a song that blues singer Billie Holiday sang around the world.

Twenty-five years later, the 1955 photos of  maimed body became a new generation鈥檚 cultural touchstone. The 14-year-old Black boy was beaten, shot. and thrown into a river by White men after a White woman accused him of whistling at her. She later admitted that she lied.

Throughout the 1900s, and until today, police brutality against Black people has been immortalized by the media too. Americans have watched government officials  on young civil rights protesters, unleash  and wield  against peaceful marchers, and shoot and tase today鈥檚 Black men, women, and children鈥攆irst on the televised evening news, and, eventually, on cellphones that could distribute the footage online.

When I conducted the interviews for my book, many Black people told me that they carry this historical reel of violence against their ancestors in their heads. That鈥檚 why, for them, watching modern versions of these hate crimes is too painful to bear.

Still, other groups of Black people believe that the videos do serve a purpose, to educate the masses about race relations in the U.S. I believe these tragic videos can serve both purposes, but it will take effort.

Reviving the 鈥榮hadow archive鈥�

In the early 1900s, when the news of a lynching was fresh, some of the nation鈥檚 first civil rights organizations circulated any available images of the lynching widely, to raise awareness of the atrocity. They did this by publishing the images in Black magazines and newspapers.

After that image reached peak circulation, it was typically removed from public view and placed into a 鈥�,鈥� within a newsroom, library, or museum. Reducing the circulation of the image was intended to make the public鈥檚 gaze more somber and respectful.

The NAACP has often used this technique. In 1916, for example, the group published a horrific photograph of Jesse Washington, a 17-year-old boy who was hanged and burned in Waco, Texas, in its flagship magazine, 鈥�.鈥�

Memberships in the civil rights organization skyrocketed as a result. Blacks and Whites wanted to know how to help. The NAACP used the money to push for anti-lynching legislation. It purchased a series of  in The New York Times to lobby leading politicians.

Though the NAACP endures today, neither its website nor its Instagram page bears casual images of lynching victims. Even when the organization issued a , it refrained from reposting the chilling video within its missive. That restraint shows a degree of respect that not all news outlets and social media users have used.

A curious double standard

Critics of the shadow archive may argue that once a photograph reaches the internet, pulling it back from future news reports is difficult.

This is, however, simply not true.

Images of White people鈥檚 deaths are .

It is difficult to find online, for example, imagery from any of the numerous mass shootings of scores of White victims. Those murdered in the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting of 2012, or at the Las Vegas music festival of 2017, are most often remembered in .

In my view, cellphone videos of Black people being killed should be given this same consideration. Just as past generations of activists used these images briefly鈥攁nd only in the context of social justice efforts鈥攕o, too, should today鈥檚 imagery retreat from view quickly.

The suspects in Arbery鈥檚 killing have been arrested. The Minneapolis police officers involved in Floyd鈥檚 death have been fired and placed under investigation. The videos of their deaths have served the purpose of attracting public outrage.

To me, airing the tragic footage on TV, in autoplay videos on websites and social media is no longer serving its  and is now simply exploitative.

Likening the fatal footage of Ahmaud Arbery and George Floyd to lynching photographs invites us to treat them more thoughtfully. We can respect these images. We can handle them with care. In the quiet, final frames, we can share their last moments with them, if we choose. We do not let them die alone. We do not let them disappear into the hush of knowing trees.

This article was originally published by . It has been published here with permission.