I’m exhausted. After a week of grieving for black lives needlessly extinguished I have a headache, clenched jaw, and no words left. After a week. Yet black people in this country have endured this exhaustion—and much, much worse—for four hundred years.
I enjoy riding bikes, motorcycles, hiking, fishing, hunting, paddling, off-roading, and climbing in the outdoors because I feel a sense of freedom when I do these things. I grew up doing these things and they made me who I am today. They challenge me and I become stronger. They inspire me and I create. They introduce me to the unknown and I learn. These activities are a force of good in my life and I take that for granted. But this isn't about me.
I've snuck into old buildings on bike rides and didn't get shot. Ahmed Aubrey did just that on a jog and was shot dead.
I've asked people to follow the rules in public parks. Christian Cooper asked a woman to leash her dog so it wouldn't harass the birds he was watching. She called 911 and told them a black man was attacking her.
I sleep soundly in my own bed each night. Breonna Taylor was sleeping innocently at home when police kicked down the wrong door without a warrant and shot her dead.
I've been wrongfully detained and ticketed by the police without dying. George Floyd cooperated peacefully and had his neck kneeled on until he was dead.
I've pedalled into a strange town after dark and didn't think twice about sidling up to the bar to order a burger.
I've broken into my own car at a trailhead and had people just chuckle at me.
I can walk into an REI and check out gear without getting stares from other customers.
Black people do not have any of these privileges.
In our 2019 survey of Oregon Timber Trail riders, exactly zero identified themselves as Black or African American. 95.3% were white. Black people do not ride the Oregon Timber Trail because black people have been systematically excluded, threatened, and killed for taking up space in the outdoors. That’s hard to talk about. And it's easy to ignore when you've got shiny bikes and loamy singletrack in front of you. Or rather, it's easy for white people to ignore. Black people do not have this privilege.
I know—as a white person—that it stings a little to admit that. You probably felt it too: "But I'm different!" Admitting that racism exists isn't an attack on you. You don't have your knee on anyone's neck, right? But the inescapable fact is that black people are killed and incarcerated at rates far higher than white people. Racism is ingrained in every every aspect of our lives. Black lives are more important than our egos and we have work to do. Black people have a knee on their neck and we need to do more than shrug.
The OTTA doesn't have any solutions to fix four hundred years of racial persecution. But we can admit that it exists and commit to removing these barriers that are invisible to so many of us. Our nonprofit was born in 2016. We're all volunteers. We're growing, learning, and planning but we don't have deep pockets or systems in place to flip switches and solve problems. But we do have you. There's a lot of you out there who continually surprise us with your enthusiasm, thoughtfulness, and generosity.
And we have joy. Protests and anger are a natural and cathartic response to injustices and grief, but joy is what inspires change. The reason the Oregon Timber Trail exists today is because we strongly believe that it enables profound and joyful experiences in wild places. And we want those experiences to be available for everyone.
So we're asking you—yes, you 95.3% white people: What can we do to make sure black lives matter? Or even better—how can we make sure black lives thrive? Let's make the outdoors a place where black lives are welcome, inspired, educated, and nurtured—just like the outdoors was and continues to be for me. Let's listen, grieve, and challenge ourselves to make space for black lives. How should gear manufacturers and retailers evolve? How should bike events and competitions be structured to provide the same opportunities for everyone? How can can we provide conservation and education opportunities for black people? And trail organizations like us: how do we make black people feel welcome on backcountry trails, on a mountain bike saddle, at our stewardship events, and in our rural gateway communities?
How can we do that?
We're serious, we want your ideas. Fill out the form below, email us, DM us, comment, tag us, whatever.
We’re listening.
Gabriel Tiller
Executive Director
Oregon Timber Trail Alliance
oregontimbertrail@gmail.com
NOTE:
Messages dismissing or minimizing the reality and violence of racism will be ignored/deleted and you will be blocked. We are interested in solutions, not internet debates. If our anti-racism offends you, you are welcome to be silent, unfollow, or unsubscribe without announcing your departure. This includes but is not limited to:
“All lives matter.”
“Reverse racism.”
“Black on black crime."
“Property destruction doesn’t solve anything.”
Pretty much any statement that starts with “But…”
DONATE:
If you want to donate money to organizations fighting racism in Oregon here are a few:
LEARN:
If you want to learn more about dismantling systemic racism here is a good place to start: bit.ly/ANTIRACISMRESOURCES
ACT:
Here are 75 Things White People Can Do for Racial Justice
FOLLOW:
Some Instagram accounts focusing on racial justice in the outdoors:
“I imagine one of the reasons people cling to their hates so stubbornly is because they sense, once hate is gone, they will be forced to deal with pain.”
“If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor. If an elephant has its foot on the tail of a mouse, and you say that you are neutral, the mouse will not appreciate your neutrality.”