LEARN

After the racially charged killings of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, and George Floyd, I felt called as a Black man to expand outside of my comfort zone and capture the moments that may spark action without words.

As Gordon Parks said once: “I picked up a camera because it was my choice of weapons against what I hated most about the world; including racism, intolerance and poverty.”

As I entered this new world, with a cocky sense of importance that no one else could capture this quite like I could, I realized soon that what was happening before me was more important than myself, and I should honor these moments with humble conviction. 

I realized I had entered this new world when the photographs produced gained more traction than any of the words or actions that I could think of.

Breonna Taylor's death was important to me as a Black man because it finally cornered me.

I may not feel safe whenever I see blue and red lights whenever I’m driving.

I may not feel safe whenever I’m jogging through my neighborhood.

The last place I can feel comfort is in the safe confines of my home. And she was not afforded that right, meaning neither could I.

The details of Breonna Taylor's case were alarming yet underreported by much of the mainstream until the death of George Floyd.

No body cams were shown, and it took more than two months after her killing on March 13, 2020, for people to collectively say her name.

There was hope hidden in the anger.

Communities came together to support common cause. The hardship felt at the beginning of the pandemic was also met with mutual aid. Offerings of healing, mobilization of supportive actions, the likes of which I had never seen, were before us as well.

This mobilization of supportive actions was often met with militarized police aggression and use of force. Supplies were stolen and destroyed. Key players were arrested, beaten and larger groups were sprayed with dispersal chemicals and dispersed with sound weapons and went through surprise attacks of pepper bullets, flash bangs and baton rounds during peaceful protests on many, many occasions.

The ugliest part of all of this, I photographed our attorney general on the day that he announced there would be no charges brought before a grand jury related to the police officers who killed Ms. Taylor.

It seemed that everything the protesters had fought for was for nothing, and that the images I made meant even less.

My hope is that the family, friends, and the supporters of Breonna Taylor find peace and that America does not forget what happened to her. There is a greater story to be told, one that time will tell better than I ever could…therein lies my faith.

JON CHERRY

Jon Cherry is a photojournalist whose work spans a wide range of photographic disciplines. His work has been described as deeply romantic, yet joyful. Born in Ft. Bragg, North Carolina to parents in the armed services, he now calls Kentucky his home. He aims to capture the soul of the American South and Mid-Atlantic regions while developing his storytelling craft by covering the truths that define our time. Jon proudly labels himself a generalist, reporting on topics from extremism and government to agriculture and conservation.