Two weeks ago, we weren't sure if companies like ours were going to speak out against the death of George Floyd. They did, and that gave us some hope.
We continue to watch the masses rise up against police brutality and systemic racism. This gives us some more hope.
But the work to be done is immense, and has barely begun. And while this isn't the first time that Peak Design has confronted matters of diversity and inclusion, the fact still stands: we're a mostly white company that is deeply nestled in two industries—outdoors and photography—that have long histories of excluding people of color. Soon, we'll go in depth about the work we're doing. In the meantime, we're going to amplify black voices that offer insight into the white supremacy permeating the communities and places that we typically celebrate in this journal. Places that, ironically, are often called "public" lands.
Black Americans have a history of being unwelcome and threatened in the outdoors. Time in nature has shown to have significant health benefits, both mental and physical, and yet they are denied safe access to these benefits time and time again.
Enter Chad Brown. He's a veteran, expert fly fisher, and founder of Soul River, an organization that gives veterans and at-risk youth a pathway for healing and leadership through outdoor education. We have been a supporter of Chad's work and wanted to share a piece he wrote in response to the killing of George Floyd. From Chad:
Wait before you judge. Take a deep breath. Because you can.
In the wake of the murder of George Floyd, I’ve seen countless people on social media expressing their rage — not about George’s death or about the underlying problem of inequality in our country — but about looting and physical damage to property.
I don’t support property destruction, but when there is a riot, there is no rule book. As Dr. Martin Luther King said, “A riot is nothing but the voice of the unheard.”
The death of George Floyd is a horrific loss that has shined a spotlight on the systemic racism present not just in our nation’s police departments, but in our day-to-day lives, in our schools, offices, court systems, and elsewhere. It has highlighted the tension between white and non-white people in the United States. It has offered us a moment to pause and listen to the unheard voices of America — the voices of indigenous women missing and murdered on their own land, indigenous tribes fighting for their water rights (and losing), Hispanics facing the challenges of maintaining their identity and making a living through low-paid jobs, African Americans asking for equality and justice while seeing black boys and girls getting killed by merciless cops.
The reality of being black in America is being born with a target on you. You can’t separate from this target. It follows you wherever you go. Every time you step outside, your target is visible. You’re judged, spat on, called “nigger” time after time. You walk into a store or office and are falsely accused of a crime. You’re subject to traffic stops simply for being in the “wrong” neighborhood, and then you get harassed by the cops.
Once, when I was pulled over, the cop asked me if I was a U.S. citizen even though my driver’s license clearly indicates that I’m a United States veteran. My car tires have been slashed while fly fishing. Once, while I was fishing on Veteran’s Day, my brake lines were ripped out of my truck.
On social media, I have been publicly accused of “taking” fly fishing from white people. I’ve been told “This is our sport not yours!” and “You need to ask permission to fish my river!” I have received threatening phone calls where I was told I will be drowned the next time I try to fly fish.
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