Photograph by Asha Belk
George Floyd Memorial
We spoke to Asha Belk, a social worker and photographer about her experiences photographing the Twin Cities in the days following George Floyd’s murder, how her job as a social worker influences her images, and how Minnesota can do better.
How did you get started in photography?
I didn’t realize this until I was older but I’ve always had a camera with me. Looking back, it makes more sense now. I remember having disposable film cameras and waiting anxiously to get my prints back. I still have boxes and boxes of old prints and negatives. My grandfather taught my dad how to use a camera and shoot film—they had a darkroom in their basement. My parents met at an event my dad was photographing at–I guess you could say it’s in my genes. I started taking photography more seriously toward the end of my senior year in college and I bought my first professional camera in 2011 when I moved to Texas. I love photographing life, people in their element, and emotions. Food photography brings back the memories of being in the kitchen and cooking with my Dad. It makes photography more meaningful for me.
Photograph by Asha Belk
Protest
You're a social worker as well, does that impact your photography?
Most definitely. We are witnessing hundreds of years of pent-up anger and pain from discrimination, colorism, and systemic/environmental racism. These are also the same issues I encounter as a social worker. My photographs embody the stories and the experiences of my clients, families, and students I have worked with from past to present. I never imagined that my work would become a resource around tough conversations that we've neglected until now. Let me rephrase that, tough conversations that some White people have neglected until now. I can attest to that because I've been brought into these discussions and this time, I wasn't the one to initiate it. They have been transparent, raw, and emotional. These conversations were needed.
What has it been like photographing the protests?
I am experiencing an array of emotions. There are moments where I am proud to see others share the anger I've felt long since the death of Mr. Floyd, and then the next minute I experience a wave of sadness as I think about the very reason we are all here. Honestly, I haven't been able to wrap my mind around this and I don't think I will for a while.
During the memorial that was held at North Central University, I had joined the crowd at 38th and Chicago. As I was walking through the crowd, I heard over the loudspeaker that they were going to begin a moment of silence; for 8 minutes and 46 seconds. I stopped moving and stood amongst the crowd. After two minutes, people began to weep uncontrollably and yelled, “This is too long!” After a minute, I too began to feel uncomfortable. As the seconds slowly counted down, my emotions took over as I began thinking about what Mr. Floyd endured during those grueling 8 minutes and 46 seconds. I felt guilty that I had the chance to catch my own breath.
What was your reaction to hearing about George Floyd?
My students came to my mind first. I immediately texted one of them that I know frequently goes to that same corner store where George’s life was taken. He told me he had been there the same day, just earlier that morning. Many of my students go to that store which made this even more real for me. It was hard to not think that this could have been any one of them. This is home. It brought me back to my own experiences with race in Minnesota. There is a constant sense of frustration, fear, and helplessness I feel that shouldn't be there. It took me leaving Minnesota to learn to love who I was as a Black and Biracial woman. I was 18 years old when I left, and came back to Minnesota at the age of 27 with a renewed sense of self and confidence that I hadn’t left with nor did I know was inside of me. The responsibility I have as a social worker to address George Floyd, police brutality, and race are not random. This is my everyday reality—this is nothing new. I think this even hurts more because I still haven't been able to process the deaths of Ahmaud Arbery and Breonna Taylor. It's still fresh. We can't begin to heal these wounds if they are constantly being re-opened.
Have you been protesting yourself?
I have, but in a non-traditional sense. My camera has become an extension of who I am and allows me to share with an audience about issues I am passionate about. I think we can define protesting however we see fit. You're either about it or you're not. My profession has prepared me for the difficult conversations about race, to be an ally for the voiceless, and to uplift communities such as my own. In a way, I feel as if I am protesting every day.
What role do you think photography serves during protests?
Photography has been our eyes into history for centuries. It is a visual journal into the past and a guide for the future. Photographers from all over the world are capturing what is happening and it's how we are writing this story for those that will come after us.
Photograph by Asha Belk
Aftermath
If this moment incites change in the community, what would that look like?
Minneapolis has already taken a step toward banning officers from using chokeholds and neck restraints that similarly contributed to the death of Eric Garner in 2014. There are also discussions about the Minneapolis City Council dismantling/defunding the Minneapolis Police Department. From my understanding, this will assist in the process of creating safer communities by addressing racism, redesigning the current public safety model, and inviting Black leaders to the table to ensure that communities of color are being protected and their voices heard. More importantly, they need to thoroughly examine who is being hired into these positions. Why are they continually hiring officers with years of complaints that are a threat to the safety and well-being of the Black community? The red flags are obvious, all of this is obvious. Racism isn't invisible, we need to stop pretending like it is. I’m trying to remain positive and hopeful after seeing the world's response but I’d also be lying if I wasn’t preparing myself for another disappointment from a flawed justice system.
How can the Twin Cities start to better itself?
We need to continue what we’ve started. It has been incredible to see everyone coming out to support one another, protest, and donate but how can we keep this momentum going? Having those uncomfortable conversations about race are necessary and, quite frankly, one way we can begin to heal and move forward. My friend mentioned to me the other day what it means to be “Minnesota Nice.” Is it really something we all experience? Because my experience has been a mix of passive-aggressiveness added with doses of microaggressions. Example: I was once asked by a white co-worker, “Did you really attend NYU or is that coffee mug just a souvenir?” There is a lot to unpack here but just know this happens all the time. Educate yourself on microinvalidations, microinsults, and microassaults. It's real and it's hurtful. The more we continue to peel back these layers, the sooner we’ll begin to break away from the systemic racism that has weighed down communities of color for generations. We are tired, I am tired. It's time to try something different.
Photograph by Asha Belk
