# data[].attributes.headline
“I Can’t Breathe” – Breath as Resistance

# data[].attributes.subject
“I Can’t Breathe” – Breath as Resistance

# data[].attributes.body
The phrase “I can’t breathe” became a powerful rallying cry for the Black Lives Matter movement, especially after the murder of George Floyd. In Undrowned, Alexis Pauline Gumbs focuses deeply on breath, not just as a biological need, but as a political act. Reading this article alongside the book made me think about how breathing itself becomes resistance when black people are denied it, both literally through police violence and metaphorically through systemic oppression.

Gumbs writes: “What does it mean to breathe in a world that tries to choke you?” (p. 4).

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
Never in my lifetime has the case of such visible injustice moved white and black people, moved them as human beings. There have been protests all across America. But there have been huge protests in Britain, in Spain, in Nigeria, in fact all across the world. Why has the killing of George Floyd struck such a profound chord in us? Maybe it was that phrase: "I can't breathe."

The consonance of the phrase with the very root of our pandemic fears is uncanny. The phrase linked the coronavirus with the ubiquitous and implacable nature of institutional racism. "I can't breathe" - yet people were prepared to risk being afflicted with coronavirus just so they could express their protest at the chokehold killing of a black man.

There have been many times when black people have been gagged, strangled and choked by the police in the US, and even in Britain. The names of those who have died unjustly at the hands of the police are legion. And the police officers have mostly always gotten off entirely free. What happened to George Floyd isn't new. "I can't breathe" was uttered by another police victim, Eric Garner, less than a decade ago. But now there has been a crossover protest on a universal scale. This time is different. This time it is epochal. Language taps into primal fears.

When people say they are colour-blind they are being naive. They are in sweet denial. History is not colour-blind

We don't really empathise when we understand. People understand racism. It isn't difficult to understand. But still people don't behave as if they understand. Perhaps we empathise best when we can enter into the condition. "I can't breathe" suddenly equates racism with the deprivation of air, which is what it always was. Previously we saw racism, if we saw it all, as a diminishment of a person's humanity. But that was always too vague. "I can't breathe" goes beyond saying that you are depriving me of freedom, of humanity, of respect. It says: "You are depriving me of the right to air itself."

"I can't breathe": we need a new language to express the fundamental clarity of what happens when people are demonised, excluded, deprived, oppressed, and killed because of the colour of their skin. We need a new language, a phrase for that condition.

Only an extreme, and terminal agony could have expressed the very heart of what racism does as when George Floyd said, almost in a whisper: "I can't breathe." Not even William Shakespeare, Walt Whitman, James Baldwin or Toni Morrison at their most eloquent came out with anything as simple in the genius of its truth as: "I can't breathe."

Maybe it should be the phrase that people who are oppressed should use. It should become the mantra of oppression. Maybe every time the police stop you in your car for no other reason than that you are a black man or woman, you should say: "I can't breathe." Maybe every time people cross the road in the evenings when they see you, one should hold up a placard that says: "I can't breathe." Maybe when jobs are denied you, deserved promotions elude you, or when the police come to deport you, like the Windrush victims, one should record the moment on one's phone while saying: "I can't breathe." Maybe the true response to all the subtle and deadly forms that racial discrimination takes should now have a new code: "I can't breathe."

The truth is that "I can't breathe" hints at the apocalypse of human values. When George Floyd said "I can't breathe" and still the police officer applied the chokehold to his windpipe, it was declared in that moment that a human life means nothing in that country. That's where the apocalypse begins.

"I can't breathe" will become the condition of the world. We ignore the deadly warnings of climate catastrophe. It took the worldwide outcry of the #MeToo movement to signal to the world that millions of women are in situations where they can't breathe. Boris Johnson had oxygen support, delivered through a tube under his nose, lingering for days between life and death - perhaps he knew the meaning of "I can't breathe"? Across the world right now we are asking ourselves what it means to be human.

When people say they are colour-blind they are being naive. They are in sweet denial. History is not colour-blind. Examine the history of slavery and of colonialism and of genocide. Education is not colour-blind. Otherwise the objective facts of what a people have done and what has been done to a people would be as much part of the curriculum as the death of Socrates, the plays of Shakespeare, and basic mathematics. Culture is not colour-blind. Otherwise the history of art would include the rock sculpture of Zimbabwe, the radical interventions of David Hammons, and the paintings of Ben Enwonwu.
This time, the promise of change has to be realised. Black Americans have had enough | Niambi Michele Carter
Maybe the real trouble is colour deficiency. We know what racism is. It is, finally, the reduction of the human race to the validity of one race. Put another way, it is saying that there is a hierarchy of being human, that some are more human than others, or that some are less. The moment you can think, even unconsciously, that one race is superior to another, that is the beginning of murder. It is the beginning of genocide. By small degrees what is innocently thought of as minor variations of a hierarchy of being human slowly becomes degenerates into allowing one set of people to suffer and endure conditions that another set of people would not tolerate, for a second, for themselves.

Racism is a human thing. It is a human problem. It can be solved. All it takes is facing the truth that many of us have been lied to about history and about other people's humanity. All it takes is realising that to passively sanction the diminishment of anyone's humanity on any ground is to begin to sanction your own diminishment too. This really isn't rocket science. Racism is a failure of humanity. It is a failure to be human. This lack of empathy is part of the problem that is destroying the world. The lack of empathy extends not just to humans but to other species, and even to the planet as a whole.

That police officer who pressed his knee on George Floyd's neck snuffed out one life, but lit a universal fire. It is deeply moving that the world has responded not to the death of a great man or woman, but to the killing of one of the Earth's poor and seemingly insignificant people.

We know what to do. We must tear out the unconscious racism in our spirit. We must insist on the human rights of all peoples. We let people live their freedom, and their possibilities, within the law. This is a great moment in the life of humanity and it is rich with the possibilities for change.

Maybe "I can't breathe" will begin the real change that our world so desperately needs. Let's all breathe. Freedom.

* Ben Okri is a Nigerian novelist and poet. His latest novel is The Age of Magic

* On Tuesday 9 June at 7pm BST (2pm EDT) the Guardian is holding a live-streamed event about the meaning of George Floyd's killing, featuring Guardian journalists including US southern bureau chief Oliver Laughland, reporter Kenya Evelyn, writer Chris McGreal and columnist Malaika Jabali. Book tickets here

Topics

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
'I can't breathe': why George Floyd's words reverberate around the world | Ben Okri

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Never in my lifetime has the case of such visible injustice moved white and black people, moved them as human beings. There have been protests all across America. But there have been huge protests in Britain, in Spain, in Nigeria, in fact all across the world.

# data[].attributes.body
"Listen with the whole body. Listen for the vibration. Listen for what is not said." (p. 19). This reminded me that deep listening, especially in marginalized communities, is a survival skill. Like whales, sometimes our communication doesn’t fit into the expected norms, but that doesn’t make it less real or powerful. Whale songs show how deep and emotional sound can be, even without human words.

# data[].attributes.attachment_caption
Coral reefs are living ecosystems made up of tiny organisms called polyps, and they create habitats that support thousands of marine species. 🪸

# data[].attributes.body
https://education.nationalgeographic.org/resource/coral-reefs/

I chose this article because it highlights how coral reefs survive through interconnection. They rely on collaboration between coral, algae, fish, and ocean conditions. If one part suffers (like when ocean temps rise or acidification increases), the whole system begins to collapse. Like reefs, communities that are marginalized, especially Black, queer, and disabled folk largely survive by supporting each other. Coral reefs teach you that even the most beautiful and essential systems are fragile, and that for many communities, mutual care is a big contributor to their success and ability to thrive.

# data[].attributes.body
Fish that swim in schools survive not by being the strongest, but by moving together. There is no single leader, they respond to each other, sensing shifts and adjusting as one. This entry reflects Gumbs’s view that survival happens in rhythm and relationship. It’s not about individual power but mutual awareness. Moving together can be the difference between safety and vulnerability.

# data[].attributes.attachment_caption
Sea stars, also known as starfish, are marine animals with five (or more) arms and a soft, flexible body. They move slowly using tiny tube feet and can even regenerate lost limbs. ⭐

# data[].attributes.body
https://marine.ucsc.edu/data-products/sea-star-wasting/#:~:text=Sea%20star%20wasting%20syndrome%20is,of%20the%20body%20and%20death.

Sea star wasting disease is slowly killing off an entire species in a quiet, eerie way. Their bodies literally fall apart, and they disappear without much notice. That made me think about grief the way Gumbs describes it, not always loud or dramatic, but still life-changing. This kind of grief is slow, heavy, and almost invisible, but it reshapes the world. Just like in communities that experience loss over generations, not every pain is seen, but it still matters.

# data[].attributes.attachment_caption
Manatees are slow-moving, gentle marine mammals that spend most of their time floating, resting, and grazing in warm shallow waters. 🥬

# data[].attributes.body
https://savethemanatee.org/manatees/manatee-facts/#:~:text=Manatees%20are%20gentle%20and%20slow,a%20manatee's%20normal%20vegetation%20diet.

In the “Float” section of Undrowned, Gumbs writes, “Sometimes floating is the only thing to do. The only thing to be.” (p. 9). It reframes stillness as strength, not weakness. Manatees show that survival doesn’t always have to be about pushing forward, sometimes it’s about simply staying afloat, gently and deliberately.

# data[].attributes.attachment_caption
Harp seals are marine mammals that live in the icy waters of the North Atlantic and Arctic Ocean. They're known for their adorable white pups, which are born with fluffy coats that help keep them warm in freezing temperatures. As they grow, they shed their white fur and develop the silver-gray coloring of adults. Harp seals are great swimmers and rely on sea ice for resting and raising their young.

# data[].attributes.body
https://youtu.be/BF2TZq-ntRQ?si=_zTlDNUJ2I9gzC_v

Harp seal pups are born with soft white coats, totally exposed on icy surfaces. You’d think they’re fragile, and in some ways they are, but they’ve evolved to survive extreme cold, as well as being constantly on their "feet" surviving threats. Gumbs writes a lot about softness, rest, and care as things that aren’t weak, but necessary for life. These seals made me think about how we’re often taught that survival has to look hard, loud, or angry. But sometimes, survival is being still and soft, protected in your own way.

# data[].attributes.attachment_caption
Octopuses are highly intelligent marine animals known for their ability to solve problems, escape tight spaces, and even use tools. They have soft, flexible bodies with eight arms lined with sensitive suckers, and they can change color and texture to blend into their surroundings. Octopuses are often seen as symbols of adaptability, creativity, and transformation in the ocean world. 🐙

# data[].attributes.headline
Octopuses - Intelligence and Adaptability

# data[].attributes.subject
Octopuses - Intelligence and Adaptability

# data[].attributes.body
https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/the-mind-of-an-octopus/

This article dives into the intelligence of octopuses: how they can solve problems, escape tanks, use tools, and even open jars. Their brains are unlike ours, with most of their neurons spread through their arms, which act almost like independent minds. Learning this made me think differently about what intelligence can look like and how survival isn’t always about brute strength, sometimes it’s about flexibility, curiosity, and learning to adapt.

In Undrowned, Gumbs writes: “It might be your task to change shape. To reshape the world. To survive.” This line made me think of how octopuses literally change shape to fit into tight spaces, hide, or escape predators. For marginalized communities, especially Black queer and trans people, survival often means being able to adapt quickly, socially, emotionally, and mentally. Like the octopus, it’s not about fitting into one mold, but being able to shift, stretch, and resist invisibility.

# data[].attributes.body
This article talks about how loud military sonar confuses and harms whales, sometimes causing them to beach themselves and die. It made me think about how Gumbs talks about sound in Undrowned, not just as a way of hearing, but as a way of feeling and being. Whales rely on echolocation as they navigate the world through sound, so when that’s disrupted, it’s extremely harmful to their wellbeing. Similarly, systemic violence/oppression doesn’t always look like direct harm. Sometimes it’s just being surrounded by noise, pressure, and invasion that drowns out your ability to exist safely. Not everything that kills is visible.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Why whales flee from sonar-sometimes to their death

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
When naval ships and other sea vessels use sonar, many whale species flee for their lives; some even strand themselves on beaches in a desperate attempt to escape. Now, scientists have discovered the most likely reason: The loud sounds trigger the same fear response as when the animals hear calls emitted by one of their most terrifying predators: killer whales.

# data[].attributes.attachment_caption
Dolphins are intelligent marine mammals known for their strong social bonds, playful behavior, and advanced communication skills. They live in groups called pods and often use touch, sound, and body language to interact with each other. 🐬

# data[].attributes.body
https://www.usgs.gov/publications/pectoral-fin-contact-a-mechanism-social-bonding-among-dolphins

This article talks about how dolphins use touch to build trust, communicate, and stay close with others in their pod. It gave me a deeper understanding of the "Touch" chapter in Undrowned. Alexis Pauline Gumbs isn’t just talking about physical touch, she’s showing how connection and care can be shared through being intentionally close to others, even during hard times. Dolphins lean on each other, nudge gently, and swim side by side, using their bodies to say, “you’re not alone.”

“Touch is a practice of remembering we are here. Not alone. Not untouchable. Not disposable.” (p. 37). Just like how dolphins rely on touch to support and bond with each other, Gumbs reminds us that human connection can also be a way of living, especially in a world that often tries to pull us apart.

# data[].attributes.body
Even though we think of coral reefs as quiet, they’re actually full of sound, the crackle of shrimp, the hum of fish, the pulse of movement. Scientists call it a “reef song,” and healthy reefs are full of it. That made me think of how Gumbs expands the idea of singing beyond literal music. Singing can also mean aliveness, vibration, and presence.

What I found powerful is that when reefs begin to die, they go silent, and nearby fish stop visiting. In Undrowned, Gumbs writes about how survival often includes creativity, rhythm, and joy, even in small or unnoticed ways. The reef’s song isn’t loud or showy, but it’s essential to supporting life.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Listen to the carnival sounds of a healthy reef.

# data[].attributes.body
Sea turtles cross entire oceans and somehow still find their way back to the exact beach where they were born. That kind of navigation isn’t random, it’s built into their bodies. It made me think of how Gumbs talks about migration not just as movement, but as return. Not in a literal sense, but the emotional and ancestral kind, the pull toward something lost, something you may not even fully remember, but still feel.

For me, that connected to how people survive displacement, trauma, and history. We don’t always know the way forward, but something in us remembers where we come from, and that memory helps us keep going.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Unveiling the Secrets of Sea Turtle Migration - Loggerhead Marinelife Center

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Support sea turtle research and discover the secrets of migration. Explore how these ancient mariners navigate vast oceans.

# data[].attributes.headline
Mantis Shrimp and Intentional Resistance

# data[].attributes.subject
Mantis Shrimp and Intentional Resistance

# data[].attributes.body
Mantis shrimp are small, but they have one of the fastest and most powerful strikes. Their punch is so quick it creates a burst of heat and light underwater, and they only use it when absolutely necessary, to break through hard shells or defend themselves. That kind of strength isn’t loud or showy, it’s precise and intentional. Gumbs describes fighting as a survival response, not a performance. Not every fight looks like rage. Sometimes, it’s knowing your own limits, choosing when to act, and not wasting energy on things that don’t deserve it.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Mantis Shrimp Packs a Punch | Predator in Paradise

# data[].attributes.attachment_caption
Pufferfish are small marine animals known for their ability to inflate their bodies when they feel threatened. When puffed up, they appear much larger and often reveal sharp spines that help keep predators away. 🐡

# data[].attributes.body
https://www.nationalgeographic.com/animals/fish/facts/pufferfish

Pufferfish aren’t predators, they protect themselves by inflating their bodies and revealing hidden spines when threatened. It’s not an attack, it’s a boundary. That reminded me of how Gumbs writes about protection as a way to preserve life, not punish threats. Sometimes protecting yourself or your community isn’t about confrontation, it’s about being clear about what cannot be crossed. This kind of protection is often dismissed, especially for marginalized people who are told to stay quiet or shrink themselves. But like the pufferfish, Gumbs reminds us that expanding, taking up space, or setting limits is a valid form of self-defense.

# data[].attributes.body
In the ocean, different species help each other survive, like cleaner fish and their “clients,” or whales shielding seals from sharks. This kind of mutual aid/symbiotic relationships made me think of Gumbs’s idea of “holding.” Holding doesn’t have to mean necessarily fixing everything. It means not letting someone go through something alone.

# data[].attributes.attachment_caption
Whales are large marine mammals known for their intelligence, complex communication, and long-distance migrations. They breathe air through lungs, give birth to live young, and can hold their breath for extended periods while diving deep underwater. Whales play a key role in ocean ecosystems and are often seen as symbols of depth, wisdom, and survival. 🐋

# data[].attributes.body
https://evolution.berkeley.edu/what-are-evograms/the-evolution-of-whales/

Whales didn’t start in the ocean, they used to be land animals. Over millions of years, they evolved to live entirely underwater. This transformation isn’t just about biology, it’s about what it means to completely change how you live to survive. Gumbs writes about transformation not as something soft and pretty, but as deep, necessary change that takes everything.

It reminded me of the line: “What if your survival requires a different shape?” (p. 49). That’s exactly what whales did. They changed shape, rhythm, and breath. This feels especially relevant for people navigating systems that were never built for them, sometimes you have to completely reshape how you move through the world just to stay alive.

# data[].attributes.attachment_caption
Anglerfish are deep-sea fish known for the glowing lure that hangs from their heads, which they use to attract prey in the dark ocean. They live in some of the deepest, most extreme parts of the sea. 💡

# data[].attributes.body
https://oceangeneration.org/bioluminescence-in-the-deep-ocean/

Bioluminescent creatures live in the deepest, darkest parts of the ocean, places no sunlight ever touches, and they make their own light. Gumbs writes about surviving in the dark, in the depths, and still finding a way to shine. That light doesn’t come from above, it comes from within. It made me think about how people can glow in what seems like a difficult, or unsavory life situation. The deep/darkness doesn’t mean hopeless. There’s still beauty, and even joy down there, you just have to see it in a different kind of light sometimes.

# data[].attributes.body
Jellyfish live their lives in constant transformation. They begin as anchored polyps, stuck to the ocean floor, then break free and become medusas, soft, drifting, and unarmored. Their power comes not from resisting change, but from allowing it. Reading Gumbs’s chapter on Become, I realized how we’re often taught to “become” in a way that’s about control, identity, or proving something. But jellyfish don’t harden or perform. They just become again and again.

Their survival depends on softness. They move with the current but aren’t powerless, they sting, glow, and persist in a world that sees them as delicate. Gumbs writes about becoming as a form of survival that doesn’t always make sense to others. The jellyfish reminded me that transformation doesn’t have to look strong to be powerful. Sometimes becoming means surrendering to your own process, trusting that movement itself is enough.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
The life cycle of a jellyfish: Spawning, cloning and immortality

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Learn more about the incredible life cycle of the jellyfish when visiting the Two Oceans Aquarium.

# data[].attributes.body
Yemaya is a Yoruba orisha (deity) connected to the ocean, motherhood, and protection. She’s often shown as a mermaid figure, and she’s seen as a mother to all, especially those lost at sea. I chose her because she represents the spiritual and emotional side of the ocean that Gumbs taps into throughout Undrowned. She’s not just about mythology, she’s about memory, grief, and care that stretches across generations. For people who were forced across the Atlantic during slavery, Yemaya became a symbol of survival, loss, and strength. She holds the stories of those who didn’t make it, and the power of those who did. Gumbs doesn’t mention her directly, but the way she writes about water, spirit, and being “undrowned” made me think of Yemaya.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Discovering the Power of Yemaya, the African Goddess of the Sea

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Discover the captivating power of Yemaya, the African goddess of the sea, in this insightful article.