My friend
and co-moderator of the 222nd General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), Tawnya Denise Anderson posted on
Facebook this morning:
I'm relying on white folks to talk today. I've simply run out of energy to defend my humanity or point out this country's hypocrisy. Talk amongst yourselves. #tiredAF
OK. My turn.
[takes mic]
Hi, I’m
David. I bet I’m not a racist, but…,
My kids
have this thing (a lot of kids do, and it’s so famous the Family Circus cartoon
has numerous examples). I’ll ask, “Who
left this trash on the coffee table?”
The kids chime in, “Oh, not me.”
And, “Ida know.” “It must have
been (one of the others).”
And honest
to goodness, for most of my life, when faced with blatent racism in the world,
in my community, I felt like I could say, full-throatedly—“I didn’t do
it.” And even, “I’m not like that.” Therefore…, don’t blame me, or especially,
“It’s not my fault.”
Because if only
I had been in charge, it would surely have been different. #probablynot.
#privilegeisthewaterIhavealwayslivedin.
#iamblindtomyownracism.
I’m a
white, American, Protestant, male, six feet seven inches tall and I weigh more
than 300 pounds. I get treated
differently, am the recipient of much more grace, the “benefit of the doubt,”
and privilege than I deserve or should ever rightfully be entitled to. While it’s “nice, I believe it’s not right,
and when I think about it carefully I really think it sucks. Honestly, I wish I could share. My physical size, the color of my skin, my
gender, allow me to interact with people differently—my mom says by the 5th
grade teachers were afraid of me because I was sizeably larger than any normal child
they’d ever dealt with in the classroom.
#Imabiggun It took them a while
to know and trust that I was a true softie.
And not retarded. And not held
back.
I am a
softie. Which is often why I don’t have
the microphone, and I’m not on the front lines, and I’m usually not the first
person to pipe up and say that something’s wrong, or particularly that people are
wrong. I’ve been raised and taught that
forgiveness is paramount, that there is hope and new life for everyone in
Christ. Sometimes, “helping someone see
the light,” especially when it involves systemic problems and even if it’s only
truth-telling, seems like undue influence, or forcing someone to adopt my own
views—and maybe I should just keep quiet.
When I saw
the video of Philando Castile, when he was shot, I thought immediately that it
was somehow “fake.” Modern technology,
the CGI we love about Star Wars films, allows people with smartphones to doctor
images, alter real video, etc. etc. etc.
It. Hardly. Seemed. Real. But
also because, what kind of police officer would do this after all the headlines? No one would be that stupid.
But it also
did not surprise me that it was real.
And I wept at the unimaginable horror the 4-year-old in the car had
witnessed, and the violence that had unfolded in front of my own eyes, knowing
these were not characters in a movie but real citizens. “It could have been me” NEVER passed through
my mind. It couldn’t. This kind of thing NEVER happens to people
like me. A drive-by shooting, the result
of gang-violence, being in the wrong place at the wrong time—but not this.
And because
this kind of thing keeps happening—the last few years being a steady drumbeat
of black Americans dying because white American cops shot them to death—I know
that something is terribly wrong. And in
truth, somedays I’m tempted to believe that part of the problem needs to be
laid at the feet of the training programs we require for our police officers in
this day and age when they must be taught threats are everywhere.
We insist
our police and first-responders train for every scenario that it doesn’t take
long before they are hair-trigger responders.
Shoot first; ask questions later.
The truth? Our human brains are
simply incapable of being constantly charged with “flight or fight.” Malcom Gladwell explores this in his book, Blink. Surely, part of the reason is our insistence
that we be kept safe. But then, in a way
that is unserving of our real needs, we overwork and underpay our police and
other first responders. It’s a wonder
this doesn’t happen more often!
And if it
did, we should expect that the story would already have been written
differently. The incidents and deaths
would involve people of more diverse backgrounds and means.
But these
stories do not. They are instances of
black victims shot by white police officers.
Training, yes. But somehow we
just don’t see the “other” as ourselves.
And these
circumstances and events keep happening because it’s overwhelmingly true that
we simply think this is someone else’s fault or responsibility. We’re caught looking around the room for
someone else to have to admit their racism rather than trying to recognize that
what is happening is wrong, and we’re in the room, too. I’m in the room.
What is
happening is wrong.
While it’s
true, white people ARE killed by black police officers—but not at all like this
or these kinds of circumstances.
White
people ARE victims of racism—but never like this.
I’ve never
been stopped because something was wrong with my car.
Not getting
to serve on a church committee that reserves a “quota” for minorities is not
“reverse racism.”
I get the
benefit of the doubt when I don’t have my I.D. when I go to vote; or when I
need to sign papers for a loan, or open a bank account.
The
argument is often, “We’re just trying to keep people safe. We must remain vigilant.”
So, at the
end of the day, some of us are safe; others of us are not. The white people stand a better chance, the
black and brown people don’t.
The truth
is, this is wrong. This is all
wrong.
[gives back the microphone]
No comments:
Post a Comment