My best friend’s dad growing up was a cop. He was (and is) a good man, who spent his entire life in public service — first as a soldier, then a police officer. His wife was (and is) a saint, who treated me like part of her own family when I was a kid. I owe both of them a lot.
I’ve never had a bad interaction with a police officer. I’ve never once been pulled over when I didn’t have it coming. I’ve received a single speeding ticket in my 26 years since college, narrowly avoiding a second when an officer in McCall, Idaho, kindly let me off with a warning.
At Boise State University, where I worked for ten years, I had the good fortune of working with three different Boise police lieutenants who, at various times, oversaw police operations over the BSU campus area. All were top notch people who went out of their way to not only keep the campus community safe, but to diffuse difficult situations without resorting to strong armed tactics or violence. I have much respect for these men, each of whom would have given their life in order to protect others.
These are my experiences with the police — all positive, respectful, fair.
* * * * *
In 1988, while still in college, I took a summer job with an asbestos abatement company in Toledo, Ohio. That summer, I struck a friendship with a guy around my age named Paul, who lived in Toledo, about 25 miles north of the small college town where I lived and grew up. Paul was a nice guy and a hard worker. Unlike me, Paul worked for the company year-round, and made a pretty good living. This allowed him to purchase a cool car — a late model Ford Mustang.
I remember talking to Paul one night about his Mustang, which he loved, but questioned whether he should have bought. When I asked him why, he explained how he would get pulled over in the car by the police pretty much every week. At first, I thought he was pulling my leg, but it was clear that he was dead serious. And the more he talked, and the more I listened, the more I began to understand.
You see, Paul was a black man, and one of the first I’d ever actually gotten to know as a friend, having grown up in a predominantly white, rural area. Paul lived in an economically depressed city in the ’80’s, a time when gangs were a huge problem, and drug enforcement was a top police priority. As a young black man, Paul wasn’t supposed to own a nice car. Because he did, he fit the profile of a drug dealer, and was targeted by the police.
Two kids, both in their early twenties, growing up a mere 25 miles apart, working the exact same job, earning the exact same money; one white, one black; two completely different experiences, both real; two completely different perspectives, both valid.
* * * * *
Why is it so hard for us, as a nation, to have a conversation about race? Why can’t it be as simple as sitting down together and listening to each other’s stories, hearing each other out?
Black Americans are trying to engage the nation in a discussion about race. And a sizable chunk of white America isn’t having it. Black Americans say “black lives matter,” and many white Americans shout back, “all lives matter!” Black Americans mention “white privilege” and white Americans bristle, insisting there’s no such thing. An NFL quarterback silently kneels during the National Anthem and white Americans call him a disgrace, or, more diplomatically, that “he may have a right to protest, but he’s going about it wrong.”
So then, how should he be doing it? If not now, when? If not on a football field, where? If not during the National Anthem, how? Is there a time, place, and manner in which we can discuss these issues? Or are that many of us content to simply sit back and criticize every move the Black Lives Matter movement makes, rolling our eyes in disgust, circulating memes about black-on-black violence, or videos showing angry black people rioting — happy to dismiss the entire movement without even having considered it from the other’s point of view?
And before any of my imagined readers answer that question, I would ask that they at least go watch the videos of Tulsa resident Terence Crutcher being shot dead this week by a white police officer while standing outside his vehicle, defenseless, and ask themselves whether they might, at the barest minimum, be able to see how such incidents could raise some genuine concern?
And I might ask them, too, if they were at all surprised to read that my friend was a black man — that his name was Paul, that he was a good guy, an honest man, a hard worker — and if so, why.
As always, thanks for reading, and my sincere best to all — to the brave men and women in uniform who keep us safe, the vast majority of whom I believe are good people, and to all those who experience different realities than my own due to the color of their skin. Please, let’s all sit down and hear each other out.
Photo Credit: David Gunter, “Black Paint and White Texture,” located at creativecommons.org (public domain photos).
Beautiful article, Tim. Brief and perfectly focused! I had the same experience(s) as a high school lad working with my dad’s helpers, roofing commercial buildings. I grew up in Baltimore, in the city, but schools (and the cities) were totally segregated then, so I’d had no contact with a black person. I, of course, found they were the same as me, except they were darker complected and mostly stronger. It was several years later, when I was in the military, that I met many more fellows of various “races.” That’s when I had more in-depth conversations, and began to really understand prejudice and its unhappy results. Thanks for your post, and I haven’t forgotten our wish to do a lunch down at the market. Just been a tad distracted by a little health issue.
Thanks, Walt – ‘appreciate it :). I agree, there’s no better way than getting to know other people than working with them side by side toward a common purpose. It’s one of the few things I still see in major college athletics that has significant value to society — i.e., kids coming together from different backgrounds to work together as a team. I can’t speak for the military, but I imagine this might be true of that as well. Unfortunately, too much of society remains segregated, which allows biases, prejudices, and misunderstandings to persist.
The offer for lunch is a standing one, and will remain open. But obviously, health is more important. Take care of yourself, and don’t hesitate to let me know if we can help out in any way. Best regards, T
It’s the oddest sensation, Tim. I’d love to talk about race. But when I’m in a conversation with someone who is Black (and the majority of my high school classmates were African-American), the conversation never goes there. It goes to current events, fun stuff, laughter. As I think about it — to Comment on your post — the only people I get to talk about race with are white, like me. I’ll venture that, more than systemic racism, we have a systemic hierarchy in this country. Top dogs and underdogs. The underdogs always know a lot about the top dogs (sometimes their lives depend upon knowing); not so in the other direction. So we top dogs are now trying frantically to understand what it’s been like being underdog. we care; we’re curious. Still, I can imagine it feels a bit intrusive. But I commend you for starting.
Thanks, Janet. Something I grapple with almost daily is how many people I know, or once knew but am still connected with via social media or the like, who are taking positions in this world that seem calloused, indifferent, or even outright hostile to the concerns and experiences of other people, whether they be Muslims fleeing places like Syria, refugees or immigrants from other places, or in this case, black Americans and their concerns about criminal and social justice.
What’s baffling and distressing to me is that so many of these people are or once were friends — people who treated me and others well, who were charitable, kind, willing to sacrifice in various ways — people I never would have suspected to be racist or xenophobic, and who I still prefer to believe otherwise about, yet who clearly don’t seem to want to engage in a conversation about race or any of these other things. I wrote this piece more with them in mind than people I know like you, who are already deeply interested in discussing social justice issues.
At the same time, I think us white, educated liberals face our own challenges when confronting topics like racial injustice, as you wisely point out. ‘Not an unwillingness to engage, but doing so in a way that is unintrusive, truly open, and fully mindful of both our privilege and our “top dog” status in this class and color-conscious world.
As always, I very much appreciate your thoughts 🙂
I see the beginnings of an SNL skit forming. Well-intentioned whites gather, begin to talk about race. Perhaps at office water cooler? More whites join, conversation on race continues, animated, engaged. They know it’s an important conversation to have. Black coworker wanders in. Conversation stops. “How ’bout those Mets?” Is heard.
Yeah; not very funny. I think the first step in having what could be called a difficult conversation is having an agreement to enter into it together. Good luck in reaching your classmates. 🙂
Janet, there’s definitely the makings of a skit in there. Perhaps the conversation actually ensues, then all the white people take ownership of the issue as if it’s their own, dominate the conversation, and throw out a bunch of highbrow/hairball ideas to fix it?
I suppose discussing things from different experiences and perspectives is always hard on some level, but it’s surely doable, I think, if approached with the right intent. And maybe, sometimes, its easier than we think, like that time me and my old friend talked over a beer.
‘Appreciate the plug on your website, as well as the NEK site on fb. I tried “liking” it there, but wasn’t able to, for some reason, probably because I’m not a member of the group. Still, I’m glad you thought enough of the piece to link to it there. Plus, I learned that there is such a thing as the “northeast kingdom!” ‘Love it!
Thanks again for all your encouragement and support 🙂