Oh hey my American friend. I wake up to the same headlines you do. I grew up on the same stories you did. I’ve learned roughly the same stuff as you about threats and expectations and stereotypes and all that jazz. You and I both have a general idea of what it means to live in America.
And it’s the spoken or unspoken reality of what you and I have learned and heard and seen and come to expect from our experience living in America that informed this experience I recently had:
I got home from work, threw on joggers and a hoodie, and headed outside for a run.
Police vehicles were everywhere. Silently combing the neighborhood.
I kept walking right by them. After a bit, I waved one of them down.
“Hey, is everything okay?”
“Shots were fired. If you see anything, let us know.”
I want to share the 140-decibel-loud thought I had as I walked by the searching police officers: I’m safe, because I don’t look the part. I look like a people-pleasing white guy who smiles just the right amount and who is used to being respected. I wonder what would happen if I were a Black man living next door who just wanted to go out for a run after work that night?
Maybe nothing would have happened. Or maybe I would have been yet another story in a long line of stories that have been written by an America that grew up on the same headlines and stories and expectations and prejudices that you and I did.
Or even if not a story that made the news, at least confronted and traumatized a bit, probably not for the first time.
America’s past hides propaganda and movies and stories and labels and accusations that painted a picture for us of “the dangerous Black man.” It’s what America grew up on: From D. W. Griffith’s The Birth of a Nation to the Central Park Five.
I’m not saying you still believe the stereotype. Or that every police officer does.
What I am saying is: That evening was a loud reminder that America’s racist past does still consciously or subconsciously inform our expectations and reactions and prejudices and fears.
In that moment walking down the street past all the police SUVs on the hunt for someone suspicious, I knew as a middle-class-looking-white-guy I’d be safe. And I knew it because I’ve been reading the same headlines you have for years. People who look like me don’t tend to get stopped by the police. Or shot.
Nobody assumes or worries I’m a bad guy.
My white American skin made me feel safer.
So if you grew up as conservatively convinced as I did that all this “racism” stuff is a thing of the past, now blown out of proportion–can you honestly say your white skin doesn’t make you feel safer?
And if it does, how the hell did we get here?
And what is your part in making this country safer for people who don’t look like you?