In the spirit of complete transparency, I need to mention something at the top of this post: I am working on a new digital magazine publication for the Georgia Fraternal Order of Police. For the past several weeks I have been immersed in all kinds of things about law enforcement officers — LEOs. I have spent a great deal of time talking with members of the Georgia FOP who wear badges from either police, sheriff, marshall, campus police, military police, customs, corrections, CIA, FBI, ATF or homeland security.
Some of the stories we are targeting for future publications seem so much more important right now as our country has been watching the turmoil in Ferguson, MO and how that turmoil is spreading out from there to larger cities with large blocks of people who aren’t white Americans. There has been a great deal of discussion of the use of military gear and BDU-type uniforms, and whether or not to use vest cams to protect both the alleged perpetrator and the LEO involved in a dust up.
That has nothing more to do with this post than to give you a look into my mind over these past few weeks that culminated with the thing that happened out in our parking lot on Friday afternoon. I am really upset about it. I’m upset because I did something that my head told me to do, but my heart was tugging me in the other direction. Here I sit on Sunday afternoon looking back on my weekend and I’m sad that I might have missed an opportunity, and instead I might have perpetuated another stereotypical profiling episode that just didn’t have to happen.
I got a call on my cell phone late in the day on Friday and was notified about a group of young black men in our parking lot. The caller said they looked like they were just hanging around and might be up to no good. I grabbed my sunglasses and walked out our office front door and around the building so I could check them out. I made a pass by them on the way to do something I dreamed up so I could get a good look at them and try to determine whether or not I should approach them and inquire about what they were doing there.
A couple of them were shirtless and they were kind of lounging up against a car that I didn’t recognize and the other one was sitting on a parking bumper watching me. My heart told me that they were probably waiting on someone who was doing business with one of our tenants. My head told me to engage them and see if I could detect some kind of threat. As the property owner of that corner of our block, I have a responsibility to keep the place safe, well maintained and well lit.
So, this white boy, against the alarms ringing in my head that were telling me these kids were just waiting on their mother, who was probably inside paying off a short term cash loan from one of my tenants and the reason they weren’t in the damn car is because it was hot as the hubs of hell out there on that asphalt. But no, I didn’t process that and walk on.
“Hey guys, you waiting on someone?” I said.
“Nuhuh,” mumbled the disgusted looking one with the reddish tips on his hair. “Someone in there?” I gestured at the loan company building. He mumbled something else that I couldn’t understand and I swear to God I could hear what he was thinking: “Listen you white asshole. My mother is inside paying a bill. Me and my boys are just too hot to sit in that car so we’re waiting here in your damn parking lot in the shade. You got a problem with that!!?!”
I am so sorry that I didn’t do what my heart wanted me to do: I should have gone over and sat down next to that angry looking young man and talked to him about what has been on my heart since this latest racial flash fire has boiled up in our country’s streets. I wish I could go back and ask him if he’d be willing to talk to me about my fears about about the anger that is boiling up around us and about his righteous indignation at feeling like he’s always got to explain himself.
I cannot imagine what it must feel like to be a young African American male and to see the look of mistrust or downright fear in people’s eyes as they are looking at you. If I looked up in my rearview mirror and saw blue lights and heard the click, click, click of boots walking up toward my car window, I would probably injure myself getting into whatever position the LEO told me to get into. Whether or not I was doing something wrong, my first thought would be, “Okay, I know how this is supposed to work. If I do what they say to do, everyone will be safe and if I’m guilty, I’ll have to pay for what I did. If I’m innocent, they system will take care of determining my innocence and I’ll go on back to my life.
That young black man that sees that same splatter of blue lights is bringing a whole different set of thoughts as he decides what he wants to do. I can’t put my head there, because I’m a white man who has never been subjected to any type of racial profiling. I’ve never had to explain to anyone why I was walking, sitting, standing, driving or doing a single damn thing. I can’t imagine how that must feel.
I know one thing, black men need to help rear their children. I have so many African American friends who are just like me except for the color of their skin. They are married to great women, they are terrific fathers to their children. Their children are educated, law-abiding citizens who are contributing to all the good things going on in our country.
Are these young black men who d0n’t have a father at home, imprinting on people at school or out in the streets who are not good, law-abiding citizens? Is this where that thuggish behavior comes from?
It should be obvious by now as you read this rambling column, that I have absolutely nothing I can contribute to this ugly situation. I am, however, going to look for every opportunity to engage with people and try to talk about these perceptions we have about people simply because of the color of their skin. There should never be a reason why someone should fear or feel anger toward someone they don’t even know.
To those young men in my parking lot on Friday, I am so sorry that I didn’t treat you like a human. I am so sorry that I didn’t offer you a bottle of water and a place to sit where it is cool while you waited for whomever you were waiting on. I am just so sorry I didn’t lead with my heart.
Now, let’s look at the other side of this. Let’s say you are a hairdresser and the newest thing in video games is a game where the people holding the controllers are racking up points bludgeoning you with tire tools or shooting you right in the middle of your well-coiffed forehead. And, they get extra points if your recently blown-off skull lands in that dumpster in the alley.
When an LEO comes upon a law being broken, his or her main job is to control the situation. Get people on the ground, while watching others standing around and might be involved with the perpetrator. They’ve got to watch for weapons, call for backup, watch the crowd, protect themselves and the innocents around them. That job is almost impossible, even if everyone is completely doing what they’re told to do.
Now, what if that perp decides he’s innocent and isn’t about to do what that cop just told him to do? Chaos happens. We see this now almost around the clock on TV. LEOs have one of the most difficult jobs on earth and that job is getting tougher by the day.
May God continue to bless the people whose job it is to keep us safe and protect the rule of law. May God also bless those whose tough upbringing hasn’t given them the proper tools to live safely in this world. I don’t have any answers here. All I have to offer is a hopeful prayer that we can figure this out.
Charles Tigner says
Right on my Brother! Perception is the Achilles Heel of Truth and Reality and what glorious rewards await us when we have ventured to travel in “Another’s Shoes”
Kate Nerone says
“You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view . . . until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.” Atticus Finch — “To Kill a Mockingbird” by Harper Lee
Mike, you always seem willing to do that for others. Don’t sell yourself too short here. There are plenty of folks who would just call the cops, as a neighbor of ours did one brutally hot summer day two years ago when two young black men experiencing car trouble pulled into & parked in our townhouse lot.
Apparently, the person they contacted to come pick them up when they couldn’t get their car started again didn’t arrive hastily enough for our neighbor, who approached the young men & told them to clear out immediately, that they didn’t belong there & were trespassing.
My teenage boys & I pulled up in our car as this was unfolding, just in time to hear out neighbor threaten to call the cops, & retreat to his townhouse. We asked the young men what was going on & were pretty shocked by what they told us. Our townhome community is close to a major highway & it’s not uncommon for folks experiencing vehicle problems to duck into our lot to investigate the trouble or call for help.
If these two men had been white guys in Polo shirts driving a Honda, I guarantee our neighbor wouldn’t have had an issue. But there they were, in graphic tees & sagging pants, driving something that had seen better days, & they were black. My boys & I asked them what was going on & they told their side of the story — that the car was overheating, they hadn’t been there long, that our neighbor had come out & spoken to them in a belligerant manner & questioned them about their intentions, etc.
I sent my boys into the house to get a large pitcher of tap water for the radiator, and they brought back water bottles for each of the stranded fellows, too. And then the cops pulled up. Our neighbor came back out to discuss the situation, & after a few minutes of back & forth, my boys & I retreated to the house. They went back out after the cops left & learned that the stranded travelers were graduates of their high school, several years older, & that one of them was currently a student at the college my oldest son now attends. They also learned that the cop wrote them a citation for loitering.
The neighbor who called the cops is a middle-aged man who lives with his mother, the homeowner. She was so unhappy with the events of that day, that she accosted me shortly after, screaming at me that those guys had been rude to her son, accusing my sons of being in league with them, cursing me to eternal damnation for not backing up her son when I had the chance.
Neither of them has said a word to us since. To which I say: Oh well.