Its Hard To Say, but I Wouldnt Be So Quick to Defend the System

I spent an afternoon at the Philadelphia Family court house waiting to see if my young friends case was going to trial. The courthouse has four football field sized waiting rooms in which people sit on benches waiting to be called into the courtroom. I took the time to wander from room to room and observe.
Looking at the people here raised a lot of questions. The answers to the questions are not obvious.

At first it seemed I was the only white person here. After the third person asked me if I was a lawyer I realized there were a few white people, but they were all wearing nice suits and carrying legal pads, or wearing a badge and a blue uniform. I thought I must be seeing things wrong so I made a few more rounds over the next couple hours.

I did not see one white face sitting on a bench with a worried or tired look. Not one out of thousands.

I looked at the cops. There were plenty of black and white but I noticed the white ones more. Maybe it was the cop with flames tattooed all the way up both fore –arms, or maybe the one with a skull clearly visible just below his elbow. I know this is 2009, everyone has a tattoo, and this is Philly where being a cop means someone will shoot at you sooner or later, so a little ‘grit’ is to be expected. But I started keeping track. There were more white cops that had tattoos than those who didn’t. What made it more interesting is that I saw no tattoos on any black officers. Interesting.

Lawyers were easy to spot. They were male and female, middle aged or late 20’s, but all well dressed, and all seemed comfortable in their surroundings.

So what?

So what if some white cops are tatted up and all the people awaiting trial are black? I have often been told you cannot judge a book by its cover and I have learned enough about people to know you can never know someone’s motivations just by looking from the outside, but that’s all I had here.

Here is what I do know.

I grew up in an extremely stable, middle class, all white neighborhood and people got arrested all the time. On top of that I saw people doing things that should have got them arrested on a regular basis. Granted this was thousands of miles from here but am I to assume no white kids commit crimes here in Philly? Was it that the jurisdictions here are all black so it’s a natural consequence of the racial makeup of the area? Nope, I live in this area and there are no minorities for blocks and blocks. Now I do see cop cars in my neighborhood but they are always parked in front of a home, a barbershop, or a diner. I don’t see patrols, yet I did see some twelve year olds smoking pot at the local park the other day.

Again I am not claiming to know the ‘why’ to what I observe, but I did, and do, see it. Do you think I am the only one? What impression do you suppose my young black friend gets when he sees these same things?

Let’s assume for a moment my young friend is innocent. He is taken to a place where all the “bad guys” are black like him. White cops all look scary and mean, a bunch of rich looking people argue with each other about his fate, and he has little to no control of it all. What assumptions do you suppose this 16 year old will make about our world? What lessons are being taught?
I will not call tattooed cops racist. I do not assume all these black kids are innocent. I do not think all lawyers are rich blood suckers. I will not assume these things, but how can I expect an immature black youth NOT to?

What picture has been painted before him and what hope is portrayed?

His Mom is single, has four more little kids in the house whom she supports by working temp jobs. Is it reasonable to expect her to make note of what her son may be observing and then encourage him to not look on the surface? Why would I expect her to give any of these people the benefit of the doubt?

I’m taking extra time because I believe in this kid. I think it’s important to see some white faces who really are on his side. I have to explain to him that wearing that tie makes a difference in a judges eye the same way those tattoos make an impression in his. I have to explain to him that white cops see a sea of black faces sitting in those benches and it makes an impression that affects how they see him when he’s on the streets.

I have been told and taught that race does not matter. After seeing the scene at the family court, after knowing the circumstances of this kid’s life, can I say race doesn’t matter in his life?” How do I teach him not to judge while at the same time warning him that he is being judged all the time?

More Than Just a Color

I’m sitting in my upstairs office reading and reflecting. The black kids who were kicked out for “safety” reasons are now being asked to return to the pool. There have been no communicated adjustments to remedy the safety concern, but there is a law suit.

A potential Supreme Court justice is sitting before congress and her past words and views are being scrutinized.

My young friend who is navigating the wrong end of the justice system has a final court date early next month and things are looking better. Turns out the original police report corroborates my friend’s story which will most likely lead to an acquittal and the question as to why this has taken over six months. I think his cousin did it.

Another friend is questioning her faith not because of doctrine but social issues. She hasn’t said as much but race has something to do with it. Not directly, but those with whom she has issue, all share the same complexion.

The kids are sleeping, my wife has yet to return from her day trip to New York and I’m listening to Jack Johnson. Whenever I listen to Jack I mentally wander off into lamenting that I have never learned to surf. I always wanted to, but never lived near a beach. My mother in law once told me of how she used to go by the beach all the time while in L.A. I asked her if she ever wanted to surf and she replied, with a surprisingly thoughtful look on her face, “naw, that was always just for white boys.”

Swimming pools, Supreme Court, the justice system, church, and surfing; none of them are really about race. When you add race to all these things you have an added layer of complexity and issues. Sure I could try to ignore it but no matter if I do, my wife will still be black. I will still be white. One day my daughter will realize that those two things aren’t just a color.

Bad Math

A+B+C+D=275

In math you cannot know the sum before you know all the numbers to be added.

If you pre-suppose the sum is ten, then find the added numbers are 5, 3, 2, and 2, you are wrong. You cannot simply throw out one of the 2s to make yourself correct.

It is ridiculous in math yet we do it all the time in social situations.

We all have opinions and make generalizations whether it be about class, race, gender, age, whatever. We think we know the sum but very few make an attempt to find the individual digits to be added up.

Of course I know white/black people, I see them everywhere. I know because I watch, I pay attention. So goes perception.

I can look at a number 9, but if there is no context, I'll never know if the paper is upside down. Now if I can find 3+3+3 then I know it is in fact a 9.

What happens more often is people find 3+3 and then try to make up another 3, rather than accept that they might be wrong. Rarely does one consider the 6.

Most of us don't really want to know the answers, we only want to know if we are right.

The more I ponder this, the more I think I'm right, which helps prove my point.

Winston Churchill

Mormon Rapper?

Check out this article about a friend of mine... ignore the white guy.
http://sct.temple.edu/blogs/murl/2009/06/14/logan-the-unwritten-word/

Who's Keeping Track?

Perception is not always reality.

I have an idea for an exercise. It might be uncomfortable but my curiosity is getting the better of me.
I write under a broad generalization that the average American does not have much meaningful interracial or intercultural interaction.

Is this true?

Not only is this true for others but is it true for me?

What I propose is that starting Monday, we start keeping track. The more detailed the better. Keep track, mentally if that is most appropriate, written if needed, of the race or ethnicity of everyone around you in every situation. Now I know that we may not know the actual racial background of all we see, or the ethnicity of the guy crossing the street while you are pulling into the parking lot, but for this experiment just guess. Do this for an entire week and next Sunday, report what you found.

I know, I know, race isn’t supposed to matter and many are uncomfortable paying attention to this sort of thing. Others may seem to pay attention to little else. Either way, as with most things, an occasional closer look can be revealing. You may find you were right, you may not. Sometimes you could be both right and wrong.

Take the church I attend as an example.
I once heard another member describe it as predominantly African-American. I always thought it was more 50/40/10, black, white, Latino. I was unsure who was right, so before opening my mouth, I decided to investigate.
The next Sunday I counted. I sat in a place where I could see almost everyone and took notes. There were about 170 people there, 80 white, 80 black, and 10 Latino. I kept track for a couple other Sundays just to see if that one day was a fluke and found the numbers remained fairly steady. I was ready to claim a victory (in my mind as I told no one what I was doing or even that I disagreed with the original person’s description), till today. Today I attended a Sunday school class I do not normally attend. The same one that other member usually attends. This class had about 5 white people, 12 black people, and two Latino. That class would surely be seen as predominantly black. I think it was worth noting that this Sunday school class would be where more actual interaction takes place.
Seems we were both, in a way, right.

I think it would be an interesting topic for discussion, and if enough of us participate we may find some norms. At the very least, you may find if your own perception of your surroundings is accurate. A reality check of sorts.

I think it would be useful to share with each other. Most of us see our own existence as indicative of the norm and somehow exceptional at the same time. Reading what others find will also help us understand others as well.

Who is willing?
(you can comment anonymously, not everyone is comfortable with this sort of thing)

the "other" side

Invisible Man, Soul Man, and Black Like Me all try to show white Americans what it is like to be black in The United States. One is a metaphor, two are chronicles of white men going undercover, one fictional one not. I found another way to learn the same lesson, maybe more powerful, surely more modern.

When leaving lily white Sandy Utah, a suburb of Salt Lake City, people told me Atlanta was a black city. I did not realize how black till I stepped out of a panel van with my luggage at the corner of Ashby and Bankhead.

I looked like no one else. Just in case I was unaware of how much I stood out, people would stare at me everywhere I went and occasionally children would loudly point out my race. Billboards were different, they had black people on them. Not just the ads on busses but everything. Even the two greatest icons of whiteness, Jesus and Santa Claus, appeared black hanging on the walls of people's homes. I did not own a TV but they were everywhere and all tuned to shows like Moesha or Martin. I did not have a radio but everyone else did. Not once did I hear a screaming guitar lick or even a folksy ballad. What I did hear was a beat, sometimes smooth horns, and lots of rapping or singing. No rock style screaming.

It was fascinating at first. I was not used to the attention and enjoyed talking and learning with everyone I met. The fascination soon wore out and got tiring.

I lost my identity and just became the white guy. I could not have a conversation without race being brought up. I had other things to talk about, there was more, but I was rarely allowed to get there. Police regularly stopped me to ask if I was lost or needed help. When they found where I lived they would call me names and predict my needing their help soon. A few promised my surely needed help would not come from him, because I was just asking for trouble by being in this neighborhood.

I felt vulnerable and scrutinized all the time. I got used to it and achieved some comfort, but it never completely went away.

Occasionally I would get what would seem a brief rest when visiting white areas or white friends. Not really. White strangers would not, could not relate to my experience and I had no reason to feel I was anything like them. Friends and family would often joke about some new mannerisms and tastes, claiming I now thought myself black. They questioned my awareness of my own identity.

I found this ironic since I had never been aware of my whiteness before entering this black world. Once in that world, everyone and everything reminded me that I was in fact white. This new self awareness was met with other whites questioning who I thought I was. It was very lonely. I lived there roughly two years. It was almost 12 years ago.

I still haven’t forgotten those days and I still visit.
I remember those lonely days when I hear a white person question why the black kids sit together in the cafeteria or ask why there would be such things as historically black colleges. I remember it when I listen to some white person complain about what words they aren’t allowed to say or how it is unfair that a network named BET is allowed to exist.

I think about those days often and how small that area is geographically compared to the whole country. I realize that without me making a real effort, I will never experience that again. I realize how easy it was for me to leave that black world and retreat back to my white one. My white world is all over. It seams to just be wherever I am, and I move a lot.

I realize that for those who don’t look like me, that period of life, the one where they are the outsider who sticks out, IS their life.

I got worn out after six months, what does one do after 40 years?