In light of the Ferguson decision, I -- like everyone else -- am doing a lot of thinking about race and justice. Reactions to the verdict show the anger and frustration of dark-skinned Americans feeling judged by their appearance. What can I, a light-skinned person, bring to the discussion? Empathy, an open mind, and a humble heart willing to listen and learn. I'm reading news articles and opinion pieces about it and thinking back to my own lessons in profiling to try to better understand.
Lesson 1.
When I was in high school, I towered over my peers and was unusually thin -- to the point that people felt compelled to comment. A parade of well-meaning adults would come up to me and say, "So. Are you going to be a model or a basketball player?"
I laughed along with them ("Ha. Ha. What an original comment.") but inwardly seethed. How dare they assume my body shape limited my career options! What did they know about me and my aspirations?
The only thing that prevented my snark and anger from surfacing was knowing they meant it kindly -- to them, this was a compliment.
So now I think back on it and wonder, what if -- instead of thinking "model or basketball player" -- they thought "criminal"? What if they didn't mean their comments kindly?
Lesson 2.
When I was in graduate school, the professor in the lab next door couldn't stand me. She studied HIV and cared deeply about her patients and their cause. But she was snippy to me. She gave me -- an extremely conscientious student -- a B grade in a seminar class considered an easy A if you simply showed up. Sometimes the other grad students speculated about her attitude toward me, but no believable explanations could be found.
I was very hurt and went out of my way to be kind and respectful to her. It did no good.
She was gone for a month while I was preparing for a difficult oral exam that would qualify me for the PhD program. I was so focused on preparing -- and so worried since my undergrad schooling left me far behind the other students -- that I hardly ate or slept.
When she returned from her trip, she called me into her office and closed the door.
"I'm worried about you," she said. "You've lost a lot of weight."
I was shocked -- both by her care and my weight loss. She sat me down, and we talked about my stress. She was surprised to meet someone who didn't own a scale and had never heard of comfort eating. I was surprised by her compassion and concern. We started getting to know one another. She had grown up on a reservation in Arizona or New Mexico and, seeing how badly her friends and neighbors were treated, developed a heart for justice that influenced her career. I realized she had typed me as a privileged white girl -- the enemy of the people whose causes she fought for. Seeing my weakness -- my humanness, struggles, and individuality -- allowed her to extend her compassion to me.
Now I realize this is a rare instance when my appearance worked against me. The Ferguson situation has opened my eyes to my norm -- my white-girl status usually works in my favor without me even realizing it. I remember my frustration and hurt from her treatment. What if I constantly faced this sort of groundless suspicion and disdain based on my looks?
Lesson 3.
Time passes and Tall (No-Longer-So-Thin) White Girl gives birth to Huckle, a baby so white that his nose turned orange when we introduced him to strained carrots. (Yes, really!)
Now Twelve-year-old Huckle is a Tall White Boy. Last month he went to a tae kwon do class without his newly earned, proudly earned black belt.
The teacher, a teenager half a head shorter than Huckle, says, "Where's your belt?"
Huckle already feels bad about forgetting it. But he remembers what teachers have told other students who forgot their belts -- that the important thing isn't the belt but the hard work behind it.
"It's okay," Huckle tells her. "It's not really important."
The teenaged teacher is shocked at his impertinence. How dare he take that attitude with her! She calls him out, and the matter quickly escalates. He doesn't understand her anger enough to explain the misunderstanding. She thinks this intimidatingly tall kid isn't giving her proper respect. By the end of class, she has decided to take away his belt for a week.
Huckle comes home confused and upset. He doesn't understand why he's being punished. We talk it through and, in a rare moment of assertiveness, I call the teacher. The issue is easily resolved -- she is as eager for reconciliation as Huckle -- but I'm left worrying about sending my son out into a world of strangers who don't know him. I think about him as an adult-sized kid, and I think about people insecure with their authority. What if it was a police officer, rather than a young martial arts instructor -- who thought he was being impertinent? It's like a terrifying accident waiting to happen, as he still has so much to learn about other people's perceptions. I wouldn't have understood this when he was younger, when everyone saw him as a harmless kid.
My worry extends to Huckle's friends. Among his favorite school buddies are triplets with skin so dark that I can't get a decent photo of them beside my ultra-pale son. We've known them since they were little nine year olds. They have amazing minds that are quick to memorize anything, from books about the Presidents (one is a history buff) to the license plate numbers of their friends' cars. They are shy around grownups and get nervous when separated from one another. Almost every day Huckle comes home from school with funny stories of what one said or another did, like the time they tried to sneak a friend into their car while the two moms chatted -- a spontaneous play date!
These boys are quickly becoming men. Like Huckle, they are tall and lanky. I worry about how strangers will perceive them. Will people mistake their serious faces or shyness for hostility? I've admired their mom's carefully crafted route to manhood: their 2013 project was learning to do laundry; their 2014 project was learning to cook (and only one recipe can be a dessert!). I wonder what she's had to tell them about the misperceptions and judgment they'll face as men. It breaks my heart to think that their innocence and integrity will be questioned simply because of their race. I want to protect them, to advocate for them, to get momma-fierce with anyone who treats them as anything less than the terrific and talented kids they are.
So there you have it: a white girl's lessons on racial profiling. Multiply by every day, and maybe that adds up to the disheartening experiences of my African-American friends. I'll do my best to keep these lessons in mind, to not judge by appearances, to stand for justice, and to raise empathetic kids.
May our country heal these centuries-old scars.
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