In response to the grand jury announcement in Ferguson, a (white) neighbor posted a meme, “Remember when white people rioted after the OJ Simpson verdict? Me either.”
I’ve written extensively here about why memes (from any ideological bent) ruin thoughtful political discourse. Most of the time, I see little value in rebutting the specifics of a meme itself and counsel people (yes, you, Dad!) not to get angry at the unfairness of the meme but to instead highlight its absurdities. In this case, I responded with “No, but I do remember the times that white people rioted over football coaches and pumpkins.”
But after some thought, I’ve decided the specifics of this particular meme are worth responding to after all. White people might have been disgusted by the OJ Simpson verdict – another rich and powerful celebrity gets away with murder – but we weren’t personally affected by it. If anyone would have been out in the streets rioting, it would have been victims of domestic violence who once again had proof that the system will continue to fail them even after they are finally killed by their abusers. And domestic violence victims, I would guess, tend not to be a riotous lot.
So, with the strong caveat that rioters – in Ferguson and elsewhere – are more likely to be opportunistic hooligans than actual protesters, I understand why this case feels personal to the black community. I am white, thus: 1- I don’t have to raise my sons to fear the police (at least, not to the same extent). They aren’t going to be pulled over just for driving a nice-looking car or harassed and searched just for jay-walking. 2- I don’t live in a world where white state legislatures enact laws giving impunity to white civilians who shoot my unarmed sons on the barest of pretexts. (In case you’re wondering about the stats, white-on-black shooters using stand-your-ground defenses get off 17% of the time, while black-on-white shooters using it get off just 1% of the time.)
I believe in social justice, but most of the time I don’t have to live with the degrading and terrifying consequences when justice fails. The security of white privilege is like oxygen. I know intellectually that I have it, and every once in a while I get the briefest insight into what life is like without it, but most of the time I have the luxury of taking it for granted. So I can understand how the grand jury’s failure to charge Wilson seems to the black community not only like justice denied, but also downright terrifying, and above all personal.
What I really don’t understand is why some white people are so personally invested in believing in Darren Wilson’s innocence – or George Zimmerman’s or Michael Dunn’s or… any of the other high profile shooters in recent years. I’m more than willing to say that 1- Michael Brown probably wasn’t a good guy. Of course, he had the same basic rap sheet at this stage of his life that sitting congressman and right-wing darling Rep. Darrell Issa (R-CA) had at his, so we don’t know what Michael Brown might have done with his life given the chance. We also don’t really know how we might respond to living in Michael Brown’s economic circumstances. I want criminals prosecuted and punished, full stop. But in my more self-reflective moments, I wonder just how willing I would be to follow society’s law if the societal deck were so thoroughly stacked against me… But I digress, let’s just agree that Michael Brown probably wasn’t a good guy.
And 2- being a police officer who must routinely deal with hardened criminals is emotionally-debilitating, underpaid, under-appreciated work. It’s easy to second-guess, from the safety of my home, what Wilson should have done even as Wilson might very well have feared for his life in that moment.
All true, but… so what? Did Wilson use appropriate restraint or was he motivated by racist and authoritarian impulses? Was he justified in shooting the first or second time but not the third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, etc as Brown fled? I have my own ideas based on Wilson's subsequent public comments, but the details of this specific case haven’t mattered as much to me as the broader context of it. I'll never really know whether Wilson was justified, and neither will you. (That is, frankly, a very good reason why there should have been trial and substantive cross-examination.) But do the details change the fact that we live in a country still blanketed in institutional racism? Why would any white person even want to cling to our memes and our pseudo-legal arguments and our Facebook spats about who riots most instead of working to fix the underlying societal problems that have brought us here?
I suppose the answer lies in claims of reverse racism – this victimhood rationalization that lets us believe that white people are somehow the persecuted group “these days” despite the overwhelming data proving the opposite.
I don’t have a lot of sympathy for that. I’m a woman who walks alone on the street at night. I experience powerlessness and “persecution” firsthand in a very threatening, intimate way on a near-daily basis that many of my white friends and neighbors living in suburbia can’t comprehend. On the street, a man (any man, black, Latino, white) might nod and move on or he might chase after me and yell at me as I walk by; he has the physical power of strength and the structural power and expectations of male privilege. Sex trumps race. But when we step inside, that dynamic shifts. That same man is eyed suspiciously by the security guard while I glide by unassailed. Race trumps sex. I don’t fool myself into believing that because in this or that instance my institutional privilege is subverted that it is any less real most of the time.
I used to hope for some kind of afterlife where we could all walk a mile in each other’s skins. Now I just long for the day we all stop posting glib political memes and start doing something to make the world a better place.
I’ve written extensively here about why memes (from any ideological bent) ruin thoughtful political discourse. Most of the time, I see little value in rebutting the specifics of a meme itself and counsel people (yes, you, Dad!) not to get angry at the unfairness of the meme but to instead highlight its absurdities. In this case, I responded with “No, but I do remember the times that white people rioted over football coaches and pumpkins.”
But after some thought, I’ve decided the specifics of this particular meme are worth responding to after all. White people might have been disgusted by the OJ Simpson verdict – another rich and powerful celebrity gets away with murder – but we weren’t personally affected by it. If anyone would have been out in the streets rioting, it would have been victims of domestic violence who once again had proof that the system will continue to fail them even after they are finally killed by their abusers. And domestic violence victims, I would guess, tend not to be a riotous lot.
So, with the strong caveat that rioters – in Ferguson and elsewhere – are more likely to be opportunistic hooligans than actual protesters, I understand why this case feels personal to the black community. I am white, thus: 1- I don’t have to raise my sons to fear the police (at least, not to the same extent). They aren’t going to be pulled over just for driving a nice-looking car or harassed and searched just for jay-walking. 2- I don’t live in a world where white state legislatures enact laws giving impunity to white civilians who shoot my unarmed sons on the barest of pretexts. (In case you’re wondering about the stats, white-on-black shooters using stand-your-ground defenses get off 17% of the time, while black-on-white shooters using it get off just 1% of the time.)
I believe in social justice, but most of the time I don’t have to live with the degrading and terrifying consequences when justice fails. The security of white privilege is like oxygen. I know intellectually that I have it, and every once in a while I get the briefest insight into what life is like without it, but most of the time I have the luxury of taking it for granted. So I can understand how the grand jury’s failure to charge Wilson seems to the black community not only like justice denied, but also downright terrifying, and above all personal.
What I really don’t understand is why some white people are so personally invested in believing in Darren Wilson’s innocence – or George Zimmerman’s or Michael Dunn’s or… any of the other high profile shooters in recent years. I’m more than willing to say that 1- Michael Brown probably wasn’t a good guy. Of course, he had the same basic rap sheet at this stage of his life that sitting congressman and right-wing darling Rep. Darrell Issa (R-CA) had at his, so we don’t know what Michael Brown might have done with his life given the chance. We also don’t really know how we might respond to living in Michael Brown’s economic circumstances. I want criminals prosecuted and punished, full stop. But in my more self-reflective moments, I wonder just how willing I would be to follow society’s law if the societal deck were so thoroughly stacked against me… But I digress, let’s just agree that Michael Brown probably wasn’t a good guy.
And 2- being a police officer who must routinely deal with hardened criminals is emotionally-debilitating, underpaid, under-appreciated work. It’s easy to second-guess, from the safety of my home, what Wilson should have done even as Wilson might very well have feared for his life in that moment.
All true, but… so what? Did Wilson use appropriate restraint or was he motivated by racist and authoritarian impulses? Was he justified in shooting the first or second time but not the third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, etc as Brown fled? I have my own ideas based on Wilson's subsequent public comments, but the details of this specific case haven’t mattered as much to me as the broader context of it. I'll never really know whether Wilson was justified, and neither will you. (That is, frankly, a very good reason why there should have been trial and substantive cross-examination.) But do the details change the fact that we live in a country still blanketed in institutional racism? Why would any white person even want to cling to our memes and our pseudo-legal arguments and our Facebook spats about who riots most instead of working to fix the underlying societal problems that have brought us here?
I suppose the answer lies in claims of reverse racism – this victimhood rationalization that lets us believe that white people are somehow the persecuted group “these days” despite the overwhelming data proving the opposite.
I don’t have a lot of sympathy for that. I’m a woman who walks alone on the street at night. I experience powerlessness and “persecution” firsthand in a very threatening, intimate way on a near-daily basis that many of my white friends and neighbors living in suburbia can’t comprehend. On the street, a man (any man, black, Latino, white) might nod and move on or he might chase after me and yell at me as I walk by; he has the physical power of strength and the structural power and expectations of male privilege. Sex trumps race. But when we step inside, that dynamic shifts. That same man is eyed suspiciously by the security guard while I glide by unassailed. Race trumps sex. I don’t fool myself into believing that because in this or that instance my institutional privilege is subverted that it is any less real most of the time.
I used to hope for some kind of afterlife where we could all walk a mile in each other’s skins. Now I just long for the day we all stop posting glib political memes and start doing something to make the world a better place.
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