Here’s what I think:
I understand, if people are concerned about the looting going on after the protests.
But to me, that is 1% of this story. That 1% is a calculated misdirection by Donald Trump and his followers.
They are desperate to have us follow that, rather than the real story.
If you are one of those people who are upset by the protests, I have a few questions for you:
- Have you ever been pulled over while driving – just because you are white?
- When you are pulled over by a cop, is your first reaction terror, because you are afraid that you might be killed – because you are white?
- Have you ever lost out on an apartment – because you were white?
- Have you ever lost out on a job – because you were white?
- Have you had to explain to your kids that they should do everything they can to avoid interaction with any policemen – because they are white?
Too many of my friends have had to answer yes to those questions.
Not because they were white.
* * *
You remember Botham Jean?
Perhaps not.
It’s hard to remember all these names of black men and women who were shot….
George Floyd…
Breonna Taylor…
Ahmaud Arbery…
Philandro Castille…
Eric Garner…
Tamir Rice…
Michael Brown…
Stephon Clark…
Trayvon Martin…
That’s just a few of the high-profile deaths. Lives that were taken away. For no reason at all.
And that doesn’t even count people like Chris Cooper, the bird-watcher who was accosted by a white woman in Central Park. He’s lucky – he’s still alive.
When he asked the woman to follow the rules and put her dog on a leash, she went bananas.
He videoed her reaction on his phone, as she followed through on her threat to call the cops, and tell them, “I’m being threatened by an African-American man.”
“Please, go ahead,” he calmly told her. “Please, call the police.”
When you think about it – what an incredibly brave thing for him to say.
* * *
Botham Jean was a 26-year old accountant, living in Dallas, Texas.
He was shot by a Dallas police officer, in September 2018.
His crime? Sitting on the living room couch in his apartment, eating ice cream.
And being black.
The police officer (Amber Guyger) who shot him said she had walked into his apartment by accident.
She said she thought it was her apartment.
She said she thought he was an intruder, so she shot him.
Botham Jean was unarmed.
Botham Jean was not even safe in his own apartment.
Amber Guyger was initially charged with manslaughter.
After some protests, and some pressure, the charge was upped to murder.
She was tried, and a jury found her guilty.
At her sentencing, Botham Jean’s brother, Brandt Jean, spoke.
Like Botham, he was a gentle, spiritual man. Like his brother, he drew strength from The Bible.
“I hope you go to God,” he told Amber Guyger. “With all the guilt, with all the bad things you may have done in the past. Each and every one of us may have done something that were not supposed to do,” he said softly.
“If you truly are sorry, I know I can forgive you. If you go to God and ask him, he will forgive you…. I love you, just like anyone else… I don’t even want you to go to jail…. I want the best for you… Because I know that’s what my brother would want for you.”
He then turned to the judge. “I don’t know if this is possible. But can I give her a hug, please?”
And then he got down off the stand and embraced his brother’s killer, as they cried in each other’s arms for several seconds.
It is one of the most astonishing videos you will ever see.
A gentleman named Sam Sanders (host of NPR’s It’s Been a Minute) posted a picture of the embrace on Twitter.
He added:
“Black people are superhuman.
We shouldn’t have to be.”
* * *
I cannot remember a time in my life like this.
Nothing even close to this.
To have the country shut down because of a world-wide pandemic – then to have it explode into flames of protest, and teeter on the verge of martial law, is hard to imagine.
But as numbing and wearying as the Coronavirus and the quarantine has been, and as heartwrenching as the protests have been, I get a shot of energy from them.
Maybe it reminds me of the protests of my childhood in the ‘60s, when people took to the streets, to challenge the Vietnam War, or to challenge torn and tattered racial relations.
Maybe it’s the promise of hope – that this time is different, that this time things will really change.
As much as it breaks my heart – it fires me up.
Maybe, this time, we got this.
Maybe it’s the countless scenes of hope we continually see played out.
I watch in wide-eyed horror the terrifying scenes – police beating up peaceful protesters with their shields or batons, or firing tear gas cannisters at innocent bystanders, or hauling out a young couple from their car and tasing them.
But then I see something that stops me up short, and restores my faith in humanity.
I see the Gennessee County sheriff throw down his helmet and his baton, and join the protesters in their march.
I see black men calm down angry young men, counseling them that violence won’t get the job done.
I see young black protesters, powerfully, thoughtfully, patiently explaining to a white person how they got to this point. How things just have to change.
And every time I see one of these acts of humanity, it reminds me:
Black people are superhuman.
They shouldn’t have to be.
Daddy Gibs 