Kath is a British woman, with pale skin and short, red hair that shoots from her head in individual spirals that seem to wave hello and greet you before her easy smile does. I don’t know her well; our sons went to middle school together. A couple of days ago, when I was quickly scrolling through Facebook, I noticed that she had posted an article about Emantic Fitzgerald Bradford Jr., the young man who was unfairly killed in an Alabama mall by police officers at the end of last year.
I paused and then wrote in her comments: “thank you for caring.”
She, is one of the only non-Black people I know who has shown any concern for the unjustified deaths of Black men by the police. Trayvon Martin: silence. Jordan Edwards: silence. Tamir Rice: silence. Sandra Bland: silence. No postings. No conversation. Nothing but silence — as if they hadn’t seen the newspapers, or seen the protests on the news. It was as if those Black lives didn’t matter.
Yet, I’ve seen multiple pleas to help transport horses that were stranded in California during the wild fires; pleas to adopt stray dogs and puppies; and outrage over tainted dog food. I, an animal lover, have sympathy for any animal in need; but simultaneously wonder why the same concern or cries for help are not mirrored when a Black person, someone’s father, brother, sister or son, dies in the middle of a street.
Why does it seem that many White people feel more empathy, more of a connection to animals than to us, Black people? It is easy to jump to the conclusion that the disregard is rooted in racism; and perhaps that it true. But, I can’t help but to reflect more on the issue.
Could it be that they have interacted with, lived with, connected with, and had authentic exchanges with animals; whereas, we, Black people have been trained to present a caricature of ourselves. Most of us show white people glimpses of who we are; we present the acceptable Black person whom we know they want to see; or show them nothing. It’s not until we are at home, in church, at social gatherings where most of the attendees are Black that we code-switch to our true selves.
My guess is that most White people are not aware that they only know our “White people representative.” Everything in the world has always been open to them, of course we are too. Our co-workers don’t know how frustrated, angry, or lonely we are at work. Our neighbors don’t know that we ensure our grass is always cut on time because we can’t be Black and have a raggedy yard; or that we warn our kids not to walk home alone because the safest neighborhood is unsafe for our kids. They don’t know the things we say at home with our families when we watch the news or that we train our kids on the do’s and don’ts of dealing with White people. They don’t know us. Do our fake smiles and laughs at company parties, our decisions to stay mainly to ourselves at work, or our choices to tell them nothing personal prohibit the possibility of authentic bonds?
Is the lack of that true familiarity, the lack of that bond the cause for their lack of concern when one of us is killed –even tragically? Do they need to show concern for us, before we show our true selves to them; or do we need to show our humanity to them before they show concern for us? Are we at a painful standoff?