Trevor Noah recently made this statement on The Daily Show: “If you’re pro-black lives matter, you’re assumed to be anti-police; and if you’re pro-police, then you surely hate black people. It seems that it’s either pro-cop and anti-black or pro-black and anti-cop when in reality, you can be pro-cop AND pro-black, which is what we should all be.”
It’s been a grueling couple of weeks. Innocent blood has been shed, tears have flowed, protests have abounded. And writers have diligently tried to make sense of it all. Some have defended the police actions which killed Alton Sterling and Philando Castile; some have defended the victims and decried excessive use of force and racism among officers of the law. Some have focused on the families of young black men and the agony they must endure over the unjust loss of their loved ones, while others have spoken just as eloquently of the families of the murdered police officers in Dallas and Baton Rouge and the police departments reeling from tragedy. Black Lives Matter, Blue Lives Matter, All Lives Matter. Friends on social media have declared that they stand with black people and against racism as others stand with the police and support the sacrifice they make as they place themselves in harm’s way every day.
Trevor Noah’s statement is not really all that profound if you think about it. It’s one of those things we all should have known already, but obviously many of us either don’t know it or don’t act like we know it. Why do we always set up these adversarial either-or divisions? Us vs them, blacks vs whites, blacks vs cops, gay vs straight, Christians vs Muslims. Why do we think we must be for one and against the other? Why do we assume that all members of a particular group fit the same description?
As my pastor, the Rev. Dr. Jeffrey DeYoe, said in a recent sermon, we have to stop seeing categories and start seeing individuals. He pointed out that the characters in his text, the parable of the Good Samaritan, acted as individuals. Most people are familiar with the story: a man is robbed, stripped, beaten, and left half dead on the side of the road. A priest sees him and passes by on the other side of the road. Then a levite (also responsible for religious duties in the Jewish culture) comes by and does the same thing. Finally, a Samaritan man sees him, takes pity on him, performs first aid on his wounds, transports him to an inn, and promises to pay his expenses for the duration of his recovery. As you may know, the Samaritan man’s actions are especially significant because the Samaritans and the Jews hated each other; yet this man sees the victim not as a Jew but as a human being in need, a human being whose life matters. Pastor Jeff pointed out that not every priest would have been so uncaring nor would every levite, and not just any Samaritan would have stopped to help. These people’s actions represent only themselves as individuals, not the categories to which they belong.
I’ve met some really good, caring, dedicated police officers. On July 13, 1997, my daughter (then 15 years old) was involved in a head-on collision in which she and two other young people were severely injured and the 16-year-old boy driving the car in which she was riding died. The first responder to the accident scene was a young officer who went straight to the boy who was pinned in the driver’s seat, since some passing motorists had already removed the three girls from the two vehicles. The young officer spoke soothingly to the boy while trying desperately to extricate him from the burning car. He was unable to do so, and within a few minutes, the boy died. Two weeks later, when my daughter was home from the hospital, the officer made the rounds visiting the three kids who survived the accident. This man showed me the heart and soul which the people who go into harm’s way every day put into their jobs. After visiting with Lisa for a few minutes in our home, he talked to me on the front porch about the agony he’d gone through as he relived that boy’s death over and over; he had even taken a whole week off work to deal with his grief. As we talked, he wept like a baby right there on my front porch. I’ll always remember that incident because it reminds me of all the competent and heroic officers of the law who genuinely want to serve their fellow citizens and make the world better and safer.
I’ve also met a few not-so-competent police officers. About fifteen or so years ago, while I was at work teaching my classes, someone attempted to break into my house. When I came home around noon (it was a summer semester), I reached for the key pad to disarm my security system and noticed the alarm had been activated. I immediately called the security company to find out what had occurred and was told they had attempted to contact me and had dispatched the police when I didn’t pick up the call (I was in class). They asked if I’d like for the officer to come out again and go over what had happened, and I said I would definitely like to know the details. While I waited for the officer to return, I started looking around. Among other things, I found the screen from the window by the front door sitting on the ground, and I found a full set of hand prints–two whole hands!!–on my kitchen window. When the officer arrived, he casually explained what he had seen and assured me nothing was amiss. When I asked about the screen, he said, “Oh, those things fall out.” Huh? Really? When I asked about the hand prints on the window, he was taken back since he obviously hadn’t seen them. He dusted them, and that evidence led to identifying the would-be burglar. Meanwhile, he made up some ridiculous story to try to cover his incompetence. Some time later, I received a bill from the sheriff’s department for a false alarm. Needless to say, I set them straight and didn’t have to pay; but I would not label this officer one of Fort Myers’ finest.
One good cop, one bad cop. Or maybe the bad cop was really a good cop having a bad day. Even good people make bad judgments and have bad days. Saying the officers who killed Alton Sterling and Philando Castile may have made bad judgments does not mean all police officers are bad or that we can’t respect and support them. Everyone’s had a bad day at work. Good surgeons sometimes make serious mistakes in the operating room. Good teachers sometimes make bad calls, unfairly discipline, and give unjust grades. Good hairstylists sometimes give bad haircuts. Good chefs sometimes serve lousy food. The problem is bad haircuts grow out and one lousy meal won’t ruin my whole life, but a mistake in the operating room or in a police confrontation can have permanent consequences. If I decided to change a grade, I could fill out a form and it was done; if a police officer uses unnecessary force and kills someone, that’s final. It’s a heavy weight of responsibility, and I respect those willing to carry that weight; but I don’t think that means we have to overlook tragic misjudgments.
There has to be accountability, and there has to be compassion. We all have a stake in everything that happens in our country. Therefore, we must hold each other to high standards, but we must also have compassion for each other when we fail, as we all do. The hatred, the vitriol, the blaming, the categorizing–these all have to stop if we want to survive.
We can no longer ignore the inequities which are deeply rooted in our culture. Some people have not been served as others have; so although it’s accurate to say “all lives matter,” those who are still waiting for equal status are the ones whose needs must be addressed right now.
I used to teach a Nathaniel Hawthorne short story titled “Young Goodman Brown.” Young Mr. Brown dreams one night of wandering into the heart of the forest where he sees everyone he knows from his village engaged in unseemly activities, and the scene shakes the young man to his core:
“Among them, quivering to and fro between gloom and splendor, appeared faces that would be seen next day at the council board of the province, and others which, Sabbath after Sabbath, looked devoutly heavenward, and benignantly over the crowded pews, from the holiest pulpits in the land. Some affirm that the lady of the governor was there. At least there were high dames well known to her, and wives of honored husbands, and widows, a great multitude, and ancient maidens, all of excellent repute, and fair young girls, who trembled lest their mothers should espy them. . . . he recognized a score of the church members of Salem village famous for their especial sanctity. Good old Deacon Gookin had arrived, and waited at the skirts of that venerable saint, his revered pastor. But, irreverently consorting with these grave, reputable, and pious people, these elders of the church, these chaste dames and dewy virgins, there were men of dissolute lives and women of spotted fame, wretches given over to all mean and filthy vice, and suspected even of horrid crimes. It was strange to see that the good shrank not from the wicked, nor were the sinners abashed by the saints.”
In the village, there were social and moral distinctions; in the heart of the forest, they were all the same. We’re all the same at heart. Why do we try so hard to elevate ourselves above our fellow human beings? We need to stop judging other people on their worst day. We need to stop thinking of people as categories and start seeing who they are as individuals. We need to stop hating and start loving each other, because if one falls we all fall. United we stand.