“I have been hesitant to talk about my son through all of this. I did not want to use his blackness as a platform. Being an adoptive mother of a black son, does NOT give me any first-hand knowledge or experience of what it is like to live in black skin. Even when we had our encounters with racism I had the power of my white privilege to stand up for my rights. I do have a second-hand knowledge (so to speak), as a witness of racial profiling, and the secondary pain of one who loves my son. However, as I see so much pushback, of those scrambling to continue to blame black people for their encounters with law enforcement, I wanted to share a couple of stories, with the hope that scales can be lifted.
My family moved to a new home, after my husband was relocated. We purchased a home that had been empty for about 6 months. We arrived the day before the moving truck, to prep the home. I was inside painting and my 14-year-old son was raking the leaves in the front yard. Within the FIRST HOUR of my son out front, I hear the sound of cars racing down the street. I go outside to find THREE squad cars parked in my driveway and police rushing out of the car. I had no fear of the police, as why would I? And I walk right up to them to inquire what is going on. I could clearly see, the moment they saw me, I saw in their faces and change demeanor, instant calm. They explained that somebody called to report that there was “somebody” at this house who is not supposed to be there. All I had to do was say, I was the new owner and they took my word for it and left.
So many questions: Why did that person who called ASSUME that a 14-year-old child raking leaves was up to no good, breaking some kind of crime that merited calling the police? Why THREE squad cars in response to a 14-year-old kid raking leaves? Why did my presence instantly calm them? Why did they simply take my word that I was the new home owner without asking me for proof? I will leave those deductions for others to derive.
Another day, while driving on an open road, I sped up to pass a car. In the process of doing so, I was driving over the speed limit. Perfect place, perfect time, passed right by the police. I get pulled over for breaking the law. I BROKE THE LAW! It took unusually long for the officers to get out of the car, and I could see them talking to each other. Each got out, slowly approached my car, with their hands on their guns. That had never happened to me before, so I thought it strange. As the officer cautiously approached my window, I already had my license out and was holding it to the window. She didn’t take it. Instead, she was looking at my passenger, my 15-year-old passenger. She asked me, “Are YOU okay Ma’am?” She stared at him with a look I had never seen in an officer before…it was like she was afraid. Again, I gestured for her to take my license. She asked me for my passenger’s driver’s license. I clearly stated, he is only 15 and does not have a license. She then asked for his school ID, and I said it was a Sunday and he does not have it with him. I explained, “he is my son.” She then requested his Social Security number. Had I known then what I know now, I would have protested in that instant. But I was so confused, I was not used to this kind of police interaction. I provided his SS number. The two officers proceeded to go back to the car. 45 MINUTES we sat there, waiting, while they ran their background checks. Checking NOT on me, but rather on my son. This became clear when they provided me information about my son when returning to the car. I stated, “I would like to get out of my car, to speak with you.” Hand shot right back on her gun, again asking, “Are you okay, ma’am?” I said I was fine, but would like to step out of the car and speak to them. They allowed me, and again I was able to use my whiteness as privilege and power to confront them on this racial profiling, with no fear of retaliation.
So many questions. Why was the assumption that I was in danger and in need of help? Why was the focus on a 15-year-old child, when I was the one who broke the law?
These are only 2 events, of the many, where my son was under scrutiny, for no reason, other than the color of his skin. My son was considered a threat, or assumed that he was doing wrong, based on the color of his skin.
My skin “vouched” for him. My skin “made him okay.” My skin had the power to push back against racial profiling and inequality. My skin.
