Dear Reader,
I’m a little nervous about this week’s Second Drafts, mostly because I imagine being at least partially misunderstood by just about everyone who might read it.
What’s with this white guy in Montana writing about racism? What does he know about it? Answers: 1) Your guess is as good as mine. 2) Probably not as much as you do.
The words are many, but I hope you’ll find the time and read it anyway. I think it’s important.
As always, thanks for reading.
Craig
P.S.: As a reminder, you’re welcome and encouraged to email me directly with feedback, ideas, links, etc. at cmdunham [at] gmail [dot] com. Just know that, unless you specifically tell me not to, I may quote you here (though it will always be anonymously).
Hot Takes
“Jurors Could Not Believe That a Reasonable Officer Would Have Done What Derek Chauvin Did” - It’s safe to say most people agreed with the guilty verdict in the Derek Chauvin case. Some, however, wondered about the Murder 2 count:
“That count required proving that Chauvin killed Floyd by ‘perpetrating an act eminently dangerous to others and evincing a depraved mind, without regard for human life.’ A ‘depraved mind’ means Chauvin showed ‘reckless and wanton unconcern and indifference.’
That seems like a pretty apt description, given the way Chauvin reacted to Floyd's distress, concerned bystanders' warnings that Floyd's life was in danger because he was not getting enough oxygen, Lane's suggestion that Floyd should be rolled onto his side, Lane's observation that ‘he's passing out,’ and Kueng's report that he could not find a pulse. None of that information persuaded Chauvin to lift his knee or to perform CPR. Instead he responded with callous indifference.”
Former Minnesota police officer - now convicted murderer - Derek Chauvin. While I wasn’t able to watch any of the trial, I do remember seeing video and marveling in disbelief at Chauvin’s behavior as described above. Had the prosecution’s case been at all compelling (which it apparently was), it wouldn’t have taken much for me to have found him guilty as charged.
“The Victorians Had to Accept Darwin. We Need to Accept that Cops Kill White People as Easily as They Kill Black People” - If you're not following John McWhorter on all that's going on with race relations, you're missing an important and objective voice in the discussion. McWhorter’s thesis (and he has the numbers to back it up) is that ethnicity is not the determining factor as to the number of police shootings of black people; poverty is. He writes:
“Black people are 2.5 times more likely to be killed by cops, and exactly 2.5 times more likely to be poor, and data shows that poverty makes you more likely to encounter the cops, as even intuition confirms. This is why somewhat more black people are killed by cops than what our proportion in the population would predict.”
This is news to most of us, because it’s not news to any of us. McWhorter writes:
“The problem is the sheer volume of the white cases. We just don’t hear about them. As I write, what about Hannah Williams? Or this hideous case? No, I’m not laboriously smoking these cases out when they are just weird exceptions to a general rule. They are the norm. It’s just that they don’t make national news. It really is that simple, and that sad, and that destructive to our national conversation about race.
Most people who take to the streets about cases like Daunte Wright are not thinking about the fact that black people are killed by cops 2.5 times more than their representation in the population would predict. They are protesting because all they see in the news is the black people killed, and have no way of imagining that whites are regularly killed in the same way and in much greater numbers.”
McWhorter’s counsel is good, particularly in the midst of the coverage this week:
“Every time the media broadcasts the murder by cop of a black person, ask yourself if it’s really true that a cop wouldn’t have done it to a white person – and then go to, for example, the Washington Post homicide database and see cops doing just that. And upon that, we will settle upon an honest national conversation about the cops as murdering people in race-neutral fashion. Or at least we should.”
Author, linguist, voice of objective racial sanity John McWhorter.
Bearing Burdens of Bigotry
I can only recall two negative experiences in my life that I’ve had with others whose skin color was different from mine.
The first was outside an Oklahoma City courtroom after our third court date pertaining to two boys (5 and 4) we had fostered two different times over a 12-month period. The boys’ father had been out of their lives since the beginning, and they had been in and out of foster care multiple times in conjunction with their mother - also a product of the foster system - being in jail multiple times.
Megan and I arrived at the courthouse, where we met the counselor assigned to the boys, as well as two representatives from ICWA, the Indian Child Welfare Act. The boys’ mother was also there, and we greeted her and attempted to make small talk while we waited. After waiting 20 minutes, we were ushered into the courtroom with all other representatives of other cases. The judge ran through the docket and then dismissed everyone to the waiting room. We found three chairs (our second daughter, Chloe, then age 13, was with us) and waited.
To our surprise, we did not have to wait long. Seven minutes later, we were called back into the courtroom to stand before the judge. Representatives present were the District Attorney, the boys’ caseworker, the representatives from ICWA, the boys’ counselor), the mother and her counselor/lawyer, the boys’ lawyer, of whom we had just been made aware via a phone call the day before, and Megan, Chloe, and me.
We listened to the discussion and felt the tension of it. The DA and the boys’ lawyer made the case that enough was enough and it was time to move forward with termination of mother’s rights, particularly in light of her coaching the boys to lie about the fact that her boyfriend was involved in previous unsupervised visits. The mother’s representation made the case for moving forward as well, but stated that the mother had made amends and was ready to begin unsupervised weekend visits again.
The judge asked the boys’ counselor for her perspective, and she communicated that the boys were struggling with trusting others. The judge then asked us, as the foster parents, for our perspective as to what should happen with the case.
Our view lined up with the DA and the boys’ lawyer; we believed that, after three different times of removal and reunification efforts, it was time for the judge to sever parental rights and allow the boys to be adopted. However, because of our need to continue to relate with the mother as foster parents of her sons, we knew we needed to be careful with our words. I also sensed that the judge had already made up his mind (despite the passionate presentation of both the DA and the boys’ lawyer to sever rights) not to do this, so it didn’t make sense to restate what had already been said.
I began by communicating our love for the boys and our care for the mother, as well as our desire for the boys to be reunited with her if that was indeed the best thing for them. I then stated our hope for some kind of decision from the judge to either move forward more aggressively toward reunification or toward severing of rights, but that we should not continue in the holding pattern we had been in for the past four months (and another four months the previous spring) and that the boys had been in for the majority of their young lives.
As suspected, the judge did not find for severing rights, instead declaring that this was the mother’s “last chance” – she was to host the boys in unsupervised weekend visits beginning the next day, with a review scheduled in another 90 days. We turned and left the courtroom and walked out into the lobby.
As we were standing there, the mother, who had not ever been one of many words with us, awkwardly approached our family to thank me for what I said. This was encouraging, but as she continued talking, I realized that she still believed she had been wrongly accused for “hiding” her boyfriend at a local grocery store while picking up and dropping off the boys. Without trying to argue with her (and with Megan as a surprised witness as to the mother’s denial), I reiterated that, while we were for her and the boys, what she had done in asking the boys to lie about her boyfriend’s involvement in these visits was wrong, which is why we reported it.
The ICWA representatives entered into the conversation. Perhaps because they did not hear us throw in with those calling for termination of rights, they assumed we were in full support of the judge’s decision, verbalizing their opinion that the judge had issued a correct verdict. Not wanting to be unclear, I communicated that we were hopeful for the best, but that this needed to be the last time the boys had to go through this with their mother. I then encouraged the group to make sure we were putting the boys first, saying (and these were my exact words), “Let’s remember the ‘C’ in ICWA.”
It was at this point that the ICWA director lost all objectivity and stated that he “was personally offended” at my comment and “took offense” at my “accusation” that he had any other intentions than the good of the boys in being involved in the case. I offered qualification that I was not questioning him personally, but was simply saying that, in his role in an organization committed to preserving Indian heritage, the Tribe not forget that these were children caught in a system at this time who needed a committed mother and father as much as they needed a particular culture.
At this time, we were interrupted by one of the court officials who asked our group to move into the lobby. Still visibly upset, he turned and began walking toward the lobby. I followed him with Megan and Chloe (along with the rest of our group). I recognized that I had upset him and approached him again with the following words:
“Sir, my comment had everything to do with my concern for the boys and was not meant in any way against you, but I see that I have upset you. I did not mean for what I said to be received so personally, but you have communicated that you were offended by what I said and I’m very sorry for that. Would you forgive me?”
The man hesitated for a second, then picked up where he left off. Again, I said,
“Sir, I’ve heard what you said but you’re not hearing me. I did not mean to imply anything personally and am sorry that I offended you. I’m asking you, will you forgive me?”
The pause was longer and John looked at me strangely. Finally, he said, “I forgive you.” I said, “Thank you.” We were interrupted again and did not continue the conversation.
Two days later, we received an email saying that we didn’t have to pick up the boys on Sunday, as they were going to stay with their mother until Monday. We read between the lines and were right in our intuition: the ICWA representatives were working on a different placement, which was confirmed by our foster care agency on Saturday. After eight months with us, we never saw the boys again, nor even get to say goodbye.
The next week, Megan and I received notice that we were being investigated as possibly abusive foster parents. Our girls were interviewed about our parenting (of them and of the boys), and we were asked to read and submit a book report on Parenting with Love & Logic before we would be allowed to foster any more children.
Thankfully, we were cleared by the investigators who seemed to recognize the situation for what it was, but our hearts had been broken by a broken system.
Officer Unfriendly
Perhaps ironically (at least in today’s world), the other negative interaction with someone whose skin color was different from mine was also in Oklahoma City, where I was pulled over by a black uniformed police officer. I was treated so unprofessionally that I wrote a letter of complaint to the officer’s supervisor afterward. I reprint it here:
“I would like to make you aware of a less-than-exemplary interaction I recently had with one of your State Troopers that bordered on abuse and intimidation of a citizen by an officer of the law.
Earlier today, while driving north on Interstate 235, I was coming up behind Trooper (name) in the lane to his right, as I was about to exit by way of Hefner Parkway. The trooper’s lights went on. There was a car parallel to his immediate left and I was diagonally behind him to his right. It was unclear to me as to the reason for the lights, and continued toward my exit.
Trooper (name) slowed and got behind me, lights still flashing. Wondering if he had switched on his lights for something I had done, I began to slow down; however, as I was on the exit ramp, I did not have any place to pull over. Coming off the ramp, I pulled to the middle lane slowing down more and trying to determine if the lights were indeed for me, at which time the trooper sounded his siren for a few seconds. I then pulled completely over to the side.
Rolling down my window and putting my hands on the steering wheel, I waited for the trooper to approach me on the driver’s side. Once he did, I began to apologize for taking so long to pull over as I didn’t know if I was his culprit, but before I was able to finish my sentence, Trooper (name) finished it for me, asking me with a very sarcastic and demeaning tone, ‘Are you one of those people who think you’re fine as long as you’re behind us?’
Taken aback, I began again to apologize and explain, but Trooper (name) interrupted me again, abruptly asking me for my license and proof of insurance. I provided both. He then gruffly told me to sit tight, roll the window up, and wait until he returned, which I did.
Five minutes later, Trooper (name) returned, handing me my license and insurance card and then asking me to sign to acknowledge that I was receiving a ticket. As I still did not know why I had been stopped, I asked him for the reason, to which he responded that I was speeding, going 74 in a 60. (I have no idea how he was able to be this specific, but this may be my own ignorance of current police technology; regardless, I was unaware of my speed.)
Signing the document, I then took the ticket and asked if his name and badge number were on the ticket, to which he responded, ‘Absolutely.’ I then communicated that I did not appreciate his words, tone, or accusation that I was ‘one of those people…,’ but again I was interrupted by Trooper (name) and his question of ‘What accusation?’
‘The accusation,’ I replied (or tried to), ‘that I was one of those people who think is fine as long as he’s behind you.’ Once again, however, I was unable to complete my sentence due to Trooper (name) snidely responding, ‘I asked you a question. A question is not an accusation.’ When I tried to clarify that both his body language and his tone were very accusatory, he again interrupted me, to which I asked him if he was going to allow me to ever finish a sentence? He ignored my question and repeated, ‘A question is not an accusation.’
In attempting again to communicate my displeasure with the way I was being treated, I asked for his superior officer’s name and badge number, making it clear that I would be reporting this incident and informing my lawyer. His response was to take out his business card, write your name and badge number on it, lean closer to my van, and say, ‘You’d better have a lawyer if you’re going to make those kinds of accusations.’
I was dumbfounded. I have never been talked to by an officer of the law in this way – sarcastically and threateningly – and was just thankful that neither my wife nor my four young daughters witnessed his self-righteous demeanor. The entire time we were talking (or I should say, he was talking), Trooper (name) wore a smirk on his face and did not allow me to ever speak without interruption.
Apparently, I was speeding. I did not know it and did not mean to do it, but under normal circumstances, I never question an officer who says I was. I teach my children that if an officer pulls you over, you thank him for doing his job, learn from it, and pay your fine.
But I will question an officer who treats me – a citizen of the state he ‘troops’ – with the disrespect and contempt that Trooper (name) did. I do not know what it was that triggered his behavior, nor do I know anything about Trooper (name) and his record as an officer of the law. I do know, however, that if this kind of behavior is the new standard for Oklahoma State Troopers and goes unaddressed, I am prepared to write many more letters until it is.”
I mailed the letter. Two weeks later, the officer’s supervisor made an obligatory follow-up phone call to say he had spoken with the officer and reviewed the squad car’s video footage, but as he could not hear any audio, there was nothing he could do. Frustrated, I reminded myself this was a procedural - not a racial - issue, and I wouldn’t turn it in to something it wasn’t. I thanked the supervisor for calling and let it go.
In both cases above, it was a mercy having these two negative racial experiences in my forties when I was old enough to process them; even then, I recognized that both men were on power trips and I just happened to be on the receiving end. By God’s grace, I didn’t (and still don’t) perceive the interactions to have been about color, mostly because I had no built-up racial prejudice from my youth to want to do so.
Growing Up Rural, Not Racist
Where and when I came of age - Pike County, IL, in the 1980s - was a place and time not known for its ethnic diversity. With the exception of a family of Laotian refugees beautifully grafted into the neighboring community of Fishhook, as well as a couple of adopted kids of various backgrounds, Pike County was as Caucasian as could be.
Sure, we had some non-Caucasian folks come through: a Japanese exchange student spent a school year with some close friends of ours through a Farm Extension program; inner-city Chicago high school basketball teams (all of whose members were black) used to love to travel to Pike County and elsewhere downstate for holiday tournaments to play in small gyms packed to the gills with fans (think Hoosiers).
I also remember one time when our family hosted a few members of a traveling Methodist choir performing at our church. One of the members who stayed with us was black, and one of my sisters who was all of four years old and didn’t know any better innocently asked my mother if Mom was going to have to wash the sheets afterward in case the young man sleeping in her bed left some of his color there.
As a kid, I spent hours playing Star Wars with my friends’ action figures from multiple galaxies far, far away and never once remember pitting galactic races against another. I grew up watching professional baseball, basketball, and football on television and never thought twice about black and white players being on the same team. I read Sports Illustrated religiously, regardless of the color of the athlete on the cover.
Contrary to what critical race theorists might want me to believe, I grew up thinking very little about race, probably because any bad experiences I had as a kid (and I didn’t have many) were with other white kids who looked like me, while all other experiences with people of color were positive. In my experience (and that of many of my friends), growing up rural did not mean growing up racist.
Free Frank McWorter & New Philadelphia
Some might be surprised to learn that Pike County was actually home to the first town ever founded by a black American. The founder was known as Free Frank McWorter (different spelling from the aforementioned John McWhorter, though I wonder if there’s a connection or if the latter is aware of the former).
“Free Frank McWorter was born into slavery, but he came to buy his freedom in 1819. Then in 1836, he became the first Black person to legally plan a community in the U.S. He founded the abolitionist town of New Philadelphia in western Illinois — a free state.”
New Philadelphia was 10-12 miles as the crow flies from where my line of Dunhams eventually put down roots (though the latter wasn’t until 1845). In the meantime,
“The integrated town had Black residents and white residents intermingling on the farm, in church, and at school…[and] New Philadelphia had become one of the stations along the Underground Railroad for shepherding escaped slaves to Canada. Escapees from Missouri were known to swim the Mississippi River to reach the town. With emancipation, more settlers arrived in New Philadelphia. Its population peaked at close to 160 shortly after 1865.”
As a white friend who grew up with the aforementioned Laotian cousins tweeted,
“I grew up in Pike County, IL, where Free Frank McWorter founded New Philadelphia, the first town in America with a black founder. The town was roughly 50% white, 50% black, and it worked for a century. It took moving to Chicago for me to learn how ugly racism can be.”
My story’s the same; I’d never really seen racism until I lived in larger cities. To be sure, there are people and pockets in rural white America that are more given to racism than others, but that was just not my experience growing up in Podunk, IL.
Doing More
Fast forward to now. I live in Montana, home of the lowest population percentage (1.04%) of black people in the U.S. Of course, there have certainly been racial tensions in the past here - not between whites and blacks, but between whites and Native Americans - and it’s heartbreaking to read the history of the Blackfeet nation and the way our federal government stole land - including Glacier National Park - from them.
Perhaps out of so-called “white guilt,” I could easily lament the fact that I grew up and now live in another racially non-diverse place, but a friend of mine (who grew up in Iowa as “white” as I did) once challenged me on that thinking. He reminded me that God is sovereign over the places and days of our youth; as a result, perhaps He has given us more room to bear others’ burdens of bigotry as our own.
A few days ago, Dr. Anthony Bradley (channeling his inner John McWhorter) tweeted:
“White racism is not the cause of everything that’s wrong in poor black communities across America. Progressives ignore this fact, infantilize blackness, and won't invite moral responsibility, and conservatives know this but tend to weaponize it for their own self-righteousness.”
I don’t want to ignore or weaponize racism; I want to kill it. I’ve written about this before - of how I try to relate to people of a different color, of places and times I’ve tried to confront America’s racist past, of why I believe the Scripture is key to racial reconciliation. Maybe some of this will help and encourage others, particularly those brothers and sisters of color who have had more negative experiences than I have.
I want to talk and think more about reparations. Sure, there are pros and cons (“we cannot make reparations for ambiguously defined and unfalsifiable ideas, but specific evil actions done against specific persons causing specific injustices”), but my family had 150-200 years’ head start to purchase land in Pike County and build wealth that crossed generations. Many black families had that opportunity stolen from them (Free Frank McWorter being a notable exception). Is there something to be done now?
To take a page from the Equal Justice Initiative (whose Instagram feed reminds me everyday that, “to overcome racial inequality, we must confront our history”), I want to see more memorials commemorating the lives and tragedies befalling people of color. This doesn’t seem that hard to do, so long as we stand up to the “woke” crowd from destroying the concept of memorials and commemoration in general.
Living in Montana, I want to see more done on behalf of Missing and Murdered Indigenous People. This task force, website, and our Governor signing these bills yesterday seem all good things, but more needs to be done on behalf of our Native American brethren here in Montana and elsewhere.
Most of all, I want to see God’s Kingdom and Church stand against the gates of Hell, so when Heaven comes down to Earth, we’ll have had a preview of coming attractions:
“…And behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands, and crying out with a loud voice, ‘Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!’” (Revelation 7:9-10)
Post(erity): “The Color of Heaven”
Each week, I choose a post from the past that seems apropos of something (of course, you’re always welcome to search the archives yourself whenever you like).
This week’s post, “The Color of Heaven,” comes from December 6, 2008, and is a brief reflection on the heels of a joyful dinner with friends of other nations. An excerpt:
“The thought that kept running through my mind during the evening was just how wonderful living in a culturally diverse eternity is going to be. No language barriers, no racial profiling/stereotyping, no bad blood between nations - just people of all colors whose defining commonality and sole identity is that they love and are loved by God.”
Until next time.
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