White privilege’s last gambit

Last week offered a kaleidoscope of a Trump-addled America, a telling, if depressing, pastiche: Amy Cooper’s bigoted entitlement; the homicidal tactics of Minneapolis police officers; the knowing encouragement of the president, who has mounted his second campaign on the same foundation of rank prejudices and crude stereotypes as his first. It adds up to a portrait of a nation unwilling to retreat from its racist history, unable to chart a path toward a future that pays tribute to its more egalitarian founding creed.

President Donald J. Trump is merely a symptom, not a cause, not the sickness itself. During his first campaign, I worried less about his outrageous conduct and inflammatory rhetoric — he is, after all, just one malign actor — and more about the millions who danced to his music, rejoiced in his racist diatribes, sang in his chorus.

In 2016, I would not have accused every voter who cast a ballot for Trump of racism. Some were 1-percenters bent on protecting their riches; some were lifelong Republicans leery of crossing party lines; some were Bernie Bros who couldn’t curb their misogyny and vote for Hillary Clinton. Still, there were many who eagerly followed after a man who defamed Mexicans, denounced Muslims and claimed that President Barack Obama was not born in the United States.

Four years later — four years into what may well be recorded as the most incompetent, the most corrupt and the most divisive presidency in American history — I can no longer grant any Trump supporters a lenient indulgence. Let’s name this disease: a desperate, last-ditch effort by whites terrified of a demographic tide that is shifting political power and changing the cultural dynamic.

In his thoughtful, if depressing, tome, “Why We Are Polarized,” journalist Ezra Klein argues that human beings compete less for resources than for social esteem, which is seen as a zero-sum contest. So if black and brown Americans have gained social esteem in the hard-fought and ongoing crusade for full equality, some white Americans believe they have lost it. Or, as one sage has put it, “If you are accustomed to privilege, equality feels like oppression.”

That’s why Amy Cooper was outraged that a black man in Central Park dared to ask her put her dog on a leash, as local laws require. Who was he to say that to a white woman? That’s why, similarly, Tom Austin, a white Minneapolis businessman, threat

tribution to where we are today. Did I do enough? Did I make things worse? Every police officer should take responsibility for George Floyd’s death. He did nothing to deserve a man kneeling on his neck for several minutes. I don’t need more information or the “facts” to come out to know what I saw. Law enforcement cannot point fingers outward. I don’t blame George Floyd for his death. I blame the officer, Derek Chauvin. I blame the other officers on the scene. I blame the sergeant on duty.

I blame the lieutenant in charge. I blame the captain.

I blame the police chief.

I blame every police chief across the country.

I blame every sergeant.

I blame every police officer in this nation.

I blame myself and every current, former and aspiring officer should blame themselves for where we are today.

The best way to truly grow as a person or profession is to put yourself in a very uncomfortable place. The best way to change is for every officer to imagine themselves on the ground with a knee on their neck, helpless. Empathy can be a powerful catalyst for change. It’s going to take a deeper understanding of ourselves before any real change can occur.

It’s not enough to say you are outraged by this killing.

It’s not enough to say what training your department conducts.

It’s not enough to assure your local communities that what happened in Minneapolis won’t happen in your city.

What are we doing to instill compassion and empathy? What are we doing to get deep inside every officer to understand what they are thinking and feeling? What are you doing to ensure that every police officer in this nation wants to be the one to put handcuffs on Derek Chauvin?

We have to do better, and that starts with wanting to do better. What we have been doing is not enough. It wasn’t enough for Minneapolis, and it won’t be enough for the next George Floyd.

The best way to change is for every officer to imagine themselves on the ground with a knee on their neck, helpless. Empathy can be a powerful catalyst for change.