Lisa Falkenberg says empathy and unity must help bring an end to destructive rhetoric.
Unity is the way. But we’ll never get there without empathy.
In the days following the horrific ambush in Dallas that killed five police officers, many of our leaders have spoken out against divisiveness and called for Americans to rise above our differences.
These are welcome, hopeful words that vastly improve on past responses. Harris County Sheriff Ron Hickman, for one, urged his force in a memo “not to let anger, despair and indifference distance us from the people we serve in the community.”
Houston Mayor Sylvester Turner acknowledged distrust among blacks toward police, but urged respect and collaboration, saying, “this is not a game where some will win and some will lose.”
Texas Gov. Greg Abbott warned: “With each innocent life lost, we lose more of our humanity. It is time for us to unite as Texans, as Americans, to say no more.”
Of course, there was also Lt. Gov. Dan Patrick, who, as he often does, took another tone. A foolish one. He went on Fox News and blamed Black Lives Matter protests and “people on social media with their hatred toward police” for the acts of an apparent lone wolf unaffiliated with any group. Patrick labeled peaceful protesters “hypocrites” for running from the rain of bullets on a Dallas street after just having protested the actions of police in recent shootings involving black men in Minnesota and Louisiana.
Later on CNN, Patrick said “maybe” he chose the wrong words. The damage was done. The disrespect conveyed. Amoment to help heal lost.
If only he had an ounce of
the empathy that Austin Police Chief Art Acevedo displayed last week when asked at a news conference about Patrick’s comments.
“We’ve got to stop painting people with broad brushes,” Acevedo said. “… Shame on him that he’s doing to Black Lives Matter what we in policing hate what is being done to us. One bad police shooting doesn’t make 800,000 cops bad. Right?”
Fear palpable Words do matter. What is often lost in the calls for unity from elected officials, and also in the condemnations from activist groups, is some respect for what the other side is going through.
For many black Americans, incessant media reports and cell phone videos of police shootings of unarmed men of color have created palpable fear, frustration and feelings of helplessness and desperation. Yet, polls show whites are less concerned.
Arecent survey by Public Religion Research Institute showed two-thirds of blacks reported police mistreatment a concern and slightly less than half expressed confidence in law enforcement. Meanwhile, only 17 percent of whites worried about mistreatment; confidence in police was at 83 percent.
I, for one, still believe in good cops. They’re the vast majority. As I wrote for a piece online, they are all that stands between us and the cowards who attack from comfortable perches on peaceful streets.
But we each need to take responsibility for the tone of our own rhetoric. The New York Times reported that, after an officer shot a black man to death during a traffic stop in Minnesota, the Dallas gunman’s younger sister shared her outrage on social media.
“White ppl have and will continue to kill us off,” she wrote, according to the Times. She said some simply hide behind a blue suit and “get off easy for murdering civilians. Everything coming into the light and I for one think these cops need to get a taste of the life we now fear.”
Days later, after her brother was identified as the gunman, she expressed disbelief on Facebook: “my eyes hurt from crying. Yhim???”
The answer may involve mental illness, as early reports suggest. But again, words matter. What does perilous rhetoric accomplish? Who does it help?
The Black Lives Matter movement is a stand against hate and bias. It is a stand against everything that apparently motivated the Dallas shooter.
Blanket assumptions
Meanwhile, do we ask ourselves enough what police are going through? What is it like to endure a daily, toxic diet of criticism, some of it based on reality, but much of it stemming from blanket assumptions and stereotypes?
What’s it like when a uniform begins to feel like a bull’s-eye? What’s it like to read, while the wounds are still fresh in Dallas, about apparent copycat attacks in Missouri, Georgia and Tennessee? I have pushed back in the past about the notion that there’s a “war on police.” But the numbers are mounting now. We are headed in a dangerous direction.
Dallas Police Chief David Brown has implored citizens to support police, who face “great scrutiny” and “great vulnerability.”
“We don’t feel much support most days,” Brown said Friday. “Let’s not make today most days.”
He and Dallas Mayor Mike Rawlings have been lauded for their dignified, respectful response.
Dallas’ leaders have been the picture of unity, and also of empathy. None of this means the protests should stop and critics should be silenced. The vigilance of their “loud mouths,” as Patrick called them, is needed to ensure fairness and humanity in law enforcement.
But fairness and humanity works both ways. Let’s stop talking past each other. Let’s listen. Let’s try to see the other side. The dark-skinned motorist reaching for his ID during a traffic stop is a person, with fears and biases and faults and a family. The cop in the blue uniform at the end of a long shift is a person, with fears and biases and faults and a family, and of course, tremendous power and responsibility.
Right now, they’re both hurting. Do you see them?
Let’s start there.