I Will Not Always Be Your Ally

How I try to use my privilege with purpose.

Photo by Alena Jarrett on Unsplash

We're just out the door with the dogs when he comes across the street, heading south, yelling into his phone: "Are you going to be here soon?" Two kids are trailing him. He has a dog, too, and Romeo tenses and barks.

They all stop at the corner.

The guy on the phone is a middle-aged white man, the two kids are late-ish teens and Black. "Why'd you push my friend?" one of the kids asks. The man is still yelling into the phone, and I now understand he’s talking to the cops. "They're following me and threatening me," he tells them.

I catch the eye of one of the kids. I want him to know there's someone there. I didn't see the start of whatever's going on now; I'm not taking sides, I just want to be sure someone, from this moment on, is witness.

The man turns to me and asks if I can stay.

I've got Ben and my dog's upset, but I stand there. Ben pulls Ginger a little up the street. The guy keeps hammering away to the cops. The kids are still yelling, though they stand their distance. "Fuck you," one finally says. "Fuck you white people."

His anger is palpable, emotions raw and on the surface.

And ... sure, the language is heated, but I understand. Here is a white dude calling in the CPD on two Black kids because they, what?, as far as I can tell all they’ve really done is yell at hime.

I am fairly sure he could have de-escalated the situation any time he wanted, and he wasn't blameless. These kids weren't in his face; there were no weapons. The call to the cops was a demonstration of privilege and power. A threat.

Because everyone in that moment knew the score.

The kids walk away yelling and Ben and I head around the block. As we round the last corner toward home again the guy is still at the corner waving cops down. A cruiser pulls over and he looks our way and shouts: "Those two are witnesses."

I say clearly: "I didn't witness what happened.”

He responds: "Well, you witnessed them threatening me."

And, no, I really didn't.

I thought I heard him tell the cops the kids threatened to kill him, and when he turns to me for confirmation, I let them know they did no such thing. "I didn't say they threatened to kill me," he says incredulously. "I said they threatened to come back and take my dog."

But, I tell the cops, I didn't hear any threats to either the man or his dog. "I heard one of them ask you why you pushed his friend," I add.

I don't have all the facts. I wasn't there when the argument started.

But here's what I do know:  I saw two kids who were frustrated and angry and disrespected (and, yes, disrespectful, too). I also saw a grown white man who could have and should have disengaged but instead impulsively called the police. 

"Yeah, maybe the kids shouldn't have said what they said," I tell Ben on the way upstairs. "But who knows how many racial slurs they’ve heard today? Who knows how many times CPD pulled up and slowed down? The man could have just said he was sorry, walked away and let cooler heads prevail."

"Yeah," he nods.

And I think he gets it. I hope he gets it.