Because You Never Asked

 

     (This piece was written back around 1993. In putting it up on my website in March of 2008, the real possibility of a black man becoming our next president could be considered a sign of hope this essay was light on.)

     I recently went through a real life experience I can’t keep from writing down. A man not entirely incompetent at what I’m about to describe, put a knife behind my left ear and demanded my money, which I obediently relinquished in the amount of $35. I’m sure we can agree one does not easily forget such an occurrence, but my reactions to the incident were not what I expected. Who really knows what to expect in such a situation?

     The crime in question happened in my work place, with the perpetrator and myself alone with each other. Just as one going to war for the first time might wonder how he or she will react, so it is in imagining the situation I now found myself in. Quite remarkably, I never felt fright, panic, fear, hysteria, or any other feeling of desperation one might associate with this type of thing, even though my assailant seemed capable of harming me at any time. And yet, I can assure you, none of this had anything to do with being brave or cowardly. Such emotional reactions become more relevant when one is forced to act, but not for the passivity which seemed the best course of action in this case.

     This unusual episode left me somewhat confused. It was as if something routine was taking place, as if one living in the modern world could fully expect this to happen. Indeed, I seemed to be watching myself in a movie, which, upon more rational review, is not so far fetched; by the time one has lived to be an adult in the United States, such a scenario has insinuated itself so regularly into your consciousness on the evening news, in the morning paper, or with the Al Pacinos and Bruce Willis’s of the world, that I found myself playing a familiar role: a victim of crime and violence.

     Unfortunately, it has become relevant in the current socio-cultural climate we live in, to mention that my assailant was a black man. In divulging this information, I might be exposing myself to the accusation of “racist”. Obviously, just like almost everyone else, I deny such a charge, but I realize the world is a far more complicated place than that.

     I’ve always considered this lower-food-chain criminality to be the result of environmental factors beyond the control of the criminal (for a more thorough discussion of these things, see essay “Afro-Americans”). The true importance of this incident lies in the fact that it directly challenged the core of my personal value system constructed over a lifetime. Now that I’d been put in a place where the stainless steel meets the tender skin, would this value system hold up under fire?

     Unless you are a person with the mythical character traits of a Jesus Christ, prejudice is something we all carry around with us, and it doesn’t necessarily have to do with race. It is nearly an impossible task to be a completely objective person and almost all people have concepts of themselves which might tend to enhance their own worth against others. It is much easier to see somebody else as a jerk. When you look in the mirror, chances are you see something a bit better than the rest of us do.

     Race is a very clear way to differentiate people and it easily lends itself to the things I have just spoken about. My brief journey into the world of petty street crime showed me just how much racial prejudice there really is out there. Many of my friends and acquaintances, having soon found out about my adventure, conspiratorially asked if the thief had been “black”. My affirmative response always led to a satisfied nod of self-exoneration, which soon gave way to a lustful vindictiveness upon hearing of the criminal’s capture. They really hated this guy, sought revenge, and took it for granted I felt the same. If I might find some glimmer of optimism in this unfortunate incident, at least they used the politically correct “black” instead of the “n” word. Maybe we have made some progress after all?

     As I alluded to above, the man who robbed me at knifepoint was apprehended. It took the police about an hour to get it done and I worked with them, eventually finding the thief while cruising with a detective in his car. Before I get around to saying anything which might be construed as negative about the police, I’d like to say that the four or five I dealt with were decent people, doing their jobs in a reasonably sincere way. They deal with this kind of thing with such regularity it might be considered a traditional form of warfare by now. To expect them to find some compassion for these street punks is to proceed the higher evolution of our species. This doesn’t exonerate them from doing their jobs correctly (Rodney King, etc.), nor does it make me like their attitudes towards the criminal any better. What were their attitudes?

     Underlying everything was a true feeling of hate, but more readily apparent was a kind of jocular, sarcastic cynicism which took great pleasure in humiliating the offender. Perhaps it was this touch of sadistic pleasure that offended me the most. It was an attitude I’d seen before, though it took me awhile to realize where and when; it was the same attitude we had as a nation during the Gulf War, when we booted the “sand niggers” from our oil wells. I’ll risk the sin of redundancy here by exonerating the police for their feelings, for they are truly involved in an unnatural act in fighting these criminals everyday. But in a more sane, harmonious society, the police would have more a feeling of pity than hate for these unfortunate people, due to the fact that there would be much less criminal activity itself. Maybe some day we will get to the Promised Land --- maybe not.

     As for myself, I’m proud to say my aforementioned “core of values developed over a lifetime”, came through this sad incident with steadfast resolve. This is not to say I’d have my assailant over for dinner or that I’d like him to date my daughter, but even with his knife pressed under my ear, a feeling of hate failed to appear. I never lost sight of the fact that this man was probably dealt a very weak hand in life and although he had made the worst of it, the chances for his demise were far greater than they should have been.

     I can just hear all the Rush Limbaughs out there denouncing my “bleeding heart”. With this in mind, I suggest they all go over to the nearest racially integrated grade school and watch the kids playing in the school yard. If they find any difference in behavior of the black kids; any embryonic criminal formation; any recognizable propensity for more violence; anything less childlike and more sinister --- let me know, because I never have (I’m lucky enough to have such a school nearby, and I’ve often scrutinized the schoolyard and its behavioral patterns). Ten years removed from this innocent schoolyard, yes, something has changed; but there are subtle, complicated environmental factors behind this change, a change which created the “lifestyle” of the man who robbed me --- and hate will not resolve these issues.

     I’ve been forced to tell this story many more times than I would have liked, but out of respect for the friends, acquaintances and fellow workers who were not only interested but concerned for my safety, I’ve endured. It was very disheartening to see that very few of them could accept the attitude I’ve just expressed above. I found little more than hate, scorn, and a need for revenge. The sarcastic jocularity displayed by the police was also quite evident amongst my peers. Any trace of compassion would have to be found with a microscope. I will end this essay with one more attempt to soften this attitude:

     One must remember my aggressor, who was not a mentally dull person, is now being charged with armed robbery, grand theft, and a litany of other things too long to enumerate here. He is facing a very long jail sentence --- all for just $35! This man has as little respect for his own life as he had for mine. I cooperated in trying to get him off the street because he is a dangerous person. But he is a much more pitiful man than an evil man. Hating him will never accomplish anything. His sickly condition is something our society has not been able to deal with, and any improvement in the situation still seems way beyond the horizon. When I think about it, I feel very sad.