By Simon Gonzalez
This has been an incredibly difficult, emotionally wrenching week for our country.
On Tuesday, July 5, police in Baton Rogue, Louisiana, shot and killed Alton Sterling. The following night, Philando Castile was shot and killed by police in Minnesota. Then, on Thursday July 7, a gunman opened fire on the police at a protest rally in Dallas, killing five and wounding nine.
Surely everyone felt sickened by the deaths of Sterling and Castile, one captured in gruesome detail on social media video with the aftermath of the other narrated by the dying man’s girlfriend.
Surely everyone shed tears watching any of the coverage of the senseless, needless murders of Dallas Area Rapid Transit officer Brent Thompson and Dallas Police Department officers Patrick Zamarripa, Michael Krol, Mike Smith and Lorne Ahrens.
Those are, or should be, the natural responses. Shame on anyone who thought, even for a second, that Sterling or Castile must have deserved it. And shame on anyone who thought, even for a second, that violence perpetrated against police is a justifiable response.
Beyond having a sick feeling in the pit of the stomach, it’s hard to know what to feel, or how to react.
Some would like us to believe that the shootings of Sterling and Castile, two black men, are yet more evidence of pervasive racism by cops. Activists called the shootings “murder,” just the latest episodes of overt and intentional police brutality against blacks.
Politicians shamelessly weighed in, long before any facts were known. Minnesota governor Mark Dayton said the shooting in his state would not have happened if Castile had been white instead of black.
Those sentiments are based on a narrative that racist cops are indiscriminately gunning down unarmed black men, but it’s a narrative not supported by facts.
Earlier this week, Harvard University professor of economics Roland G. Fryer Jr. released the results of an exhaustive study on police shootings. He and student researchers examined 1,332 shootings between 2000 and 2015, assembling data from police reports in Texas, California and Florida. The report concluded that “when it comes to the most lethal form of force — police shootings — the study finds no racial bias.”
“It is the most surprising result of my career,” said Fryer, who happens to be black.
Not only don’t the numbers support the narrative, but those who perpetuate it very well might be having a negative impact on the very people they are trying to help.
There is growing evidence police are now not engaging lest they be accused of racism, a so-called “Ferguson affect.” A study published this year in the Journal of Criminal Justice found that crime rates in cities with large black populations and already high rates of violence rose significantly in the 12 months after the Michael Brown shooting.
None of this is to suggest that there are no unjustified shootings, that racism doesn’t exist in police departments, or that racial profiling is a myth.
There are more than 900,000 police officers in the land. Many, hopefully most, are good cops who take seriously their oath to serve and protect. Some are afraid. Some are bullies, using their uniform, badge and gun to intimidate and abuse their power. Some are incompetent. Some are racist. Just as there are people on a power trip, who are incompetent, and who are racist in every single profession or in any other group that size.
What, then, should be our response?
Perhaps we could try being empathetic. If we set aside our biases and prejudices, maybe we can begin to understand things from someone else’s perspective.
I can’t imagine what it’s like to be black in American society. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be racially profiled, to be pulled over by the police solely because of the color of my skin. I’ll never know what it’s like to feel historically victimized. I’ll never have the kind of experiences that would lead me to believe bias conspiracy theories that contradict forensic evidence and court testimony.
Likewise, I can’t image what it’s like to be a cop in a situation where adrenaline and fear are flowing and with seconds to decide whether force is necessary. I’ll never know what it’s like to be in an inherently dangerous profession —123 law enforcement officers were killed in the line of duty in 2015 — and put my life at risk simply by showing up for work.
I do know that this cannot be allowed to become us vs. them — blacks vs. cops, Republicans vs. Democrats, progressives vs. conservatives. We don’t need hashtag wars between #blacklivesmatter and #bluelivesmatter.
I know that violence on top of violence is not the answer. Rioting and attacking policemen is not the answer. Plots to kill more cops, like the one just uncovered in Baton Rogue, is not the answer.
There have been glimpses of hope. Last Sunday, a group of Black Lives Matter protesters encountered a group of counter-protesters at an intersection of Dallas. It could have been a volatile situation. Instead, they discussed their differences peacefully and it ended with hugs and prayers.
Let’s learn from that example. Let’s acknowledge that the black community still faces incredible challenges in this country, and do what we can to bring about change. Let’s take up the challenge in Dallas Police Chief David Brown’s poignant words: “We don’t feel a lot of support most days. Let’s not let today be most days. Please, we need your support.”
Let’s examine ourselves, and see what we can do to enact the prayer from president Abraham Lincoln’s second inaugural address.
“With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right … let us bind up the nation’s wounds.”
