Summary

A white manager attempts to empathize with young black men protesting at a George Floyd demonstration by engaging them in conversation about their experiences with racial injustice.

Abstract

The narrative describes a white manager's effort to connect with two young black men at a protest against racial injustice. Despite initial awkwardness and discomfort, he manages to engage one of them in a conversation about their childhood experiences. The young man recounts how he and his friends were frequently interrupted by the police while playing basketball in the street, not due to safety concerns but because a white neighbor found their presence unsettling. The manager's realization of the systemic racism faced by the young man leads to a moment of shared understanding and empathy, as he acknowledges his own previous lack of awareness and outrage.

Opinions

The manager believes he has the skills to facilitate a meaningful conversation with the young men.
He initially underestimates the emotional complexity of the situation.
The manager assumes there must be a logical explanation for the police interruptions, reflecting a potential bias or lack of understanding of systemic racism.
He is genuinely surprised and saddened to learn about the young man's experiences with racial profiling.
The manager's empathy grows as he recognizes the injustice faced by the young man, leading to a sincere apology for not being more outraged about such issues earlier.
The narrative suggests that personal stories and direct communication can be powerful in bridging gaps of understanding between different racial perspectives.

Seeing Black through White Eyes

I walk up to a pair of young black men. They don’t trust me. I know they don’t trust me. I can see it in their eyes. I walk up anyway. I put on my manager hat.

I know how to get people to open up. I’m good at crucial conversations. I can do this.

I suck it up and walk forward.

An awkward fist bump unfolds.

Me: I’m a white dude…

We all laugh a little.

Me: I’m a white dude with a bigger voice than most white dudes. I want to help my friends understand why you’re here. Can I ask you a few questions?

One of them looks me right in the eyes and says yes. The other young man can only muster a nod. He is clearly uncomfortable. I decide to start with him and try and get him to open up. That’s what a good manager would do. Get your quieter employee talking.

Me: Why are you here?

Him: George Floyd protest.

Me: Me too, and that was a tragedy. But it’s one event. Nobody will understand why one event triggers all this. What in your life makes you want to come down and participate in all of this?

Him: I don’t know. I just felt like I should be a part of it.

He anxiously sits down. I look at his friend, he gives me an uncomfortable grin and walks away.

I stand there for a second and observe. This young man is terrified.

I was expecting this. But not LIKE this. He’s completely freezing up. I know he has a story to tell. I’m here to help him tell it. Even if it’s difficult for me. A tear comes to my eye.

Crying is NOT the correct thing to do right now. But what is?

A thought occurs to me. I change hats. I sit down in front of him. I purposely sit in the road instead of on the curb next to him. Consciously doing my best to appear submissive and welcoming.

His eyes widen and he looks at me. I take advantage and look back for a few seconds.

Me: When I was young my dad and I used to play tennis together every day. What was life like when you were a kid?

Him: My friends and I would try to play sports like that. We’d hang up a milk carton on a pole and try and try to play basketball.

Me: Where? Did you win?

Him: On the street. We didn’t usually finish our games. We’d usually only get to play until the cops showed up.

I’m excited. We’re getting somewhere. He’s opening up a bit. But, why would they need to disperse when the cops get there? Maybe it was unsafe!

Me: Was the street busy?

Him: Not really.

Me: How many cars would drive down it when you played?

Him: One or two. We never felt unsafe. The cops just didn’t like us hanging around on the street.

That can’t be the case. That just can’t be the case! There’s got to be something I’m missing.

Me: Would you make sure to get out of the way of cars?

Him: All of the cars that came down the street were our parents. Sometimes they’d stop and watch. I lived on the end of a circle! We’d always get to the side when possession changed. But sometimes our parents would stop and wait anyway.

I’m excited. He’s really opening up! But also becoming saddened. My attempts to find an explanation for why his friends couldn’t play in the street were failing.

Me: So you lived on the end of a cul de sac?

Him: (Blank stare)

Me: The end of your street. On the circle.

Him: Yeah

Me: So why did the cops kick you out?

Him: This lady on the other side of the circle didn’t like us playing out there. It made her uncomfortable. She’d come out and yell at us all the time. She was kind of scary. Sometimes she’d leave us alone, but usually after she yelled at us the cops would show up and make us stop playing. One time my friend got arrested because we really wanted to finish a great game. So after the cops left we got back together.

I realize now that I have failed to find a reasonable explanation for why this young man and his friends weren’t able to finish a game of basketball. I am immensely saddened.

Me: Holy shit man. I’m sorry. That’s ridiculous. I’m sorry that I wasn’t mad enough about this sooner. Can I shake your hand?

He reaches out his hand and I grasp it.

Me: Can I ask you one more question?

He nods.

Me: What race was the lady who made you quit playing?

Him: White.