I think that's what this really comes down to.
Steven Colbert can joke that he doesn't see color. People tell him he's White, and he believes them because police call him "Sir." He's right.
Rev. Wright in one of his tears goes off on how Hillary will never know what it is like to grab the wheel tightly as a cop car passes because you are a Black man driving in the wrong neighborhood. He's right, too.
Dick Gregory, ever the truth-teller, echoes the same story, and like Wright, he explodes with indignation recalling what happens when "They pass by you and you thank God....damn thanking God! You didn't do nuthin' in the first place! Then you know what it's like! Then you Black!" He's so right, it hurts.
Speaking of pain, let me tell you a story about a brawl that almost turned in to a race riot and what happened when this Crazy White Boy teed off on a mounted cop in front of an angry black mob...
Philadelphia has outdoor concert venues during the summer. Philly has a large black population too, so it's no surprise that summer concerts in the park draw large crowds that are racially mixed.
One summer about thirty years ago, a bunch of us were in the park after dark hanging out at a concert at the Mann with some girls. It was a mixed group. Suddenly a young kid ran up and grabbed a necklace off one of the girls with us and a fight broke out between her and the assailant. He got free and started to haul ass with her necklace.
He headed for the tree line so I went after him. All of a sudden out of the dark some kid bum rushed me and sucker punched me in the back of the head. I spun around and clocked him with my elbow as he roared past me. I rotated back in time to see several guys had appeared from nowhere and were closing in on me. They weren't rushing. They were moving in deliberately, scoping me out for the kill. I was not moving too fast myself. Fact is, I was a little dazed. This was looking grim, so I started looking to see who was closest because I figured they're going to have to die with me.
I must have been closer to death than I realized, because my Guardian Angel showed up ... all 6'4" of him saying, "Don't worry, brother, I got your back." The wolfpack paused and started taunting the brother for protecting Whitey. They're calling him Uncle Tom and all sorts of rude names. At one point I actually started to laugh, because I never heard anyone called a "cracker lover" before. It just doesn't come trippingly off the tongue.
Lucky for me he refused to budge, but he kept telling me to split because we wouldn't be able to hold them off for long. I told him I wasn't going to leave him alone, besides if I ran that just meant I was prey. A crowd started forming and people were jeering at us, and at each other.
People were starting to yell and chuck stuff when all of a sudden the cops showed up. Remember, this is a city park at night, so it's no surprise they arrived in the form of mounted police. Two cops galloping in on big horses. "Is there a problem here?!" one of them bellowed as the crowd parted to let him in. The circle spread out and the cops rode up to us. He started to say something like "You sure are lucky we were here..." when I teed off. "You come galloping in like the cavalry and expect to be greeted like knights in shining armor! Why is no one policing this part of the park to begin with?" I then proceeded to lecture him on how preserve and protect presumed some modicum of foresight...
In the middle of my tirade I realize the crowd had grown silent. Then they started murmuring..."Holy shit!" "You hear how he's talking to that cop?" "He's gonna die." etc. etc The cop was a bit dumbfounded himself because something is clearly wrong with this picture. After all, he's the guy with the gun. But he clearly does not have control of the situation and there is this lunatic lecturing him about public safety with way too many witnesses for him to just trample me. He looks at his partner, looks at me and sneers "Fine. You don't want our help we'll leave." I reply something like, "It's not like you were doing such a bang up job to begin with." Then I go back to lecturing on the need for pro-active police presence. He shrugs, turns his horse around and they trot off. I guess they figured they would let the next shift come back and pick up the body.
The brother who covered my back is looking at me like I'm certifiably nuts. I think that was when he started worrying that he had hitched his wagon to a lunatic. All the punks who were ready to gut me a moment earlier are now looking at me a bit slack jawed. They're stunned...and impressed. All of a sudden, I'm alright. "You got heart," one of them says with clear admiration. They can't believe the way I talked to the cop. They can't believe he let me live. A couple guys start apologizing for the knucklehaid who sucker punched me. I tell them if they are really sorry they should give back the necklace. They laugh and tell me that guy's long gone.
We get to talking and it turns out the week prior during a concert just like this one, some white boys stabbed a black boy. This crew was out that evening to even up the score. "But you alright" they decide and we slap five. The same guys who were looking to slice and dice me a few minutes earlier are now confiding in me how much they wish they could stand up to the cops the way I did. How much it angers them the way the cops look at them like they're dirt..."even if we ain't doin' nuthin' but bein' black on a sunny day." I say, well you just have to stand up for your rights. They laugh and say "Yeah, well that's 'cause you White."
Here's the moral of the story. No black kid in his right mind would have talked to the Poe Leece the way I did. Not if he wanted to live. But me being White, and entitled and confident of my rights am willing to stand up to Rizzo's racist cops and dare them to cross the line. It's not because I'm tough, or well-connected... no one checked my ID or anything. This all went down like that for one reason and one reason only. I'm White. And as tough as these kids are -- and remember they were there to kill someone -- these kids know in their heart of hearts they will never be able to do what I did, no matter how justified they may be. That's the problem.
The next time you hear the anger in the voice of someone who has lived with this abuse all their life, try to put yourself in their position for a moment. If you have trouble doing that, here's something that might help: Next time someone calls you "Sir" imagine they called you "Punk" instead. If they call you "Ma'am" imagine they called you "Bitch" instead. Next time you try to hail a cab, don't take the first two that stop for you. Next time you go to a restaurant, imagine you put in your reservation BEFORE the people they just seated. Next time you hand someone your credit card, offer them a photo ID as well. Try that for a week and see how you feel. I'm not saying that's going to give you real insight into what it means to be Black in America anymore than eating at a fine restaurant will give you real insight into what it means to be a chef. But check your blood pressure and you'll be surprised how much you have in common.