Quick To Listen, Slow To Speak

Things suck right now. The world feels very uncomfortable. And it should. Because there are people in our great country who don’t feel seen, who don’t feel heard, and who don’t feel… human.

I wanted to write something to voice my thoughts on the state of the country, but I’m a white guy, and the country doesn’t need another white guy’s opinion or thoughts at the moment. We don’t need more of that right now. What we NEED is for people like me to listen. There are a lot of angry people in this country, and when someone is angry, it’s best to listen to why that person is angry.

Unfortunately, when events like George Floyd’s murder happen – and they happen way too much (hell, once is too much) – people always try and denounce racism with a Facebook status or a tweet. They get their likes and comments. The marches and riots ultimately die down, and life eventually gets back to normal. And when I say normal, I mean comfortable. At least for white people. Because for most (and far too many) people of color, life is never truly comfortable. Again, I’m not going to try and speak to it, because I don’t know. I never will. But what I will do is share one of the most powerful testimonies I’ve read over the past week. One that I hope will help many people see and at very least try to understand the everyday lives of black people in America – because black lives matter.

This came from a post shared on Facebook from a woman named Deltha Katherine Harbin. The post (below) was accompanied with the following photo:

My husband is 31 years old. My husband can proofread a paper to perfection! He makes the best pork chops and neckbones. My husband was raised in an extremely wholesome home where they were not even allowed to watch Harry Potter. My husband has never tried any drugs, not even weed. He has never stolen from anyone, not even a corner store. My husband treats me and our sons like royalty. He serves at our local church faithfully and helps anyone he can. None of this stopped my husband from becoming a suspect in Semmes. My husband wanted to do me a favor one night when he got home late from work. He got my keys and drove around the corner to fill my tank at the gas station. While there, an older white woman was at a pump across from him and he noticed she appeared very nervous and stared at him. He said she got in her vehicle and got on her phone and pulled off to an area near the gas station. Within minutes police cars pulled in and surrounded him. He was questioned about why he was out. He was questioned about his activity earlier in the day. He was told he fit a description. They asked who’s car he was driving. He was told he could not leave. He was told the description was simply a black man. Not a 5 ft 7 inch black man of around 220 lbs who loves WWE, macaroni and cheese, and the Temptations. Just black. The older woman was now watching and the cops revealed she had called in his suspicious behavior of pumping gas. And now he was a suspect because he fit the description of being black. He was humiliated. He was emasculated. He was angry. He was helpless. He was on his way to being cuffed when a white man stepped in. An older white man told the officers they were wrong and that my husband had come from a different direction than the robbery they had mentioned. The officers released my husband after this. Not because my husband told them multiple times he was innocent. Not because there were two car seats in the back of my car. My husband’s voice meant nothing. The only voice that penetrated those badges was a white one. My hard working, kind hearted, silly husband was guilty because of his skin and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. The sight of him caused a woman to call the police. He said he wanted to scream. He wanted to fight. He wanted yell at the top of his lungs that he was a man and he mattered. If he had, he would be deemed aggressive. He would be resisting so he said he kept telling himself he had to make it home to me and the boys. He knew these men could kill him and justify it. He came home a changed man. I am a changed woman. We cried. We prayed and we have healed since this took place but it changed us. Issues that once felt somewhat distant became our reality. So, when you dismiss the plight of black men in America you diminish the ever present fear within our community. You are willfully ignorant. If you think people make this up or are only apprehended by the police when they deserve it… you are part of the problem. Open your eyes but more importantly open your hearts to the reality of being black in America. We don’t get the luxury of ignoring it because we live it. This picture of my precious family looks threatening to some people. My boys are cuddly and cute until they aren’t anymore and then they become a threat too. My heart aches for our country and I feel so helpless. Lord, please heal the hearts and minds our land!

There is so much I and many other white people unknowingly take for granted. As this post said, “Open your eyes but more importantly open your hearts to the reality of being black in America.” I’m a flawed individual with a flawed past, but with a renewed outlook, I will do all I can to listen, to understand, and to help other people like me do the same. Please, I urge you to do the same. James 1:19 says, “Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry.” That verse should convict white people in our country more than anyone.