[This story is adapted from an essay I wrote back in August 2016. It was written a month after the shootings of Alton Sterling, Philando Castile, and five police officers in Dallas. This narrative is about a real conversation with a friend. For discretionary purposes, I won’t use her real name.]

A text notification appeared on my computer. I tapped my Messages to see who it was from.

I had received a message from my friend, Jane.

Jane is a girl whom I’ve known for a couple years. We went to the same high school, although we weren’t friends in school; our friendship began during my freshman year of college.

Jane was a nice, humorous person. Our conversations were always filled with jokes. We also helped each other through drama and personal issues. Oftentimes, she had very insightful advice. Our divergent politics, at least up to this point, hadn’t been a barrier to the friendship. (We almost never discussed politics or social issues; however, I was aware that she had very conservative politics.)

But I was interested in what she had to say, which I suspected was about the tragic events that had taken place the previous couple of days. Perhaps she’d have something profound to say.

Or not.

I put on my glasses and read her message. My face quickly retreated away from the screen, like I had just seen something disturbing.

I suppose “disturbing” isn’t far off from how I’d describe what she sent.

“I know you’re Black but I need to vent about Black people.”

What a way to start a conversation…

I knew this was not going to be a productive discussion. However, I let her talk.

“It’s about all these police and Black people shootings. It’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” I replied. “Shooting people is ridiculous.”

“No,” she clarified. “Shooting cops is ridiculous.”

Oh God…

Jane continued. “These protests are stupid. The police are doing their job. Without them, our country would not be safe. These protestors are now endangering the officers’ lives.”

“It was a peaceful protest,” I retorted, “and an uninvolved man started shooting at police. Police even joined the rally. I don’t know what problem you have with the protest.”

“If there was no protest, no cops would’ve been shot,” she said.

I was so confused. Did she completely forget that two black men also just died?

I facepalmed as I read what she sent next: “Everyone is making it about race every time a cop shoots a minority. If we didn’t have these issues brought up and emphasized when race is not even the reason, we wouldn’t have to deal with all this.”

You gotta be kidding me. She has to be joking.

Jane continued her tirade. “As time goes by, minorities are abusing civil rights, thinking that they/we deserve to be treated like we’re equal when we basically already are. This system isn’t as corrupt as people are making it seem.”

I paused again to think to myself. She belongs to a historically marginalized group in America (Asian Americans). How can she actually give into the whole “we’re already equal” foolishness? She’s smarter than this. And more sympathetic than this. So what’s wrong with her?

I addressed her first point. “Here’s the problem. What you’re saying is that because the lives of cops are important, we should avoid doing protests that endanger their lives. But two black men just died at the hands of police. Aren’t their lives important too?”

I was pissed. I started lobbing questions. “Why is excusing law enforcement’s actions your first response? Why is the benefit-of-the-doubt never given to the victims of brutality? Castile complied with police, reached for his ID, and was shot. What’s excusable about that? Where’s your sympathy?!”

There was a pause. The text bubbles came up. I sat there, anxiously waiting.

Her response popped up. I read it and sunk into my chair.

“A police officer’s duty is to keep everyone safe and they took an oath to do so. So yes, I’m going to give them the benefit-of-the-doubt that they will abide by that. I’d rather give them the benefit of the doubt than suspicious humans.”

…

The time was getting closer to 4 in the morning. I laid on my bed, not sleeping, but despondently staring at the ceiling, thoughts racing through my head about Jane’s words.

“I’d rather give them the benefit of the doubt than suspicious humans.”

How can she be so ignorant, I pondered. Why does she deify the police? She doesn’t even know Alton Sterling or Philando Castile. Why do they get no sympathy? What makes them suspicious? Is it their Blackness???

I wanted to believe, considering she also has faced racial discrimination, that she had a more nuanced perspective on racial issues in America, instead of vacuous platitudes about equality.

I wanted to believe that having me, a Black person, as a friend gave her at least a little sympathy for the lives of Black people that are affected, and sometimes destroyed, by corrupt institutions.

She didn’t see individuals deserving of compassion, or empathy, or mercy, like the cops were.

She just saw “suspicious humans.”

If it weren’t for the fact that we’re “friends,” would she think of me that way?

Am I just a “suspicious human” too?

 

I was so discouraged. And tired.

After a couple more minutes of contemplation, I finally fell sleep.