Just 4 days ago I had an experience that still twists my head and heart around. Three large, young, white South Carolina cops came into the yard of the home I stay in to look after my elderly parents. They were looking for a smallish, young black man. (Yes, we had known the man, but not his crime. Still don’t. And the three of them would have made about six of him.)

When their target was absent, they decided to push us around a bit. Well, a lot, but no physical contact; just insults and lies, and prohibitions to move in our own yard, or speak. I’ve had enough contact with such southern cops to know that it’s their job to get us to make that first contact.) And when they realized the three of them had lost all control to a 90 year-old man and a permanently disabled 61-year old, they quickly left.

But the point is not that they were cowards, with all their guns and lies, but that I was likely still alive for one reason only; my skin. This is the third time in my life that being white meant not being cop-dead. And that brings me no joy or satisfaction. Love and hate are all twisted up in me now.

Statistically, I’m a fool to trust white people. And currently that includes me.

The world is ending. What good can such hatred and racism possibly do now?

Thank you for writing, and sharing.