the white guilt boogie
Why, because a black guy robbed me, probably.
It could have been a white guy in the shadows, but I doubt it.
It all started when the cops started asking about the burglar’s appearance.
I knew what they wanted.
They wanted to know what colour skin the dude had.
Because that makes their job easier.
But it was how they asked.
They didn’t say what race was he, they said, so what can you tell us about him?
So I said tall, young, and then one of them asked, anything else, the other one said what about skin tone.
Notice he used the word tone, not colour.
They all looked up with doey eyes, wanting me to say what race he was without them having to actually say the words race, black, or colour.
At this stage I was wishing that it was a white kid, even though I have never seen a white teenager anywhere near the place.
Then a day later talking to a guy about it, he asked if it was a black guy.
I said yes, but then instantly said, but it’s a black neighbourhood, and the chances of it being a white kid were like a million to one.
He sort of looked up and said, I don’t know why I asked that.
Then we both had an awkward silence.
It was a moment of shared white guilt.
It’s not my fault a black kid robbed me.
It’s not even like I am from a family rich enough to have ever owned anyone, or had anyone killed.
The closest thing we have to a racist in my family is my nan, who used to call aboriginal footballs black bastards, as in run you black bastard, although she also said run you tall bastard, run you fat bastard, run you whatever best described them bastard.
But I still feel mighty odd about all of it.
Infact i even feel guilty that i feel white guilt.
Had the dude knocked on my door and asked for a laptop, this would have been a far easier transaction.
Although had a white guy knocked on the door and asked for one i probably wouldnt have given him one.
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Don’t feel guilty for being white. Feel guilty for leaving the door/window unlocked/without deadbolts.
It wasn’t actually at my place, so i can’t dead lock or such, but they were locked. He just got around that, although the update to the story is the police know who it is, and are searching his place tomorrow.
I got punched a bit by a white chap three years ago. Or possibly four. It was on St Patrick’s day.
The policeman who came to take my statement was very much encouraging me to say that I felt it to be a racist attack. I got the impression that, the moment I cried racism, they’d be able to spend more time on the investigation.
I didn’t though. It was nothing to do with the colour of my skin (although that provided a handy hook on which to hang some choice insults)…it was just some tosser who wanted a fight.
And my mate’s big floppy Guinness hat.
I blame Ireland for you being punched.