The Native Iowan

I’m getting pissed off by the very ignorant use of the word racism or racist.

I’m not going to go to Webster to make my case, I don’t need to. I know what racism is. I know a racist when I see one, hear one. They can’t run. They can’t hide. Unless the water is muddied, and everyone, EVERYONE, becomes a racist.

And it pisses me off.

I have written much about my life and multiple moments of being what I call “Profiled”, or “Diminished”.

If its important to really, honestly know who the racists are, we need to agree on what it is we discuss…

My last moment of being diminished was not that long ago. My last trip to the USA, September 2018. I was moving out of our nice apartment in the Paseo district of Pasadena, CA. We’d kept an apartment there for ages, were finally letting it go.

I was getting rid of my Thruxton, and sending my Honda custom to be shipped to Australia. Both bikes were in the basement. I could ride the Thruxton up but needed help to push the Honda up. It had a dead battery. I’d enlisted my ol bud SCarpy to help me out, he has a van, built the custom and would prepare it to be shipped out. Payment for all was my Thruxton.

So I’m on Cordova and Olive, a busy side of town, 10 – 11am, plenty of traffic. I’m leaning on the corner of the building looking out for SCarpy. He’d called, but was on Cordova St in Altadena, not Pasadena. So I’m hangn’ on there corner, looking out for a white van. A cop drives by.

He looked the other way so I knew he’d sussed me.

I’m dressed in my steel toe work boots, a pair of khaki shorts and a simple sleeveless T. I am inked from neck to wrist, chest and back and legs. You can’t NOT notice my ink. I don’t cut my hair, tho many people think I should. I don’t claim to be “pretty”.

What does the cop see? You tell me. Tattoos and black boots and long hair….And he sees me seeing him, seeing me. We had both “pinged” each other.

Same cop drives by again, on my side of the street. He really looks me up and down. Not hiding it. I don’t acknowledge but do watch, and he knows I am watching.

But I stay on the corner. I’m waiting fo SCarpy… I’m not doing anything wrong, just hanging out… waiting…

Same cop, down from Arroyo Ave side, in the middle lane, blinker on, he’s going to come talk me. He does the turn and then a UTurn on Olive, parks right by the fire hydrant on the corner. As he gets out of his car, with my hands well away from my body, I say “Good morning, I’m Mike, how are you?”. And I smile.

He’s up and out of his car, sizes me up, notes I am more of an old fart than a threat, asks for ID and we part as friends.

It could have all been very different.

I was in PNG on business. PNG is a tough place. We were out, too late. Playing too much, having too much fun.

I don’t know Moresby well so can’t really describe where it happened but Morseby does have some decent highways.

We’re motoring along the highway from the downtown area to one of the suburbs. Just came off the on-ramp onto the main, and pretty busy motorway, a big Land Rover came screaming up on us and damn near killed us forcing us off the road. My buddy, Collin was a drunk as I and I really didn’t notice much until he hollered, hit his brakes and swerved violently away from the nose of the Rover.

Uniforms with pump shotguns pile out of the Rover, and we are pretty well roughed up and frightened before they, the local police, decided we were not their prey. But in the 90 seconds it took for us to not pose a threat to them and them to realise were were no threat, both Collin and I were very near death.

The police with the guns were not white.

Side line… it turned out that the car Collin was driving was a rental and an identical car from the same rental company had been used in a very violent crime. The cops were amped because people had been ruthlessly murdered and did not expect compliance when they stopped us. They were 1000% ready to shoot first and ask questions second.

It sobered us both up soo much we had to go to another bar and get redrunk. It was fucking scary. And we got terribly re-drunk.

In both situations I was judged and categorised on my looks, my dress, the car I was in. Both could have ended very badly.

I do not begrudge any of the Officers involved, not their thoughts, their actions, or their deeds. They were “doing their jobs”.

Were they racist? Or, closer to reality, were they Profiling me or – I like the word – “Diminishing” me?

Looking down on me. Judging me because of my hair and ink, or as in Moresby, it was gold Toyota sedans that were being “targeted” that night.

I make every effort in my life to NOT diminish/ profile others. I know it happens and I know its a required part of being human… being on the alert for threats or possible not-good situations on the horizon. Its part of our DNA.

I was walking our village the other day. I went to the post office.

Heading down the stairs, I paused as a woman slowly walked up. I know that nowadays I need a hand on a rail. I can no longer depend on my innate balance and youthful knees to keep me upright. She’s using the rail so I’ll wait for her, then descend.

I step back to my left. She is coming up, I open the door for her, We exchange honest smiles. My ink didn’t scare her. My slovenly nature did not annoy her. It was all about smiles.

And good luck…

I reckon it was the smile in Pasadena that kept me from trouble. And the fact I had nothing to hide. I had nothing to fear from the Officer.

In Moresby it was blind, drunken good luck.

And Now, The Rest Of The Story…..

I later heard from Moresby that the police found and chased the “other Golden Toyota Sedan”. They blew it off the road with shotguns. Killing all inside.

I wish we’d all cease diminishing each other.

SMiles

More later