This IS Who We Are

Back when I was practicing law full-time, I had a criminal defense case before a judge that was increasingly hostile toward me.

Every case, every appearance, the judge would demean, yell, and require me to brief and argue topics that the prosecution hadn’t even brought up.

At first, I ignored it. Hoping the case would end without me having to do anything about the judge’s behavior. However, I soon realized that no matter what I did or said, the court would never see past my skin color.

After one particularly contentious hearing, I knew I had two options. I could either get another attorney for my client (at this point, the judge’s bias against me was affecting my client’s case) or file a motion for the judge’s recusal. So, I sat in my car in the court’s parking lot, weighing my options.

At the time, I worked at a firm. So before I did anything, the one thing I knew for sure was that I would have to talk this whole thing out with the partner, a white man in his 70s.

Here’s how I thought that conversation would go.

First, I would have to explain how I knew this was a discrimination issue. Questions like: Are you sure it wasn’t just a rigorous legal debate? Is it possible that this is just the judge’s temperament? Are you sure you briefed those legal issues well? — would surely come up.

Then, in weighing out the new attorney option, I knew that I would also have to help the partner talk about race without actually talking about race. Because 1.) he’ll be afraid to say the wrong thing, and 2) he won’t want to feel bad for saying the wrong thing.

So my role will be to confirm my understanding of the partner’s position while affirming that he isn’t racist and doesn’t come off racist for having that position.

By the time I arrived back to the office after recovering from the hearing and preparing for the follow-up meeting, I felt so exhausted that I wasn’t sure I’d make it through the discussion without yelling or crying. But I steadied myself anyway and went to the partner’s office.

In his office, I explained what happened in court that day and at the past appearances. I also explained why I thought it was best to file a recusal motion, what the arguments and supporting evidence might be, and how I thought this strategy might affect the client’s case. Then I waited for the inevitable response.

Except it didn’t come. I honestly don’t remember the partner’s exact words, but I can tell you the words I felt.

He said, “I hate that you had that experience and that you were treated this way. I know you are a good attorney. If you say the judge is biased, I believe you. And if you think a recusal motion is warranted, that’s what we’ll do. Draft the motion. I’ll argue it. Let see what happens when the court sees me.”

My exhaustion lifted. I’m pretty sure I almost cried. For the first time in my working life, I began to relax into the idea that perhaps there could be safe spaces at work.

I started thinking about this story because I was asked in a recent podcast interview why some conversations about race felt exhausting, and others did not. Then I saw the explanation I gave in that interview play out in some of my conversations about the mob storming the Capitol yesterday.

I now know that my exhaustion in conversations about race is rooted in the unspoken part of every tiring discussion about racism and white privilege that I’ve ever had.

And that unspoken part is disbelief.

In those exhausting conversations, I’m asked to prove that my lived experience with racism and white privilege is real because the person on the other side doesn’t want to believe that someone who looks like them could treat another person so unfairly and with so much hostility simply because of their skin color. They don’t want to believe it because they are afraid it means they could act that way too.

They never come out and say that this the reason. They probably aren’t aware of that reason either. Instead, they opt to use phrases like “this is not who we are” to separate themselves from the “others” and explain what is plain as day to anyone willing to pay attention.

My conversation with that partner was not rooted in such disbelief. I didn’t have to prove anything because he trusted my experiences with these issues and because he had likely come to terms with his own privilege and biases long before I came into that office.

The truth is that what happened yesterday at the Capitol is who we are.

If you are not a white heterosexual male in this country, America is a violent mob that will break into your house and break up your shit. And when you call the police, all they will do is help the mob or join in unless the cameras are rolling.

That’s not all that America is, but the hope and democracy we hold so dear stands on top of that truth.

If we are to move forward in a new direction, then we must be willing to do something about that truth instead of sweeping under another rug of, “this is not who we are.”

Because…Yes. It is.