I had a couple from Atlanta on the back of my bike the other day. They were about 10 or 15 years older than me and African American. We rode past the police station on Royal Street, and the man spoke up:
"That's a police station isn't it? Can you pedal a little faster?"
Chuckling, I said, "My dad grew up here in New Orleans, and he was in trouble with the law all the time when he was young. But he raised me to be a law-abiding citizen."
My passenger paused a minute before replying: "That's nice in theory... But you know, you're white."
His words took the wind out of me for a moment then left me irritated at myself for having been been totally oblivious to the racial subtext of the "pedal faster" comment.
Mentally groping for some common ground, I thought of the twinge of fear I feel when I pass by the Iberville housing project. But the limitations of the analogy were immediately obvious to me. Being afraid of outlaws is bad enough; but being afraid of the law must be many, many times worse. That's something I've been privileged not to have experienced.
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