I can tell you

I can tell you that I am a white female.
I can tell you that I am a person of privilege, and moderate means.
I can tell you that I have a white child and a biracial child.
I can tell you that I am gay.
I can tell you that my wife is a cop.

I can tell you that every time I start to write, I fear you will pin me racist.
I can tell you that at this point in my life, the people I call friend — the short list of people I’d call if my wife were shot — they are all white.
I can tell you that I actively wonder about how we can diversify our life, but worry that it’s tokenizing.

I can tell you that when I have these conversations in my head where you ask me how many black friends I have, and I ask you how many gay friends you have, I feel like a douche.

I can tell you that regardless of how evolved I ever thought I was, or the white privilege I’ve owned, I could not understand the impact of race until I began to consider it through the lens of my child.

I can tell you that I have been the victim of police brutality because I’m gay. I’ve experienced police calling friends, “fucking dyke cunts,” and dragging them down concrete steps by their hair.

I can tell you that I could have chosen to see all cops through that ugly lens, but instead believe that people are inherently good, and that we must work to ensure that one bad apple does not color the bunch rotten.

I can tell you that I believe we are all racist, all homophobic, all anti-Semitic, all trans-phobic. All all of it. I believe that we can work on it, we can evolve, but that we understand the ways in which we, and others, are other.

I can tell you that I have a vivid memory of my own racism as a child. Of my best friend, who was black, staying with us for the weekend. Of my soccer practice, to which she tagged along. Of my deep, confusing fear that my white soccer friends wouldn’t like me anymore because I was friends with a black girl.

I can tell you that I know that our systems are broken.

I can tell you that I know that some cops are horrible people who do horrible things behind the shield of the badge.

I can tell you that I know that some people are horrible people who bandwagon and do horrible things under the guise of protest.

I can tell you that I believe that the majority of cops are good and kind and trustworthy and honorable.

I can tell you that I believe that the majority of people are good and kind and trustworthy and honorable.

I can tell you that I am frustrated and saddened and upset to the point of tears so often about Ferguson that I’m surprised.

I can tell you that it pisses me off that people are conflating issues that are unrelated.

I can tell you that a Grand Jury is not a trial and I am tired of hearing people demand to know why Darren Wilson was not cross-examined, from their self-righteous, uneducated soapbox, showing their overall lack of understanding of how the — broken or not — system actually works.

I can tell you that if anyone reaches inside of my wife’s cruiser with the intent to harm, I want her to shoot them.

I can tell you that if someone is advancing on her, after trying to harm her or someone else, I want her to shoot to stop. Not to injure and hope for the best. To stop.

I can tell you that any injuries she sustains while trying to protect herself from an aggressor, armed or not, are unacceptable.

I can tell you that I believe that the outrage over a hasty investigation, and the potential for lost evidence, would have been just as loud as that of a man’s body in the street for what we determine to be too long by an undetermined standard.

I can tell you that I know that as an unsworn civilian, I do not know how long it takes to gather appropriate evidence.

I can tell you that my gut and my heart hurt for the parents of Michael Brown.

I can tell you that I cannot understand why anyone would want to be a police officer, and face the fear mongering, Monday-Morning quarterbacking, oversimplification, I-didn’t-go-to-school-for-it-but-know-better-than-a-trained-professional nonsense that they do, all while being expected to show up, remain calm in the face of extreme danger, show no fear, and run in when we are all running out.

Unrelated, I can tell you that for similar reasons, I cannot understand why anyone would want to be a teacher.

I can tell you that I believe that there is systemic ugliness in this world, but that does not mean that Darren Wilson was acting outside of the law.

I can tell you that if you don’t like the law, I urge you to do something about it. I urge you to vote. I urge you to protest peacefully. I urge you to volunteer. I urge you to become a police officer. I urge you to run for office, to become a lawyer, a judge. I urge you to behave in a way that is honorable and righteous, not dishonorable and self-righteous.

I can tell you that as the wife of a police officer, the fear I have when she puts on her gun is sometimes overwhelming, and I have to willfully forget what she does for a living.

I can tell you that I am outraged by number of police shot every year, and by the lack of outrage over that fact.

I can tell you that I am horrified by the fact that officers are shot on routine traffic stops and there is no horror in the media.

I can tell you that I am disheartened by folks who feel entitled to police protection as they lambaste “the police” for the actions of the few.

I can tell you that I feel entitled to my wife coming home every night.

I can tell you that most powerful words I have seen in the last 2 days were from a friend on Facebook: “Despite everything you will hear and read, I honor your wife and others tonight.” I can tell you that this almost brought me to tears, and that it makes me know that the universe is bent toward justice, and that just as black lives matter, so do cops’.

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