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Is The White Man The Devil?

Part One

Dec. 5, 2014

It took a day to digest it. A day to let myself accept the fact that New York Police Officer Daniel Pantaleo will not be indicted for the public lynching of Eric Garner, 43. The July 17th killing of Mr. Garner, was a crystal clear, morally unambiguous crime in an ongoing nation-wide series of racial incidents. It stands out because everything about it is undeniable: Mr. Garner committed no crime. He did not resist arrest. Officer Pantaleo used an illegal choke hold, and continued doing so even after Mr. Garner was subdued. Mr. Garner repeatedly said that he could not breathe, until he was dead.

Murder, case closed, right? Wrong. This is a system of white supremacy, where killing black men is just another way to get your rocks off. Garner, much like Michael Brown, Tamir Rice, John Crawford, and now Rumain Brisbon, was guilty of nothing more than his blackness, and walking into the open maw of demonic forces.

But what if my metaphor isn't a metaphor? What if these police aren't human, but instead some demonic facsimile spawned from the fires of Hell? To sharpen the point:

“What if the white man really is the Devil?”

This is a valid question, worthy of a multi-part exploration.

The word “Devil” comes from the ancient Greek word, Diabolos, meaning “slanderer”: a person who intentionally spreads lies in order to damage their victim's reputation. When black churchgoers wail, “The Devil is a lie (liar)!” they are referring to the demon's unending dishonesty, its use of silver-tongued trickery.

The police in all five of the aforementioned cases, repeatedly told blatant lies. Lies like, “The suspect resisted arrest” and “He (or his parents, in Tamir Rice's case) had a criminal record” or “The Officer acted in self defense” have become the common phraseology in white supremacist circles, just as the words “thug” and “outrage” have become the common nomenclature.

As an African working amongst whites, I consider each of these terms explosive, and any debate counterproductive. It took me a day to let the Garner decision sink in, and on that day I had to work … with them. The last thing I wanted to do was explain to Becky and Chet (actual names), et al. that Mr. Garner had a right to breathe, no matter how inadequate he made you feel. I didn't want to tell them that I could be next, and see that inevitable glaze go over their eyes as they lost interest. I was alone, and upset. So, going in, I knew that I wouldn't be in the best mood, that I'd just want to put my head down and do my job. I also knew that would prove impossible. Yes, friends, the white people commented on my dreary appearance, and my serious expression.

“You never smile,” said one woman, “You're such a Grinch.”

Which was funny, really. It took that insensitive joke to remind me of the season. I had totally forgotten: Christmas was coming. And nothing, not protests in the street, nor the hangman's noose above their black co-workers' heads, would hinder their party plans. The subject of Garner and Pantaleo only surfaced occasionally, and only to mention how their “nieces and nephews” were “planning on marching.”

Well, thank you. That made all the difference in my life. Please, continue hanging your mistletoe.

So again, I have to ponder, “Is the white man the Devil?” When Becky goes to lunch, is she really ordering the chicken sandwich, or diced human baby parts, stuffed in a bun? I've noticed her; she seems to have an unnatural fondness of food, savoring every morsel as if she'd killed the beast herself (and now, I know, she probably has).

I've seen the whites go on cigarette breaks, in groups without lighters or matches, but still, the cigarettes burn. And I swear on everything holy that I've seen these “people” sending signals: a slight adjustment of the tie, a curious flip of the hair, whenever a negro is present.

I've made my own audio recordings of the whites when they've engaged in this silent dialogue, already discovering odd clicking sounds on playback. I also managed to grab one of their used cigarette butts. I think I smelled a hint of brimstone, but I'll have to wait for the lab results. Only time will tell.