There has been a great deal of sorely needed discussion lately about issues of racial inequality, racially disparate justice, and white privilege. I have always been one to think about these matters in my own life and work. In the world of pro bono, race is an ever present concern. Whether our society wants to admit it or not, it is obvious to those of us who do pro bono work regularly that the playing field is far from level in our justice system and otherwise. Of course, it's even more obvious to people of color who are subjected to unequal treatment than it is to someone like me as a fairly close observer.
One of the most appalling things about the recent discussions is the complete cluelessness and lack of empathy evidenced by an astonishing number of white people who completely fail to recognize that they are indeed privileged to much better treatment and opportunities than are black people. They reject that, probably because it is tough to admit that perhaps you are not independently deserving of everything you have, or because (as has historically been the fear that drives this country) letting other groups have the same rights and privileges means they get to compete for the same opportunities. They also reject the idea of implicit bias, even though study after study demonstrates its prevalence.
Even though I consciously think about these issues every day, I find myself worrying about whether I harbor implicit biases (the online tests say I don't but I worry anyway), and whether I myself am blithely unaware of some of the privileges that have been afforded me based on the color of my skin. Given the level of discourse recently, maybe that kind of introspection alone is more than one might expect of my generation (I was born in 1961), but it does not feel like enough to me.
The photo at the top is my 5th grade class in Columbus, Georgia. That's me on the far right in the front row, in my Girl Scout uniform. My father was in the Army and we moved all the time, so this was the only year I lived there. My dad was in Korea, and my mom was evidently unaware when we moved to Columbus that court ordered school desegregation was taking effect for the first time that school year. A letter (photo at the end of this post) was received shortly before the school year began indicating that I would be bussed to Brown Avenue Elementary. All of the other parents in our neighborhood must have moved their kids to private school, because none of the neighborhood kids got on that bus with me each morning for the half hour ride.
The girl sitting next to me in the photo was my best friend that year. Her name was Hazel, and she lived just a few blocks away from the school. We played together on the playground, and sat next to each other at lunch every day. A few times during the year, I was allowed to walk to Hazel's house after school. We would play in her room or watch TV (on one of the three grainy stations that existed!) for a few hours, and then Hazel's mom would drive me home. She waited in the car while I went inside and then drove away. Hazel never came to my house. I think I asked a few times but there was always some reason that she couldn't come. I was too naive and too uninformed at the time to understand the real reason. No one explained to me why Hazel could not come to my house, in my neighborhood, to play, or why our moms never visited with each other when her mom drove me home. Looking back at it from the vantage point of more than 40 years, it's obvious of course. I often wonder now if Hazel's mom did explain to her why she could not play at my house. Or if Hazel didn't even need to have that explained to her. Maybe she just knew, and mercifully allowed me to continue in my ignorance. Either way, it makes me so sad to think about a parent and a child having to live in the understanding that there were places they simply were not wanted, and would not be welcomed or even safe, because of their skin.
At age 53, I wish I could say that things have changed tremendously since I was in 5th grade. It seems that most people who share my skin color believe they have, but they are either kidding themselves or willfully denying the truth. Schools have been systematically resegregated and studies show that black children are subjected to harsher school discipline for the same infractions. Black people experience higher rates of traffic stops and arrests, and are much more likely to be harmed by police. An astounding proportion of black men are incarcerated, and will face a life with few rights and opportunities if they are released. States around the nation are enacting new voting restrictions that disproportionately disenfranchise black citizens.
So what can we in the pro bono world do? A great deal. We may sometimes think of major civil rights litigation as an artifact of history, but it clearly remains a relevant and necessary tool in many or all of the areas mentioned above. But not only that. We must diligently pursue not only the big litigation, but also the small, everyday travails that are inflicted on people. We must show those who inflict them that our eyes are opened and that we will show up, consistently, to shine our lights in all the dark places where injustices have been meted out with impunity. We must not shy away from the unglamorous but vital work of handling minor criminal matters in addition to the broader and perhaps more appealing work of challenging the court practices themselves. We must not sit in sheepish silence as funding for civil and criminal legal aid dwindles down to nothing. We must call out the perpetrators.
A new year is about to begin. Let's make it the year when the sorry direction in which we have been headed is reversed.
