Editor’s note: The following was written by Carol C., a Maplewood resident whose husband and children reported being victims of an alleged racially motivated incident in South Orange. For reasons of privacy, she asked that Village Green withhold her last name.
Chief Kyle Kroll of the South Orange Police Department confirmed the SOPD charged the suspects with bias related assault and bias harassment; however the case is now in the hands of the Essex County Prosecutor who has not yet determined whether to proceed further. All persons charged are presumed innocent until proven guilty in a court of law.
On a beautiful night in South Orange, NJ my husband and my two younger sons decided to go out to dinner to the local diner.
We love this diner. Not so much for its food, or the service, which can sometimes be slow, but for it being the place, seven years ago, where we sat over breakfast daydreaming of one day leaving our over-priced tiny apartment in New York City to live here.
My husband, three boys and I had walked around both Maplewood and South Orange and observed the happy families in the playground, the small shops, and streets cradled by large trees on both sides and our hearts fluttered. But it wasn’t until we met the biracial couple – a white man and his black wife – who greeted us with a smile and told us about how much they loved the diversity here, that we knew we had found our future home.
When we finally got out of our rental and moved into our purchased home the country was starting to explode. Trayvon Martin, a boy who looked like my then 16-year-old, had recently been killed walking in his neighborhood. It was a moment of anger for many, confusion, frustration, and fear. I suddenly paid attention to how my teen walked out of the house. “Don’t wear your hood up,” I said.
He was working on getting his permit and in the conversation on safety and responsibility, I warned him, “You don’t have the luxury of error, you won’t always be given as much courtesy as some of your friends who might be going too fast, or playing their music too loud, or even driving home late at night.”
If I asked him to pick something up from a classroom parent, or drop something off at the neighbors, I would let them know to expect my son and provide a clear description of him for them and would be nervous the entire time until he returned.
“It’s unfair,” I explained to my son, “to have to feel this way, but you are a young boy, a young boy of color, living in a world that too often kills you for just being.”
But on the beautiful night in South Orange, as my white husband walked our two young biracial boys to the local diner they came across a group of black teenagers hanging out on the sidewalk.
My husband didn’t feel the need to avoid them. He didn’t feel threatened or scared. He didn’t stereotype them or instill fear into our children. He didn’t cross the street. He simply walked through them where there was space to do so to get to the other side.
And then my 10-year-old felt a pull to his long hair and they heard, “stupid white boy” before someone threw garbage at them.
My husband was shocked and angry. My 10-year-old was rubbing his head where his hair had been pulled and my 9-year-old was immediately scared.
Scared.
Scared at the group of black teenagers hanging out with friends on the block on a beautiful night in our neighborhood.
My husband yelled at them, they laughed and mocked him. An older black woman walked by, but said nothing.
My husband called me. Shaken. Upset.
We decided to call the police. We decided to call police on a group of black kids in our neighborhood. We called the police even as we read stories over and over about blacks kids being mistreated and killed in confrontations that stemmed from someone else calling the police.
For a moment, it was a decision I felt uncomfortable with.
My two sons and husband loaded into the back of a police car to identify some kids being held a few steps away from the incident.
“Yes, that’s them,” said my 10-year-old. “Yes, them too,” said my husband.
They were taken away, some of them minors who would need to be picked up by their parents.
Days later, my anger has turned to disappointment and I am left with only words that I can’t speak directly to the kids that attacked my family as it is an ongoing case. Thus, I will share my words to them here.
Do you know what you have done? Do you realize how your joke, your ignorance, your discrimination has impacted us?
You saw a white man and his two biracial children, who looked like “other” to you, and you decided to ripple their sense of security with your actions and words.
What you don’t know is that that man is married to a black Latina woman. And those children are an extension of me.
What you don’t know is that my children have experienced moments when others have confronted me with ignorance and racism, questioning if I was the babysitter to my own children.
My husband has witnessed me suffer through comments, actions, and reactions because of the color of my skin and my ethnicity. He has fought for me. He has fought for you. We’ve raised our children to fight for you and for anyone who could ever be treated poorly and unfairly because of the color of their skin, or because of whom they love, or their beliefs.
My white husband and my children didn’t have it in their heart to fear you, but you’ve changed that. You’ve influenced how they will react the next time they come across a group of black teenagers in their path. I will tell them, over and over, that we are not all the same. That we are different. To not judge without knowing. But they tried that, and you hurt them and spewed your hate at them.
There are people who defend the crimes against our communities with ignorant comments of how large groups of us translate to dangerous encounters. That we shouldn’t be given the benefit of the doubt.
And your actions, your words, empowers them.
What would you have done had it been me walking with my children? Walking alone? Would I be more deserving of respect, security, and freedom than my family because I look like you? How does that justify the struggle? The fight for justice? For consideration and tolerance? How are you any different than the people I try to protect my older son from when I tell him to not wear a hoodie, to drive with the music down, to stay safe?
No one should be judged and labeled by the actions of others. Generalizations are wrong.
The South Orange police department proved that the night they arrested your group without incident, even as some of you ran to avoid them.
You proved that when my husband and children felt safe enough to walk past your group and you decided to attack them.
I am angry with you. I am angry for making it harder for my son and the sons of so many others who are at risk of a hate crime not only because of the color of their skin, but because of the stereotype you perpetuated that night.
I am angry at you. I am angry because you take for granted the many people, of all races, that fight and protest so that you and your brothers and your sisters and your friends aren’t at risk of violence and discrimination.
I am disappointed. I am disappointed because my children don’t understand why. Why you would hate them so much when all they did was trust that you were among the many kind people and the many reasons why we love living here.
Lastly, I am saddened that as I continue to raise my children to be better citizens of the world, to be accepting and loving and open to others, there will always be you. The exception. The reasons for them to cross the street the next time they see someone that reminds them of you.
