I have a self-proclaimed son named George. Born of love, not of blood, he is a friendly, funny, and intelligent fellow, handsome to look at and easy to know, and someone who most consider “an old soul.” He came into my life in his tenth grade Spanish I class, which I was teaching. He discovered in my class that he is “good at” languages (fluent in Spanish by mid-year in level 2), and he got bitten by the travel bug on a trip with me to Spain. He’s now a flight attendant for United and we see each other from time to time, either here in Belgium where I live, or in NC where he’s from, or in an airport somewhere as we cross paths. He really is like a son to me. I love him with whole heart.

George is black. I’m white, if you don’t know. Or sort of peach colored, anyway.

Today another George was killed. By a white police officer while many others looked on. George Floyd was being arrested for a white-collar crime, and by all accounts, and by what video I have seen, he was neither violent nor did he resist arrest. Even if he had resisted, he died making his distress known, pleading for air, the officer’s knee on his neck, until after his body went completely limp, for a total of more than seven minutes.

I can’t help but picture that as MY George. If it had been him in that situation, would he have been treated that way? I suspect he would have. And that scares me.

One thing I do know is if it had been me, a white woman, I would not have been treated that way. And it is a safe bet that my much younger white brother, tall, braw and blond, would have been handcuffed and gently placed into the squad car, his head protected. Even if my brother had resisted arrest, he would have been placed into the car and would likely not have been seriously hurt. He almost certainly would not have been handcuffed and put face down on the ground with an officer’s knee cutting off his airway for so long that he would lose consciousness and die.

What is it going to take for this to stop? Are we to make the black community pay for our sin of slavery and racism for the entire history of the great United States of America? And by the way, who the devil are the people who are raising people so lacking in empathy that they think it is reasonable to hold a calm and unresistant, handcuffed man down by the neck until he loses consciousness? That it is acceptable for a man’s pleas for air and mercy go unheeded? That an unarmed black man can be shot in his car (Philando Castile), in the back execution-style (Oscar Grant), or by vigilantes for jogging (Ahmaud Arbery)? These are only a handful of outrageous events that demonstrate the increasingly dangerous place that the US is for a black man, or even a black woman. Being black (or latino or native American) means your risk of being killed by a police officer is well over twice that if you are white.

Here in Europe, people think we must be the most racist country on the planet. After living here and having friends from lots of countries, I don’t think we are, but it is far more dangerous to be black in the US than it is here, maybe because most people here don’t have guns, and surely because most police officers know when NOT to use deadly force.

I pray for my George. As a law-abiding, taxes-paying black man in America, he is in danger every day. Every time he leaves his house, even when he is IN his house or his car, or at his job, he risks his life. His birth mama taught him to be polite, especially with officers of the law, and I remind him sometimes of how to reach for his wallet to show his identification to an officer who asks for it. I love my brother, too, but I have never reminded him of that; I suspect no one has ever even mentioned it to him. But George knows. He knows he has to ask the officer if he can get his identification out. He knows to move slowly and keep one hand in the view of the officer at all times. He knows the officer is likely to kill him.

I know, too.