Sunday (5/17/2020) was a beautiful day. Sunshine. The beach was open. Pacific Palisades Park was open. People were smiling, friendly, good vibes everywhere. I was on my way to pick up a little boy I have babysat for seven years. We would get to hang out at last. He came with me while his mom did work on her laptop while sitting in the park. Two hours flew by with this delightful sprite and I handed him back to his mom. They began the walk back to their nearby apartment. The little guy was actually joyfully riding his bike for the very first time.
I had barely arrived home when I received this text from his mom: “_____ just had his first encounter with blatant racism. A young white man around 25 just followed us down the street screaming “f*** you n***** boy.” Nobody watching said anything. I looked the guy the in the eye to assess the threat level because he was punching stuff and I wasn’t sure if we should try to pass him. Turned down a different street and would have confronted him if he kept following us but he lost interest. This was on 4th and Montana.”
As I called her in response to the text, I was crushed. Crushed and angry that this sort of thing is still happening. She was more matter of fact. After all, as a biracial single mom, this was not her first experience with racism. But to have it directed at her beautiful son - ah, that is the kind of pain that is indescribable.
I brought up he was probably mentally ill, possibly homeless and we could pray for these lost souls roaming our streets. “No,” she said. “He did not appear homeless or mentally ill.” Just your average, garden variety racist. She explained there were so many people around her, watching and listening to the whole ugly encounter. Not one person - not one - stepped forward to help. He was outnumbered by so many men and women who could have let him know he needed to slink back to the rock he crawled out of. He should have been told that this precious child and his mother were ours. Part of our community, part of who we are here in Santa Monica.
But you didn’t. You people on 4th and Montana and I sure hope you are reading this.
You know, when I was a kid, my dad used to grouse about the lack of shame in this country (and this was back in the 50’s and 60’s). He thought they should bring back the practice of putting folks in stockades in the middle of the town square. They would have placards around their necks saying things like “I’m a liar,” “I’m a thief,” etc. I would like to see that happen to you - I really would. Yours would read: “coward.” YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED.
You can see I’m not yet in the mood for forgiveness but you on the other hand, should feel that shame, then guess what? Go ahead and forgive yourselves because guilt will keep you paralyzed. But vow to do better next time. Give yourself another chance to be braver. To do the right thing.
Because, listen people. If you don’t - if you don’t do better - then this pandemic that destroys your lungs - ain’t nothing.
Silence will eat your soul.
Tamara Tarsitano
Santa Monica
