Hurt and Fear

(photo: AP)

I catch myself hiding my tears from my daughters this morning. The shooting death of Philando Castile, captured on video by his girlfriend (pictured) in the immediate gaze of her little daughter. The four-year-old assuring her mommy that she'll be OK as their beloved lies dying. Shot by a white police officer in front of their eyes.

I'm crying for that little brown girl, and all the brown people whose trust or respect or faith in "white people" is eroding. I'm crying for all of us who have to live in this climate of distrust, mistrust, hatred, as if "white people" were a tangible distinction. My white mother is not the enemy. My white husband is not the enemy. My family and friends are not the enemy. They are people who care deeply about making a positive change. They are active in their caring, apparent in daily life.

There are decent police officers in this country. But when they see their brothers shot down in the line of duty, as they did last night in Dallas, their hurt and fear will tempt them to act indecently. Violence begets violence and the spiral spins.

I am hurt and fearful. Trying to protect my mixed-race children from the feelings I can hardly bear.