A white man’s reflection on the O.J. Simpson murder acquittal 29 years later.

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RAGE

When I was a kid in the 1950s, my parents and three brothers would have dinner on Sundays at Dad’s parents’ farm in Tipton, Iowa. Occasionally, Uncle Jim would use the N-word, but its wrongness did not colonize my innocence until years later in college when I read James Baldwin. Baldwin wrote this line, and it has stuck with me.

To be a Negro in this country and to be relatively conscious is to be in a rage almost all the time.

This rage accumulates from

The millions of details 24 hours spell out that some lives matter more than others.

Baldwin taught me that in America, race always matters. And that nothing about race was simple.

I taught politics to college students for 40 years and retired in 2018, so I’m conditioned to think, even in retirement, about how best to understand my country — what films to watch and essays to read.

When O.J. Simpson died last week, I set aside 467 minutes to view the 2016 documentary O.J.: Made in America. It’s available on Netflix and worth every minute.

I also sought articles by African-American men and women. Two of the best are John McWhorter’s, If O.J.’s Trial Happened Today, and Emmanuel Felton and Rachel Hatzipano’s, What O.J. Simpson Meant to Black America.

PAIN

I’m a 74-year-old white man born two years after Simpson.

This image from the film represents how I and most whites felt in 1995 when he was acquitted of the murder of his ex-wife, Nicole Brown Simpson, and her friend Ronald Goldman. (In 1997, a civil trial jury would hold Simpson responsible for their deaths)

Most blacks felt differently.

John McWhorter explained in retrospect.

The evidence of Simpson’s deed was overwhelming despite the ineptitude of the prosecution team. The verdict and the response to it among the Black community wasn’t a sign of support for Simpson; it was a protest against a long legacy of mistreatment and even murder at the hands of the police.

The film reminded us of the 1991 beating of Rodney King by four police officers and another acquittal.

With this image of pain.

AMERICA IN BLACK AND WHITE

My Uncle Jim was not an evil man. He volunteered to coach my brother’s Little League team, where he treated Pat’s African-American teammates kindly, as he did all the kids. He was no better or worse than most white Americans in the mid-20th century. But not all. Photos of civil rights marches always showed whites among the crowd. (source)

Thirty years after those Sunday dinners, Jim had a fatal encounter with a different sickness: brain cancer.

It became too much.

The end that broke my father’s heart came behind the barn on his parents’ farm.

Pain and rage.

America is not unique: Catholics and Protestants in Northern Ireland, Israelis and Palestinians, Sunnis and Shia, Tutsi and Hutu. Across time and space, the list is endless. Even God has lost count.

Pain and rage.

I was numb by the 467th minute of O.J.: Made in America.

How do I make sense of this human propensity to divide and destroy?

And then be blind to the consequences?

Back to Baldwin:

Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.

Of course, O.J. did it. Of course, that predominately African-American jury in 1995 found him innocent because America was 400 years guilty.

Of course, people rioted after Rodney King.

And the murder of George Floyd.

The murderous means of Hamas, the IRA, and the Hutu militias came from grievances shared by many who did not accept their terrorist means.

Today, what is the tragedy of Israel/Palestine but the reality of two victim peoples sharing the same tiny, blood-drenched piece of land?

Pain and rage.

AND HOPE

Today, most Americans, black and white, believe African Americans are treated less fairly by the police than white Americans. (source)

This morning, when I think about the Brown-Simpson and Goldman jury’s murder acquittal after only four hours of deliberation, it makes perfect sense to me.

O.J. may be guilty, but America is not innocent.

Justice is complicated.

Perhaps we can control people, but we can’t control their pain.

The evidence of this is everywhere.

In our families, communities, and country.

Inside each of us, whether black or white.

We’ve all been teenagers.

So when you look in the mirror, ask yourself:

Who do you see?

And who don’t you see?

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*Today, America is racially and ethnically diverse. It is more than black and white. The current figures are White: 59%; Hispanic & Latino: 19%; Black 12.6%; Asian 5.9%; two or more races: 2.3%.

Thanks to the careful editing of Malky McEwan for Medium’s Entertain, Empower, and Enlighten.

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