Color of Justice Read Online Free PDF Page B

way.”
    â€œBut I’m not a white guy,” said Danny casually. “That’s what I’m saying. I mean, not really. I have that sickness in my heart, too. So, I’m really talking about myself.”
    Danny had lived around black people since he was a kid. His father, Robert Cavanaugh, was a city cop, so the family had to live in Detroit because of the residency requirement. All his life, Danny had lived in the hardness of the inner city, in the heart of blackness. He knew all too well what he was talking about.
    â€œSo, you feel your anger comes from this sickness?” asked Gordon.
    â€œYeah. Only it’s worse because of what I see in the mirror.”
    Danny grew up on the east side of Detroit, in a ghetto fortress bounded by Six Mile, Dequindre, Conant, and a hole that became the Davison Freeway. He was forced to accept the ways of black people. He learned the rhythm of life, the philosophy and attitudes of the people, which manifested themselves in everything from a discussion of global politics to the proper way to cook a slab of ribs.
    Danny had caught a lot of shit for this early on. Black people thought he mocked them, trying to have the best of blackness without the terrible burden. Whites thought quite simply that he was crazy, a crazy-ass white boy trying to be something he wasn’t. But over time, people noticed it less and less.
    â€œYou certainly don’t sound like a white guy,” said Gordon.
    â€œYeah,” said Danny. “I hear that all the time. But I don’t understand that shit. I sound how I sound, you know.”
    â€œSo why do you think you had such a problem with your temper?” asked Gordon. “You think you have some kind of rage?”
    â€œNot like the brothers have,” said Danny. “I’m not mad because I’ve been treated like shit by a whole country.”
    Danny didn’t think a guy like Gordon could understand how black people took their pain and pushed it into a deep place where it stayed just behind every thought, perception, hope, and fear. And how you did this until it became an inseparable part of you, like a psychological shadow cast by the cold, fucked-up light of the world. And there in the bosom of your deepest humanity, it became a fire, a power that propelled you over the obstacles of life and allowed you to find peace and joy even as you suffered. Gordon wouldn’t understand how this was what it meant when they say black people have soul.
    â€œHow did you feel when all the other white families left your neighborhood?” asked Gordon.
    â€œDidn’t think much of it at first. Families came and went all the time. Then I realized that I was the only one left, the only white boy at everything. Man, I got chased, beat up, and teased.”
    â€œAnd what about your parents? Your father?”
    â€œHe was drinking a lot back then. Fighting with my mother and shit, you know.”
    â€œDid that make you upset?”
    â€œMade me sad mostly,” said Danny. “Sad that we couldn’t have a normal life. But I had a good time as a kid. It wasn’t always cool to be the only white guy, but after a while the kids didn’t give a shit. See, there’s this thing in the city where everybody recognizes that we’re all fucked, so it don’t matter if your daddy’s black and out of work, or white and a drunk. Fucked is fucked.”
    â€œAnd yesterday when you approached the killer with the Uzi, were you angry then? Did you want to shoot him?”
    â€œYeah, I did,” said Danny. “In the old days, I would have waited for him to move, then fired. But now, I’m…” Danny became quiet for a moment, looking for the right words. “I’m trying to be better.”
    â€œSo how did your parents feel about living in that neighborhood?”
    â€œMy mother hated it. My old man, well, he thinks black people are strong. He wanted me to be strong, too,