Karrin Murphy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
notevendarkyet) wrote2008-06-27 08:59 pm
notevendarkyet) wrote2008-06-27 08:59 pm
Entry tags:
mind_the_muse: June topics: It was absurd...
It was absurd, but he was right. White people are scary.
The words of the old Native American who had been arrested because a cutesy little rich man's boy had happened to be scared of him drifted up to her as she was standing, shoulder against the wall and the gun held high in her hands, ready to turn around the corner and take the room, cross-fire-alert with her partner, across the doorway.
Then.
She'd been a trainee, on one of her first field, or rather, street assignments. The call had come from a hysterical woman claiming that a huge man had attacked her son in the park. She'd been rounded up for back-up; the man hadn't resisted the arrest. He'd just sighed and come along.
It had turned out that all he'd done was hand the boy his ball. You'd not have been able to guess, from the hysterics of both mother and son.
Karrin had apologized to the deep-voiced, calm man personally; it had seemed right. He'd talked with her a little, telling her how it wasn't his only experience of the sort. And how it was always so - feeling threatened, whether with or without justification, white people would lash out. Not so much sticking together, as for support, as banding together, against 'others'. They'd rarely stop and look, stop and listen. And so they'd act rashly, and wrong deeds would be done, and they wouldn't even see that. White people are scary that way. They won't look. They won't understand.
Now
Karrin knew pretty well what was going to be, in the room behind the door. She was going to be the one kicking the door open, too, her partner was good in action as long as it didn't get to really close quarters - he should have outgrown the phase of being all knees and elbows about fifteen years ago but it seemed somebody had forgotten to mention that to his body. It would be close, in that room, but it would be clean.
However, what made her think again of those deep-voiced words was the whole building. It was a renting-rooms building, with mostly Mexican tennants. And they lived in...
It should have been the landlord's obligation to fix the stupid problems. Leaky roof, faulty plumbing, stairs in disrepair, all that shit. She knew enough about the building owner to know perfectly well that he could afford to, too.
If he bothered to look and do it.
But white landlords never did, did they. They were better, and if somebody complained, they wouldn't listen - because of course their building was fine. Heaven forbid they should come to look.
It made her more angry than she should be, when action was about to happen. She'd contact the owner when they were done hear and suggest legal action if he didn't take care of this all.
One owner. One building. How about all the rest?
Yeah. White people are scary, she thought. Don't listen. Don't look.
Except the few who did.
A small voice in the back of her head wondered for a moment if, should more non-white people be in charge of the city's administration, her department's thruths might not be better publicized...
... and then there was no more time for that. The door flew inwards with one kick, just as she thought it would...
Muse: Karrin Murphy
Fandom: The Dresden Files (novels)
Word count: 562
The words of the old Native American who had been arrested because a cutesy little rich man's boy had happened to be scared of him drifted up to her as she was standing, shoulder against the wall and the gun held high in her hands, ready to turn around the corner and take the room, cross-fire-alert with her partner, across the doorway.
Then.
She'd been a trainee, on one of her first field, or rather, street assignments. The call had come from a hysterical woman claiming that a huge man had attacked her son in the park. She'd been rounded up for back-up; the man hadn't resisted the arrest. He'd just sighed and come along.
It had turned out that all he'd done was hand the boy his ball. You'd not have been able to guess, from the hysterics of both mother and son.
Karrin had apologized to the deep-voiced, calm man personally; it had seemed right. He'd talked with her a little, telling her how it wasn't his only experience of the sort. And how it was always so - feeling threatened, whether with or without justification, white people would lash out. Not so much sticking together, as for support, as banding together, against 'others'. They'd rarely stop and look, stop and listen. And so they'd act rashly, and wrong deeds would be done, and they wouldn't even see that. White people are scary that way. They won't look. They won't understand.
Now
Karrin knew pretty well what was going to be, in the room behind the door. She was going to be the one kicking the door open, too, her partner was good in action as long as it didn't get to really close quarters - he should have outgrown the phase of being all knees and elbows about fifteen years ago but it seemed somebody had forgotten to mention that to his body. It would be close, in that room, but it would be clean.
However, what made her think again of those deep-voiced words was the whole building. It was a renting-rooms building, with mostly Mexican tennants. And they lived in...
It should have been the landlord's obligation to fix the stupid problems. Leaky roof, faulty plumbing, stairs in disrepair, all that shit. She knew enough about the building owner to know perfectly well that he could afford to, too.
If he bothered to look and do it.
But white landlords never did, did they. They were better, and if somebody complained, they wouldn't listen - because of course their building was fine. Heaven forbid they should come to look.
It made her more angry than she should be, when action was about to happen. She'd contact the owner when they were done hear and suggest legal action if he didn't take care of this all.
One owner. One building. How about all the rest?
Yeah. White people are scary, she thought. Don't listen. Don't look.
Except the few who did.
A small voice in the back of her head wondered for a moment if, should more non-white people be in charge of the city's administration, her department's thruths might not be better publicized...
... and then there was no more time for that. The door flew inwards with one kick, just as she thought it would...
Muse: Karrin Murphy
Fandom: The Dresden Files (novels)
Word count: 562