The Implications of a Broken Right Headlight

I wish I could start a museum exhibit or installation somewhere using VR that would put people in the shoes of a Sandra Bland. A Philando Castile. A Walter Scott. A Jordan Edwards.

People could live through the fear that comes with knowing you might not live through a random interaction where you are supposedly safe. That’s being carried out in accordance with our laws.

That’s supposed to make things better. Right?

So a few weeks ago I’m DoorDashing. After I went freelance, it’s been my go-to in making ends meet. I spend a few of the prime hours I’d rather spend with my wife and remaining children (at home) delivering Papa John’s & Taco Bell to my neighbors. I always follow their special instructions, even when they don’t tip.

If you’re a Dasher, that’s the job.

Anyway I’m driving along and I notice the road ahead of me is too dark. I quickly pull over and my heart dies — foxtrot uniform charlie kilo — my right headlamp is cooked.

I try not to freak out. I’m 41 years old. I have a clean-ish driving record. No criminal record. Never been arrested. I am a contributing, productive, essential (according to the pandemic) member of society. This is barely annoyance. Fixed with $30 and a YouTube tutorial in my driveway. It’s the same for me as it is for you.

During the day, anyway.

But it’s night. Where my brown skin blends into the shadows enough to paint me size I don’t embody, intent I don’t have, and weapons I don’t use in the eyes of cops who treat me with fear I haven’t earned. No officer, I haven’t been drinking tonight, in fact, I don’t drink at all. Yes, I’ll step outside the car, no I don’t have weapons on me. I’m just working, sir. Yes I’m aware my headlight is out, I’m just trying to get home.

I got pulled over once while jogging. Cop asked to see my license. Wanted to see if I belonged.

I drove home simultaneously trying to channel Vin Diesel and Mr. Rogers. I took every side street but stopped at every stop sign. I moved at top speed without going over. My driving style was aggressively abiding. And the relief I felt when I got home, untouched by law enforcement…

That’s how my VR exhibit would end. Not with getting shot or the funerals and recriminations of innocents in the public discourse. You can see that for yourself. But with the dissolve of panic and internal turmoil. With being struck with the knowledge that under very mundane circumstances, you can’t leave the house because God turned off the daylight.

Perhaps that would convince some of my neighbors to whom I’ve brought food, to vote for my rights, and those of my children (and theirs) instead of against them. Because I’m forced to do the work you refuse to do. To step into your shoes and see things your way.

If you’re an American, that’s the job.