Counterpoint: We must retain hope and conversation

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When I first read Jeremy Norton’s May 20 commentary “Don’t whitewash what happened to George Floyd,” I was captivated by his eyewitness report of what he saw as an emergency responder on that day in May 2020.

I was impressed by the powerful certainty of his claims, alarmed by his insistence that President Donald Trump would pardon Derek Chauvin and attuned to his distinction between “active resistance” and “incoherent panic” as descriptors of George Floyd’s response to the actions of Minneapolis police.

When I read the commentary again a day later, I wanted to understand just how it elicited these responses from me and to frame a response. What would I say to Norton if we were talking over a cup of coffee?

My closer examination of the essay generated resistance as well as admiration. I realized that Norton wasn’t attempting to convince me of anything or motivate me to take action in support of his conclusions. In fact, his perspective is fatalistic; he is certain Trump will pardon Chauvin; he doesn’t refute any arguments for the pardon or attempt to discredit those who make them. He doesn’t urge readers to oppose the pardon. That’s because he is only addressing people who already do.

Norton offers no arguments because he believes the call for Chauvin’s pardon is propelled by racism, just as Floyd’s murder was. Norton describes racism as inevitable in America; displacing or transcending it is not a possibility. He invokes Beyoncé, who observes that “racism is so American, that when we protest racism, some assume we are protesting America.”

Norton concludes his essay by defiantly declaring that he’ll make no efforts to identify with or appeal to those who benefit from or remain passive about racism, invoking Huck Finn’s retort: “All right, then, I’ll go to hell.”

The problem with this approach is that it evaporates hope. It discourages excellent rhetorical practice intended for those who don’t yet believe as he does. I guess they can go to hell, too.

The premise that racism is inevitable in America is hard to accept when you have lived as long as I have. I was an eyewitness to audiences in the thrall of the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., Julian Bond and Barbara Jordan.

Eloquence convinced listeners that some of their beliefs or social practices were clearly in conflict with other beliefs or aspirations they held just as strongly. This paradox was unsettling, and they felt compelled to resolve it. They saw that racism was a handicap, a blight, and they resolved to overcome it.

I don’t dispute that racism persists even when laws and legal judgments attempt to curb its consequences. I have watched racism recede and reemerge. But I don’t believe it is impervious to influence. I’ve seen it happen.

So what would I say to Norton over a cup of coffee on a break from his duties as a first responder?

I’d ask him what he would do if his next critical patient was Ben Shapiro, the right-wing ideologue lobbying Trump to pardon Chauvin. Let’s say Shapiro came to Minneapolis to visit the spot where Chauvin did his duty and protected the public from a drug user and convicted felon behaving erratically. Let’s say someone brutally attacked Shapiro. The 911 call brought Norton to Shapiro’s side.

Would Norton refuse to render him aid as a stand against racism? I suspect Norton would take offense at my question. Of course, he would fulfill his oath and try to save Shapiro’s life.

So then, Norton, after you saved his life, and he thanked you for doing so, would you tell Shapiro what you saw the day Floyd was killed? Would you speak your truth to him just as you spoke it to readers of your book? Would you take the chance to persuade him? Or would you tell him to go to hell?

I think Norton might take the chance to persuade Shapiro. No longer are they advocates berating each other. Now they are two men bound by an emergency they both survived. The aim is not to insist or predict or insult each other. There is no audience to impress. The aim is to hear each other out and to convince each other.

I would bet on Norton to save more than Shapiro’s life.

Helen B. Warren lives in the St. Anthony Park neighborhood in St. Paul. She is a retired grant writer. Early in her career, she taught college students the art of persuasive discourse.