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Chief Charles Moose, for all practical purposes is an American hero -- as well he should be. He was front and center of one of America's most terrifying episodes. Moose showed chutzpah in the face of this terror, baring his raw emotions under the glare of television cameras. I tip my hat to his humanity, and his ability to perform a role that many questioned his ability to perform. Like the rest of America, I followed the Washington, D.C. sniper case like a prime-time television series -- except, for the daily, rather than weekly installments of horror. And, like other Americans, along with my relief at the apprehension of the perpetrators, came an element of sheer surprise. I had preconceived notions of who these elusive, evil, almost-brilliant murderers most likely would be. It must have been as surreal for Charles Moose as it was for the rest of America, to discover that his targets were not young, deranged, white terrorists, but a black Jamaican boy young enough to be his son, and a 42-year old black man with a penchant for military-style executions. This fact taught us all a lesson in stereotyping. For good or bad, Malvo and Muhammad (something poetic about those names) debunked two myths with one stone: That black folk don't have it in them to kill aimlessly; and, that black folk only kill other black folk. Yet, after all is said and done; I admit the murders were only part of the drawing card to my television set throughout this saga. Montgomery County Sheriff Charles Moose played just as big a role. I watched with interest as Moose's body language told America so much about who he was. Not only that he never dreamed he'd wake up one morning and find himself an international figure; but also, that this episode in his life, and the life of Montgomery County was larger than both. And, of course, there was the racial thing…Montgomery County being a predominantly white county -- and, Chief Moose being…well, a black man, an eastern version of Mr. Tibbs -- struggled to take race out of the equation. Thus, I watched with one eye on the killings, and another, more microscopic eye, on the man tied to the personally traumatic, albeit less ostentatious, episode in my life. It is because of this earlier knowledge of Chief Moose, that I find this new Charles Moose an irony, of sorts. This Chief Moose is questioning his own civil rights, and his right to free speech. This Chief Moose going so far as to sue for a court injunction to bar the county's ethics commission from taking action against his writing a book the panel says would jeopardize not only the integrity of his public office, but the upcoming sniper murder trial. This Charles Moose believes the ethics commission is `depriving him of his right to free speech.' Irony abounds here… In the fall of 2000, when my husband and I became innocent victims of Moose's over-zealous police department on the scent of a black man in a hi-jacked SUV, like Charles Moose, we questioned whether our rights had been violated. As white house aides, our nightmare of an experience was well documented, and we received more than a few requests to go before the nation to discuss the plight of racial profiling. Other than a brief statement we believed would serve that purpose, we refused the spotlight… for a number of reasons. Not the least being, we wanted to get past the nightmare of what happened in Montgomery County that fall night. And, just as importantly: ours was but one of thousands of profiling cases taking place each day in America…and, to be fair, ours ended less violently than many others. We weren't heroes or martyrs in any sense of the word. Looking back, I know that a small part of our reservation was that Chief Moose was, in one sense, one of us …as much as he seemed to want to distance himself from that fact; and, even though he never gave me reason to believe he viewed our rights as being infringed upon. Certainly, the man never offered anything near an apology, just a glib explanation that the trauma we experienced was simply the result of an honest mistake. Amazing how the simple mistake was realized only after they held cocked rifles on us, demanded we leave our vehicle, forced us to walk backward to the rear of our vehicle, and hand-cuffed us. Only then, did they realize that, instead of the one person they were looking for, there were two of us; and, that my husband was not a short, light-skinned, bald man - but dark, medium height with an ample head of hair. Chief Moose's very brief phone conversation the next day can be summed up with this one question: `What is all the fuss about?' Amazing, since Montgomery County was yet under close scrutiny for its history of racial profiling. If Moose, a black man, had to ask the question, there is no way two African Americans could answer it for him. That night, in anger and despair, I asked my husband, `What if this had happened to him and his wife? How would he feel about the simplicity of such a mistake?" It's only recently I learned this would likely never happen. Lucky for him. Chief Moose's ongoing demand for his freedom of speech; his civil rights -- are fair demands in a Democratic society. Whether you or I agree with his argument, is hardly the point. He has the right to question whether the judicial system, is indeed working as fairly for him -- as it does for other Americans. But, as a black American, and a victim of America's less than perfect judicial system, I would never, ever ask Chief Moose: "So…what is all the fuss about?" I have lived long enough to know that in America…maybe, anywhere in the world, you have to "be there" before you know that answer. Janis F. Kearney is a Chicago writer, former journalist and diarist to President Bill Clinton. A Harvard W.E.B. Du Bois Fellow, she is currently completing William Jefferson Clinton: From Hope to Harlem; and a personal memoir, Cotton Field of Dreams. Kearney Communications 5138 S. Kenwood Ave.#2 Chicago, IL 60615 (773) 493-2007 --ph (773) 493-5747 --fax janisfk@aol.com |
