Reflections after Ferguson: Surveillance and the Black Body

Jeffrey Bishop

I grew up in rural Texas. One of my football teammates was a boy named Carl. He was black. Carl was a sophomore when I was a senior. On game day, Carl would occasionally catch a ride with me to the stadium since he was not old enough to drive.

One day we stopped at a convenience store on our way to the game, as we often did, in order to get something to eat and drink. I remember the clerk being especially concerned with Carl as we were deciding what to buy. We were doing nothing wrong, but I remember Carl throwing down a candy bar. "Screw it!" he said, and he stormed out of the store. I did not understand it at the time. I now realize that Carl was being profiled because of the pigment in his skin.

The subtle forces that shaped Carl's perception and life were invisible to me. Carl's perception of the space of that convenience store was very different from mine. I was just buying snacks before we headed to the football field. He was under surveillance. At the time, I thought he was being too sensitive. Now, I can only imagine the frustration and anger that Carl must have felt.

The events of Ferguson, Missouri, which occurred just 15 miles from where I sit writing this, prompted me to think back on Carl and his life. Carl's story played itself out like so many stories of black men in the United States, including Michael Brown's story. Carl, along with another black friend of ours, was killed in an act of violence in Houston, Texas, when he was 25.

My story played itself out like so many stories of white men; I am a successful man and I do not fear being accused of anything. I do not suffer under surveillance. White men are blind to the force of surveillance; black men are not. Being surveilled shapes what you perceive and how you perceive yourself.

I can only imagine what it would be like to have the power of the state in the form of the police always watching me. I get nervous when a police car drives behind me, worried that I might make a simple mistake and get myself pulled over.

Imagine for a moment that your every move is interpreted through a lens of suspicion. Carl, doing something as simple as choosing a candy before a game, or deciding what soda to purchase, was seen by the clerk as a black boy deciding how best to steal the candy or soda.

Under this sort of scrutiny, I imagine one becomes nervous. One might start to wonder what interpretation the clerk, or even worse, a police officer, is applying to your every move. I imagine one's anxiety increases. Of course, a nervous boy only prompts a clerk or a police officer to look more carefully, only heightening the anxiety of the boy, creating a vicious cycle.

Over time, the boy begins to internalize the gaze of the clerk or the police officer. He begins to think of himself as someone that might need surveillance. Or he becomes frustrated that the gaze of surveillance follows him everywhere, even into his own imagined future life. Put the police power of the state behind that gaze, and he comes to realize that the power of surveillance shapes his every interaction and his every decision, only increasing his anger. He lives in a constant state of worry about how his every move will be interpreted, even when no one is watching him.

The nervous boy begins to think of his future in terms of that gaze, and begins to plan his life accordingly. The logic and determinacy of surveillance begins to shape his imagination of where he might go to school, of whom he might marry, of where he might live, of the kind of work he might pursue, and even of the kind of death he might suffer.

Those who make law and carry out social policy do not think of themselves as surveilling black men. I imagine that they see the law as something designed to protect life, liberty and property. Yet, once social policies are ensconced in the law and carry the power of the state with them, they take on a life of their own, unwittingly undermining the very thing they are meant to protect. In other words, just as the surveillance culture shapes the imagination of the black man, it also unwittingly shapes the imagination of white men. Thus a paradox exists in neo-liberal societies: the power of the state creates the conditions to protect life, liberty and property with the threat of taking life, liberty, or property.

Thus, the laws and policies of society look very different and feel very different depending on where you sit. For those of us with pale skin, the future looks open and bright simply because our laws and social policies have been written to enable those bright futures of life, liberty and property. But if you are under constant surveillance, those laws and social policies come to feel like an extension of the watchful eye of surveillance, circumscribing liberty and property, and even life itself.

People with white skin sometimes think that if our laws and social policies are conducive to our bright futures, they are conducive to bright futures for anyone no matter how much pigment is in their skin. We think they should just conform to the laws and social policies, and they too will succeed. But then we are not under constant surveillance; we are not under constant suspicion.

The pressure of surveillance and suspicion is an ever-present reality for black men, even if it is a reality that white men do not perceive because we do not suffer under the power of surveillance. Yet that invisible force shapes both of our imagined futures. For those souls with black skin, especially black men, the laws and social policies do not create dreams of bright futures, but nightmares of the present reality meant to keep them in their places, restricting their futures.

I have no doubt that Michael Brown knew, as all African American men know, that he was supposed to comport himself differently in front of Darren Wilson, a white man, because Wilson carries the power of surveillance in his person. Perhaps Brown felt the weight of that scrutiny because he had let the internalized gaze lapse for a moment, since he stole a few cigarillos - at least, if the grand jury is to be believed. Or perhaps he just gave up in frustration, or perhaps he even lashed out in anger at the constant surveillance.

Or perhaps, he panicked under the watchful eye of Wilson and did not know whether to fight, or to fly. Perhaps he slammed Wilson's car door shut as much in fear as in anger. Perhaps he fled Wilson's car worried that he might be shot. Perhaps, he turned toward Wilson, then away from Wilson, and then towards him again, and stopped and started again, because he has panicked. That is the description of his actions in the report of the grand jury. Perhaps Brown, like Carl, said "Screw it!" and resigned himself to the same fate as so many black men in the United States.

We will never know what went through Michael Brown's mind. Just as I can only imagine what it is like to have the law and social policies stacked against me, I can only imagine the fear and reckless abandon of an 18 year-old man - a boy really - who would throw up his hands in desperation and resign himself to the forces that shape his future.

The racism that has been laid down in American society over the centuries cannot be undone merely by changing the law and public policy of a country. The culture of surveillance and scrutiny must be set aside, and that requires clerks, and police officers, and white boys and men to have a change of heart. Just as changing the law will not change the hearts of men, a grand jury decision was never going to fix the layers of law and social policy that shape the futures of people.

Those of us with less pigment in our skin must first recognize that we do not suffer under the power of surveillance. And we must listen to black voices as they tell us just how the invisible force of surveillance shapes the futures of black bodies differently. And most importantly, white people must not deploy the suspicious gaze of surveillance, but must encounter black men and women as men and women. They desire for their children what I desire for mine. Carl, after all, just wanted to purchase a candy bar.

The author wishes to thank Cynthia Bishop, Asante Todd and Keri Day for reading earlier versions of this article.

Jeffrey P. Bishop is Professor of Philosophy and holds the Tenet Endowed Chair of Health Care Ethics at Saint Louis University.

http://www.abc.net.au/religion/articles/2014/12/02/4140307.htm