Politics, Ethics, and Race

Yes, yes, it's been awhile-- let's pretend I have some excuse and move forward.

I thought a lot about whether I should post this, and I have a feeling it might just piss some people off. That's a risk I'm willing to take.

I left work livid today. More fired up than I have been in a very long time.

Today I was called an unethical journalist and a racist. I'm not sure which made me more angry.

Both accusations are 100% ridiculous.

I grew up in the smallest of small towns; at Census count, 950 people and only one race. Still, I can honestly say I've never let the color of someones skin impact my actions or thoughts. I believe everyone is an individual; there are horrible white people just as there are horrible black people-- the same is true about any race. Today, however, was not the first time I've been accused of racism while facing racism at the same time.

Following along?

Four weeks into my first full-time job as a reporter I was still that naive small-town girl who thought race didn't matter. Turns out, I was about to enter a world where race relations not only mattered, but they defined an entire tribe of people.

Only 1% of the country's total population is Native American; South Dakota is nearly 10% Native. More than 50% of that total was in my coverage area.

Up until landing the job at KELO I had only met a handful of Native Americans in my lifetime, and to me, people are people. We all want the same things-- happiness and safety. This was before I knew about all deep-rooted history that happened right in South Dakota (schools aren't teaching the full story-- just a heads up)-- how 120 years was not nearly enough time to wash away the blood and tears that still stain Wounded Knee. When I walked onto the Cheyenne River Sioux Reservation in June of 2008 I had no idea the fight the Lakota Sioux fought to secure this land that the white man nearly ripped away in attempted genocide.

I learned a valuable lesson that morning about race and perception of people.

As a one-woman-band, I traveled everywhere alone; even two hours away from home base in Rapid to cover flooding on the Res. I had almost my entire package shot when I stopped on the way out of town to get one last wide of sandbags lining the ditches next to nearly-destroyed homes.

What happened next is as much a blur of bad memories as something I will vividly remember for the rest of my life.

A blue crown royal with dark tinted windows slowly crept up on the street to where my company car was parked, still running, with the hatch open. My heart dropped into my gut as the car came to an abrupt stop. A man, mid-30's, got out of the driver's seat. Arms flailing, he started screaming things about 'my people' and 'the white man' and 'this is my land.' He kicked over my camera and tripod; both bounced off the pavement. He then pushed me down, and started to take his anger out on the company car, kicking in the side. I threw my equipment in the back of my SUV and sped away in the opposite direction, getting lost on my way out of the Reservation and back into cell phone service.

Every person I've told that story has looked at me in amazement and asked almost the exact same question: They really sent a blonde-haired white girl to cover the Reservation alone?

I don't know if he thought I was there to patronize his tribe, but I know he thought I was there for the wrong reasons. And considering South Dakota's history, I can look back now and almost justify his actions. But I can't. I was there to do a story on an Emergency Declaration signed by Governor Mike Rounds; I was there to bring attention to an issue that I still believe is a travesty. South Dakota's Reservations are severely impoverished and forgotten.

It took me awhile to feel comfortable going back and I never returned without a companion, much to KELO's oblivion. Cat's out of the bag.

Today's situation couldn't have been more different.

Florida's newest Governor, Rick Scott, gave his State of the State address today, justifying his $4.6-billion in proposed cuts to education, government jobs, and pension plans. As with any political point, there was a counterpoint-- today, in the form of 32 organized rallies protesting across the state. One was held in affluent downtown Naples.

I was set for live shots at 4:30, 5, and 6. The protesters were scheduled to start their march at 4:30 right through my live and down 5th Avenue. When it came time for us to go on-air, the group had suddenly stopped about a half block away from our truck. It occurred to R and me that they were waiting for some sort of cue from us that it was ok to start walking; that they would wind up on TV with their homemade signs and 'Stop Scott' t-shirts. We waved to them that they could go on with their march and we'd go on with our live. That's when I heard screaming from about 20 feet away and a 'standby' in my IFB.

A newspaper photographer I had never seen before came marching up to me and got less than a foot away from my face to yell; "Staging?! That's not journalism! You can't tell them where and when to go!" Literally IN MY FACE and less than 30 seconds away from an anchor toss to see it all go down live on the air. R was screaming for him to move as an anchor started to read the intro and I knew I was up in a box on screen. Luckily, the mystery man walked away-- through my shot, but away-- and on with the protesters.

Now, we weren't staging anything. Even if we were, there's an unspoken rule that you don't mess with another journalists' game. There is a time and a place to address ethics, and in the middle of a live shot is neither the time nor the place.

I stumbled through the 4:30 hit and made it smoothly through the 5. That's when I went to figure out who the eff this guy was.

It took all of 30 seconds of me being in the crowd for him to seek me out.

"If you have something to say to me, say it to my face."

By then I had figured out who he worked for, knew we weren't partners, and I went off. In the middle of a crowd full of activists, we were having our own rally-- print vs. television. Apparently he didn't have enough with just me; he started walking toward the truck and toward R.

At this point, I had to call my boss because if I didn't, I would've called the police. This random and R were in each other's faces; the guy even put his camera on the ground as if he was going to throw a punch! My boss gave me some solid advice: "Tell him if he doesn't leave you alone, you're going to call the cops."

That's exactly what I did.

Me- "If you don't stop bothing me and walk away from our live truck, I will call the cops and have you arrested for harrassment."
Him- Raised eyebrow- "Now, we're not going to go down the 'white lady calls the cops on a black man road' are we?"

Oh... did I mention he was black?
Oh... did I mention that R is black, too?

At this point, my mouth was ready to catch flies. I could not believe he pulled out the race card for no reason at all. He even looked at R for backup! "You're not going to let her get away with something like that, are you brother?" R had my back, of course, and I finally got him to walk away, but not before getting a stare down.

This situation had NOTHING to do with the fact that this man was black. If he were any other race, I would have reacted the exact same way. He was out of line to get in my face, to get in my shot, and to get involved with some unfounded, unnecessary ethical battle.

When did skin color become justification for being an asshole? Or justification for one race not to stick up for themselves? In both instances, South Dakota and downtown Naples, it was like I wasn't supposed to say anything because 'that's racist.' Isn't it racist to ask me to keep quiet just because I'm white? Am I really supposed to let someone a) threaten my well being or b) make false accusations against me just to avoid offending anyone?

I know this isn't the most succinct post I've ever made-- I usually like to put a bow on a story or a lesson learned at the end. I guess the only lesson I took away from both experiences is that there are indeed racist people in the world... they just may not be who you expect.

And don't ever question my ethics.