I remember it like it was yesterday...

As I look back on an incident that occurred 26 years ago, I now see a moment where I, a person of color, fearfully became “casually racist.”
 
Over the course of a 30+ year career as an officer in the United States Navy, I have, indeed, seen much.  In fact, like my Black counterparts, I have experienced “identity politics” throughout my career as a naval officer.   
 
Through it all, I ultimately used my skills as a writer and blogger to deal positively and constructively with the quasi-political stress and strife of being a senior officer in the United States Navy.
 
Those who have followed my blogs for any length of time know that I tend to err on the side of the rule to “post things of which I know my grandmother and grandfather would be proud.”
 
And when it comes to blogging about race relations in this country, I know they would both agree with the post I am sharing with my readers today.
 
As a nation, we are culturally and intellectually disingenuous if we imply, impute, or impart the belief that race did not play a role in the deaths of George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, Trayvon Martin, Eric Garner, Tamir Rice, and other race-related cases.
 
As an American who is also a person of color, I have been racially profiled more times than I care to remember.  And, yes: I have looked down the barrel of far too many police pistols… only to be “set free with a warning.” 
 
Should I feel lucky?  In that sense, I guess I am luckier than Trayvon Martin and Eric Garner.
 
In the United States of America, we take great pride in – and often reference – our founding fathers and this great New World Order in which we live.  And all too often, I hear people talk about Brokaw’s “Greatest Generation” of people that lived, worked, and fought through World War II. 
 
Well… in a land where the original U.S. Constitution formally acknowledged, admired, and acquiesced to slavery by counting slaves as “three fifths of all other persons,” here we are, two-and-two-fifths centuries later, in the same land where residents of the southernmost contiguous state can not only erroneously determine the outcome of a presidential election, but also validate the racially premeditated stalking and murdering of a Black teenager.
 
Of course, many will say, “Only the jury knows all the facts.”
 
And to that, I say the following:
 
~ Fact:  The “Greatest Generation” stood idly by and even watched as Blacks were lynched continuously, if not ceremoniously, throughout this grand old party of a time… (and let’s not forget that lovely town of Jasper, Texas, and its inhabitants’ lynching of James Byrd in – wait for it – 1998, a mere 22 years ago). 
 
~ Fact:  Racial profiling exists today on a level that, if it were done to Caucasians, there would be immediate inquiries and far-reaching repercussions for those perpetrating such a profound breach of civil rights.
 
~ Fact: to date, 375 people in the United States have been exonerated by DNA testing, including 21 who served time on death row. These people served an average of 14 years in prison before exoneration and release.
 
And, according to the Innocence Project, since 1989, there have been tens of thousands of cases where prime suspects were identified and pursued—until DNA testing (prior to conviction) proved that they were wrongly accused.  If Trayvon was Caucasoid and Zimmerman were Black, there is a very high probability this case would have little or no notoriety… and it would have ended in a conviction… maybe a proper conviction… but definitely the conviction of a Black man.
 
~ Fact:  There is a cadre of people regardless of rank, stature, class, or color… who all believe that rank, stature, class, and color matter more than anything.  
 
And if you think your organization, social circle, or church is void of these types of people, you are either incredibly dense and dumb, or you are insulated in a deep ditch of denial.  
 
If I seem somewhat disappointed and not my usual positive self in this particular blog, it is because the realist in me has control of the wheel today.  And if I haven’t made my case that injustice prevails even if you can’t see it, please allow me to share one more fact:
 
While driving with two of my friends through St. Charles Parish in the Bayou State of Louisiana, I was stopped by what I thought was a lone Louisiana State Police Officer.  

I wasn’t speeding; and I was travelling with two other, thirty-year-old African-American naval officers from Corpus Christi, Texas, to the casinos of New Orleans.
 
As I placed my right turning indicator on, edged over to the shoulder of Interstate 10, deferring to the authority of the "peace officer" sworn to protect and to serve, I wondered if my vehicle’s taillight was inoperative, or if some other mundane issue had occurred with the Honda Accord I was driving.
 
As I reached over to retrieve the insurance and registration papers from the glove compartment, I heard the booming voice over the police car’s public address speaker (in a very heavy “Loo-E-z-ann-uh” accent):
 
“Drivah: get… out… of… the vay-hee-ah-cal – hands up!”
 
For a few seconds, I sat there in disbelief.  My mind was trying to make sense of what was going on.  Little did I know it was about to get worse.
 
…much worse.
 
I quickly came to my senses, opened the door, and stepped out with my hands up.
 
What I saw next brings chills to my body, even as I share these words, 26 years later.
 
There were at least ten – yes 10 - police cars behind our little Honda Accord.  I couldn’t really count the number of cop cars, because all I saw was row after row of red-and-blue lights flashing… and a life-altering semi-circle arc of police officers aiming their 9mm handguns directly at my head.
 
Now, I have to tell you:  Over the course of my life, I’ve been in vehicle accidents, and I have been in a fight or two.  Hell, I’ve even been deep in the heart of Iraq, in 2004, during the bloodiest part of the war.
 
But I have NEVER felt fear like I felt it on that otherwise ordinary day.
 
Please, please understand:  I didn’t have a fear of merely being shot. (Merely?)
 
I had a fear of being shot for absolutely no reason at all... by the state-sponsored police.
 
Moreover, I had a fear of losing everything I had ever believed in.  
 
In that one moment, I was less than a common criminal.  
 
For as it is, common criminals are guilty of something. 
 
Me?  
 
I was there as a shining example that, in reality, this is not a country “indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”
 
And if you disagree with me, ask yourself if three White men in a Honda Accord would likely be stopped by police on the interstate for doing… uhm… nothing.   In fact, please do not take this as mere light reading.  
 
Please stop for a minute and literally ask yourself this one simple question: 
 
If three White men were driving a Honda Accord along the highway, would they likely be pulled over on the interstate for doing absolutely nothing?
 
After violating my civil rights and subjecting my friends and me to a full “felony stop,” the police began repeatedly berating us, and demanding an answer to such ridiculous questions like “Tell us:  Where are the drugs?  Where are the drugs! We know you got ‘em!”
 
And why wouldn’t the police demand answers to these answers?  
 
After all, a felony traffic stop occurs when police stop a vehicle which they have strong reason to believe contains a driver or passenger suspected of having committed a serious crime, especially of a nature that would lead the police to believe the suspect(s) may be armed (such as an armed robbery, assault with a weapon, or an outstanding felony warrant for the registered owner).”

Of course, as three law-abiding, professional Black men on our way to enjoying a weekend in New Orleans, we did not have any drugs, and we certainly did not deserve to be forced to walk backward - at gunpoint - toward multiple trigger-happy handguns, along the sweltering highway of Interstate 10.
 
And of course, the lack of probable cause did not stop the police from bringing out the drug-sniffing dogs.
 
At this point in the violation of my civil rights, I hovered somewhere between angry, scared, furious, frightened, and just plain defeated.
 
There I stood on the side of Interstate 10, as hundreds of passing motorists watched me with my hands behind my head, being frisked, shoved, and publicly humiliated.
 
Indeed, there I stood – a Naval Officer charged with the duties of defending our nation.  

However, I was not quite a Free Man in the Land of the Free.
 
Here is the moment when I, a mixed-race, professional Blexican, became “casually racist.”
 
As I stood there along the interstate, under the hot Louisiana sun, I actually doubted my fellow friends.  My mind began dancing with paranoia, wondering if my friends actually did have drugs with them.  After all, they were, indeed, naval aviators; military pilots who flew throughout the U.S. Navy’s training area over the Gulf of Mexico. 
 
Of course, in reality, they most certainly did not have any drugs.  

But, like me, they were guilty of being non-White…

Or, more specifically, we were three Black men, driving while Black (DWB).
 
And even if my friends did not have any drugs on them, with such a grand, law-enforcement production along the side of interstate transportation (and I use the term “law enforcement” loosely… about as loosely as some police use it every day in this country), I began to wonder if drugs would be planted by these police who were, as many would say… “just doing their jobs."
 
But I have digressed…
 
What do the cases of George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, Trayvon Martin and Eric Garner mean for you, she, he, and me?
 
Well, for those of us forever cloaked in a shade of skin not quite right in the mind of prejudiced and racists people – especially for those of you who never really get a good look in your mirror… the initial and subsequent decisions not to prosecute their killers once again peels back an always mending, but never-healed scar of one of the great foundations of this country:

...being three-fifths of a person.
 
But more than that, it reminds me of the time when I was Director of Security at Oak Court Mall in Memphis, Tennessee.
 
The manager at a certain national lingerie store was shocked when she installed a camera in the back section of the store.  After viewing the footage, she was absolutely appalled that (in her words) “White people steal!”
 
Apparently, Black people are the only people to whom she ever paid “theft attention."
 
And with all that great White Privilege, her White customers knew exactly when to strike.

Ironically, the "best" time to steal was when Black people were in the store.  THEN, it seems employees were preoccupied with real (Black) customers… not the White thieves.
 
As it turns out for many of us minorities, if we are Black, and see a police officer, we know we are definitely in the Land of the Brave.  
 
          The question is, “Who is braver?”
 
Is it the Black man whose life is in jeopardy for just walking down the street with his hands in his pocket?
 
Or is it the policeman (white, black, or brown), who has unmitigated impunity to shoot first, and (not even) ask questions later.
 
I absolutely abhor the terms “implicit or subconscious bias.”  

​These terms help foster a belief and false narrative that racist people “just don’t know they are being racist” when they do the things they do.

Honolulu 2020 - BLM March

Zimmerman literally stalked, hunted, and killed Trayvon.
 
Similarly, Travis McMichael, Gregory McMichael, and William "Roddie" Bryan allegedly stalked, hunted, and killed Ahmadu Arbery.
 
A Cleveland police officer literally shot first and asked questions later when he killed a 12-year-old boy who happened to be in the park on a cold Cleveland morning, playing with a toy gun.
 
Moreover, in Cleveland, where the Justice Department has determined that the police department systematically engages in excessive use of force against civilians, there will likely be zero repercussions for all of those beatings, killings, and systematic uses of excessive force.
 
So, whether you are a Black employee with several friends, associates, coworkers, and neighbors of the same or different race…
 
Or whether you are a White manager, supervisor, line cook, student, mother, father, sister, brother, or cousin, please stop and take a look in your mirror… not just the mirror that this country has refused to face for far too long. 
 
But also take a look in the rear-view mirror of yesterday, last week, or whenever --and admit that we have a long way to go until we are truly the Land of the Free.
 
In reality, that incident along Interstate 10 in St. Charles Parish in Louisiana is the #1 reason why I live in Hawaii.  It’s not a perfect paradise, but my darker skin color is not a liability in this island nation.

Back on the mainland, it’s a totally different reality.
 
In fact, I can vividly recall the time when I was with a few other Black Navy Supply Corps Officers, waiting to cross the street in Athens, Georgia.  As we stood there, waiting for the crosswalk signal to change, two police officers drove up and instructed us to “move along.”
 
We were aghast with disbelief.
 
For those of you who don’t know, Athens, Georgia, is the college town of the University of Georgia.  And on any given (pre-Covid) Thursday, Friday, or Saturday night, there are literally thousands of drunken white people stumbling along the main drag, Atlanta Highway.
 
But, alas, they, the drunken white college students, were not the problem that night.
 
Again, it was the five sober Black post-graduate Naval officers (and gentlemen) waiting patiently to cross the street.
 
         But the unaddressed grievances don’t stop there.
 
I also remember attending a Navy Leadership Course that was being proctored by a nice Southern gentleman from good ol’ South Carolina; a graduate of the charmingly racist institution known as The Citadel. 
 
Well, on one particular day of instruction at the Navy’s Department Head School in Athens. Georgia, that Navy lecturer shared a story about a ship on which he once served.  As he told the story to the class of all white Naval officers (except me, the lone person of color), the instructor mentioned the “big black Chief” that also served in his division.
 
Upon hearing this highly descriptive term, I calmly asked, “And the others?”
 
The Citadel graduate/Navy instructor looked at me as if I had just said something in a foreign language.
 
“Excuse me?” he asked in disbelief.
 
I re-stated and re-worded my initial question:
 
“The others,” I said. “What color were they?”
 
“Hunh? What?” he responded incredulously.
 
“Well…” I said calmly. “You mentioned that one of the guys was a ‘big Black Chief,’ so I am just wondering why that detail was so important.” {It wasn’t}
 
At that point, every White person in the room came to his immediate defense.
 
“Of course, the other people in the story were White!” they all exclaimed. “And I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it,” they collectively collaborated, corroborated, and extrapolated with each other upon their very own versions of the truth.
 
Ok; got it.
 
These events may seem totally unrelated.

They're not.  They are absolutely related.
 
But they should also prove insightful.
 
And, over the summer of 2020, incidents like these also proved "inciteful."
 
Lastly, with so many police still publicly abusing and killing people of color, despite the lenses of multiple cellphone cameras collecting gigabytes of video data, it’s still all about the Red, White, and You… and why so many of us still can’t “back the blue.”

​John H. Clark III is an optimistic realist.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: As difficult as conversations like these may appear to be, it's often more difficult to write about them. Yet, we must continue to press forward in an authentic investigation of self if we are to become a "more perfect union."  

In retrospect, I remember being brought to tears when it became evident that President-elect Obama was on the verge of making history.

At the time, I was leading a men's group of Christian men while living in the D.C Metropolitan Area.  Interestingly enough, I was the only person of color in the group,  And I vividly remember the clear disappointment among at least one member of the group when we discussed President-elect Obama.

To be honest, as the years went by, I became somewhat disenchanted with the manner in which President Obama seemed to handle race relations.  In my limited view of things, it seemed as though he only spoke publicly about race when the nation was grappling with a severe "racial incident."

And, unfortunately, there were numerous "racial incidents" during the Obama Presidency, including the incident when Harvard professor Henry Louis Gates Jr was arrested on suspicion of breaking into his own home near Harvard.

Equally notorious was the incident when George Zimmerman killed Trayvon Martin. 

President Obama spoke publicly on both occasions. And, in my opinion, he spoke authentically.

First in 2009, in his answer to a reporter's question regarding the arrest of Professor Gates, President Obama admitted his feelings and associated response were a little bit biased, primarily because Professor Gates is a personal friend of the Obamas.

Secondly, when Zimmerman killed the teenager, President Obama said "If I had a son, he would look like Trayvon."  This statement, though entirely rooted in fact, incensed so many Americans.

Accordingly, many Americans wasted very little time as they pounced and accused him of race-baiting.  Indeed, whenever the topic of race was at hand, President Obama found himself in the proverbial Catch-22; a no-win situation... despite being imminently qualified to speak authoritatively on the subject.

I adore President Obama.  I just wish he would have spent more time discussing race and racial politics in relatively "normal" times.  For example, perhaps a better time to discuss race would have been on some random Tuesday morning when racial tensions were not so inflamed.
However, in this country...
​
...we are always a few hours away from a race-related incident.
​

Absolutely beautiful!

​As I stepped out onto the circular track, ready to begin my morning ritual just before sunrise, the smell of the morning dew greeted my awaiting senses. The grass surrounding the track was freshly cut, and I was motivated to get my day started.
 
And then I felt it.
 
That small… tiny… miniscule pebble somewhere just in back of the arch in my right foot.
 
It suddenly spoke up.
 
At first, all I heard was the soft whisper of the pebble’s voice as I strode along the graveled path. I was not bothered, per se, by the tiny little whisper. After all, I was wearing a nice pair of sweat socks and a great pair of running shoes.
 
Nonetheless, I heard the little whisper from that tiny pebble.
 
“Never mind me,” the tiny pebble seemed to say...

“I won’t hurt you.
 
I won’t cause any damage.
 
Focus on your meditative walk.
 
You can do it.
 
Don’t listen to me.”

Despite what it said, I listened to that little pebble for the next 1,722 paces… until I finally moved to the side of the track, removed my right shoe, held it vertically (toe-side-up), and watched that tiny morsel of a rock settle into the heel of the shoe.
 
And then,
 
                 ...I let it go.
 
Right there along the path of the track, I let that little sapper of energy drop to the earth.
 
        Me?
 
        What did I do?

I stood there, between heaven and earth, attached to the earth by unseen forces, but closer to heaven by virtue of altitude, attitude and the foundation of my faith.
 
And then, I returned the exact same shoe to my right foot.
 
I subsequently inhaled deeply, and began my newly inspired journey in earnest. 
 
Back on the right track and no longer listening to the soft-but-steady words of that annoying pebble, I only heard my beautiful inner thoughts and the teachings of heaven. 
 
Wow! 
 
What a difference it made! 
 
I could actually align my thoughts without the occasional aside from the whispering pebble.
 
The nerve of that little pebble! 
 
“I won’t hurt you. I won’t cause any damage," it said.
 
But oh!  The pebble’s consistent little conversation with me WAS the damage.
 
Now, ideally, I should have never given that little pebble the opportunity to garner my thoughts. 
 
Ideally, I should have dispensed with that little bugger and his persistent whisperings as soon as it spoke up... 
 
Instead, I had already begun to listen and converse with something so small but certainly significant as it kept me from enjoying the very foundation upon which I was attempting to form a better me.
 
Indeed, ideally, we should all prepare and facilitate the best possible foundation for our journey in life.
 
After all, life is a beautifully meandering journey with equal parts mystery, might, and seemingly minuscule, if not disparate, moments of madness.

In reality, we are all somehow, someway connected.
 
And as much as we attempt to prepare for the perfectly planned path, the road ahead can appear to get a tad bit mockingly and shockingly rocky every now and then.

Interestingly, we often view the rockiness as solely an outside influence. 
 
In reality, you and I know that we, ourselves, often allow things to pester, fester, and make us the court jester in our very own self-created kingdom.
 
The name of one of my books, The Ideal: Your Guide to An Ideal Life, implies the lofty goal of achieving an “almost perfect” life. 
 
However, perfection does not exist for us mere mortals.
 
Moreover, the search for an ideal life is a continuous quest; it is not something we someday complete and subsequently cease all effort towards. It is the literal application of a life-long dream.
 
In fact, The Ideal Life is an existence, a lived life, and an alignment of our resources toward an acceptance and eventual understanding that the path of life is definitely not smooth. 
 
It can be meandering, unstable, and sometimes jagged, ragged, if not outright tattered and torn with discontent, disdain, and downright damning downpours of one disappointment after another.
 
Yet, the time we share does not stop. The clock of our lives keeps on ticking.
 
What, then, are we to do?
 
We must rejuvenate, folks.
 
And we must do this often.
 
Mealtime, while feeding the body, is the perfect time to rejuvenate the mind and soul.  
 
Why not invest a mere 20 seconds and feed all three at the same time?
 
Start your breakfast, lunch or dinner by thinking about how fortunate you are to have what you already have.
 
Need something for which to be thankful?
 
Try starting with your five senses… as well as the great sense of timing you now have.
 
Want to try something even MORE special?
 
Send yourself an email with the subject line “Two Little Pebbles.”

 In the email to yourself, simply write two straightforward sentences:

​1. Beginning today, I will stop ___________.
 
2. Beginning today, I will start ___________.

Think about the ONE thing you want to stop.

Think a little longer about the ONE thing you definitely want to start.

Complete the sentences by filling in the blanks, and then hit SEND.
 
Tomorrow, forward that one little email to yourself...

...and do the same thing again for the next 5 weeks.

One small email is all I am asking of you.

​One... small... email.

This may seem simple, stupid, and shallow.

     But when it comes to creating REAL change... it works.

Laugh at me if you must.

But, as the saying goes, don't knock it until you try it.

Beginning today, remove those two little pebbles that whisper persistently in your ear, and then get started on living The Ideal life!

Why start now?

Well, it is, indeed, a New Year.

But, more importantly, in work and play… in life, love, and the life-long search for happiness, we all employ a day-to-day philosophy.  Starting today, let's improve YOUR philosophy about YOUR life.

Make no mistake:

​We all have our own philosophy.
 
What's your personal philosophy?
 
My philosophy is simple:
 
Accept. Adapt. Achieve! ®
 
~ Aloha ~
 
John H. Clark III

​John H. Clark III is an optimistic realist.

Principal consultant at The PIE Group, and Executive Director of TeenBuilding USA, [a non-profit 501c(3)], John H. Clark III believes better development of leaders is what we (all) need.  And to be better organizations, we need more good leaders, not followers. To build better leaders, we must start with the individual (you, she, he, and me).
 
Described as “an innovative leader,” John teaches leaders, organizations, and individuals how to inspire each other. With a bold goal to inspire a worldwide community of optimistic realists who continuously accept, adapt to, and achieve the bold and beautiful concept of The Ideal Life, John is leading a movement to inspire people to apply his trademarked mantra {Accept. Adapt. Achieve! ®}.
 
An innovative business manager and retired naval officer, John is fascinated by leaders and organizations that make the greatest impact within their organizational culture and within the “real” world — people who “get it.” Over the course of his life as a military leader, corporate mentor, and innovative content creator, John has discovered a wealth of insight about how we think, act and communicate within our respective work/life environments. As a career naval officer, mentor, educator, and optimistic realist, he has devoted his life to sharing insights to assist in our quests to become better at what we all do – live @ work!
 
An optimist with a penchant for writing about realistic solutions to the challenges of everyday life, John is the author of 3 books: a leadership-development insider, The Ideal: Your guide to An Ideal Life, a teen-focused guide, Getting Out: Expert Advice for Today’s Teens, and the Christian-based book, God’s Heartbeat: A Powerful Premise for Leading a Christian Life.
 
He delivers a unique and refreshing point of view to life's seemingly overwhelming situations. 
 
Through books, blogs, and everyday conversation, John's message resonates with an empowering blend of ideals that enrich, uplift, and authorize people to set and achieve goals far beyond current mindsets.  An engaged community advocate and authentic leader, his trademarked phrase is a winner: