What does the worry about a visitor really say?

I was home with my three daughters last Saturday afternoon when I saw two people walking toward our front door. In anticipation of a knock, I went to the door and waited. I could see the tops of their heads through the upper window but no knock came. For some reason, I opened the door anyway, my two-year-old in my arms, to find who appeared to be two young adults standing on my front porch. They did not introduce themselves, but began commenting on how beautiful my young children were, asked what we were up to, how we were doing, and then… finally, if they could talk to us about Jesus Christ. “Oh… we’re good on that, thanks,” I managed, politely. But they didn’t budge. “Do you go to church on the island?” I said we did not. “Do you need help with anything?” I said we did not. After a few more awkward moments, they finally left, presumably assured of our reservations in Hell.

The encounter was unwelcome, definitely intrusive, and a little bit creepy — not to mention that it resulted in a line of questioning about churches and Jesus Christ from my supernaturally perceptive six-year-old that I wasn’t mentally prepped for. In retrospect, I suppose I shouldn’t answer the door to strangers but, then again, I’d rather be someone who does.

The day before — the same day video of Tyre Nichols’ brutal, fatal beating by police was released for public consumption — I had received an alarming text. It was from a friend who lives nearby — someone I share parenting advice, woes, and joys with on the regular — letting me and a few other moms know that she’d seen posts on our neighborhood facebook group about a strange man going door to door and frightening people. “Thank you!” I replied before shooting the warning off to my parents who were watching our girls that day. “Maybe call Bainbridge pd…” another mom responded.

A couple hours later, my friend texted back that the man turned out to be a legitimate salesman and everything was fine. Case closed, I thought. But when I (against my better judgment, every single time) hopped onto Facebook a few moments later, a much uglier truth began to reveal itself. In between the gut-wrenching coverage and commentary on Mr. Nichols’ murder that filled my timeline, there were the original “warning” posts about this door-knocking man. Not only a trail of comments encouraging police reports on our neighborhood group, but also on the ever-prolific “Bainbridge Islanders” page (on a post since deleted) there were 60 comments and counting. Just two people said they’d spoken with the man and didn’t think he was doing anything wrong. One of them had even, believe it or not, bought a magazine subscription from him. But the vast majority of commenters had either called the police themselves or recommended it. They breathlessly described the man as “well-dressed,” “middle-aged,” “driving a sedan,” “rude,” and a user of “augmented language.” Strangely, not one of these people described him as “Black,” though, I would soon learn, that would have been accurate. It would also likely have been his most defining characteristic here on Bainbridge, where the latest Census reports 0.1% of our population identifies as Black. It’s almost as if they knew admitting that “detail” said a lot more about them than it did about him. The conspiracy of colorblindness.

A public records request turned up fourteen individual calls to Bainbridge police reporting this man going door to door last week. An officer I spoke with confirmed that while these fourteen callers “felt threatened,” police found the man’s behavior “perfectly legal” with “no criminal conduct.” In fact, he was selling magazines for religious purposes, exempt even from restrictions on other kinds of door to door solicitation. Looking through the police records — each categorized as “Suspicious (Activity Person Vehicle)” or “Unwanted Subject” — callers report such horrors as the man “said he was from Compton,” “wanted to talk about voting, second chances,” “has keys hanging from his pocket,” “was seen by other neighbors,” “wants to talk religion” and “knocked” but they didn’t answer. No one suspects he is intoxicated. No one is unable to get him to leave, though some decide that he is “angry” when they refuse to speak with him. Each report confirms nothing is missing from the callers’ cars or property.

What then, was so different about this man from the two people who lurked on my porch the very next afternoon, also uninvited, also persistent, also wanting to “talk religion?” Not even a neighborly Facebook warning followed as they made their way from door to door, let alone a police report. Could it be that one little detail, the one not even worth mentioning in nearly 100 Facebook comments, was the real reason fourteen islanders “felt threatened” enough to call the police?

Just five months ago — in the post-George Floyd, post-Rodney King, post-Civil Rights Era year of 2022 — a Mississippi grand jury declined to charge Emmett Till’s accuser with any crime, despite the discovery of her unserved arrest warrant hidden in the basement of a county courthouse like some kind of an illicit magazine. Despite her own admission that she lied about a threat to her safety and then a 14-year-old child was beaten to death. White people — and especially white women, like her and like me and like half of Bainbridge Island — have always been given the benefit of the doubt (let’s call it “the doubt” though there are other things we could call it). We can simply feel threatened by Blackness and call upon the power of the state to assuage our feelings, whatever it takes. Even if what it takes is the life of an innocent man, or an innocent child. Even though it does, all the time.

More than 220 Black people were killed by police in 2022, a record year for police killings — most beginning with a traffic stop, a mental health check, or another non-violent offense where no other crime was alleged. We should be on our knees with collective relief that Bainbridge police officers were able to determine the man who visited our island last week had committed no crime, posed no threat, and required no intervention. If they had acted instead like so many officers before them, it wouldn’t be so easy to pretend we are not Memphis. Not Minneapolis. Not Ferguson.

No, it seems we are Bainbridge. And we can either take this opportunity to look at how our choices last week fit into a long, violent history of white “fear,” or we can choose to look away. Meanwhile, my deepest apologies to the brave salesman who came to town. May you be safe. May you speak. May the next town open their doors to you, too, without dialing 9-1-1.

Caitlin Lombardi is a mother of three who lives on Bainbridge Island and works for Columbia Legal Services.

This article originally appeared on Kitsap Sun: Opinion: What does the worry about a visitor really say?