Rarely do I use my title when introducing myself. In my humble opinion, Rev. Pearson is reserved for my grandfather, who served as the pastor of a Baptist congregation for over 20 years in Chicago. I am not him. I don't have that Baptist sound when I preach. (You know the sound, the Martin Luther King, Jr. I have a dream sound.) Nor do I wear suits or clergy collars. Most days, you can find me wearing a jogging tracksuit and sneakers. Additionally, my hair is exceptionally long, and my locs come down to my back. I guess you can say I am not your traditional chaplain. However, I am confident with myself and my call to ministry, so I can wear a sweatshirt and not be questioned regarding my call. Moreover, students are more likely to meet and convene with me because I don't remind them of their pastors and youth leaders from back home.
I realize that I am privileged. As a Black clergyman who has been educated at some of the finest institutions in the country and currently works at Brown University, I am aware of the privilege I hold even though I carry other marginalized identities. Most students, staff, and faculty know and embrace me. I have a solid relationship with Brown's Department of Public Safety; they know me because I lock myself out of my office at least twice a semester. Additionally, I have befriended several officers, and we genuinely enjoy seeing each other and holding a conversation.
My truth is that on College Hill, I am the man on campus who has privilege. My other truth is that my privilege is conditional and is often nonexistent just 10 minutes east of the campus. I am reminded that I am first a Black man and that my Christianity is secondary whenever I get pulled over by police officers in Riverside.
It's ironic: that the same characteristics and aspects of my identity that are celebrated in one context are also perceived as a threat in others. My attire and long, ever-flowing locs that often invite students to stop and share their stories are the same attributes that empower some police officers to stop me while driving.
The first time it happened was when I was driving for Uber. I was new to the Providence area and wanted to explore Rhode Island, so I signed up to be an Uber driver. For the first three months, I had no issues until I had to drop someone off in the city of Riverside on a Friday night. As I exited Veterans Memorial Parkway, I immediately saw a squad car and made sure I drove just under the speed limit. Once I dropped my passenger off and tried to venture out of the city limits, I saw the flashing lights pull up from behind me. I asked him why he had pulled me over, and he said I was swerving. I wasn't, but I knew not to disagree with his statements. I learned to be quiet because my mother gave me "the talk" of what to do WHEN you got pulled over.
He asked me, "What are you doing over here?" I informed him I was dropping off a passenger. He clarified by asking, "What are you doing in Rhode Island?" I told him I was the Associate University Chaplain at Brown University. He looked at me in disbelief as I handed him my business card along with my driver's license. He didn't even bother to run and check my license in his system. He only told me to be careful and get home safely.
This was the first time of several that I would utilize my privilege as clergy and a Brown University employee to escape a run-in with the law, although I had never broken any law. The only thing that I was guilty of was driving while Black. This was and continues to be my reality.
There is a song from the 80s by Michael Jackson, "Wanna Be Startin' Somethin," where the singer states,
It's too high to get over (yeah, yeah)
Too low to get under (yeah, yeah)
You're stuck in the middle (yeah, yeah)
And the pain is thunder (yeah, yeah)
As a Black man who identifies as Christian, I often feel stuck in the middle. Whenever I get pulled over, I immediately get frustrated and filled with pain. One might ask why I might feel such sadness when I essentially don't have to pay a fine. I get sad and frustrated because thousands of Black men don't have the privilege of having a relationship with an Ivy League university to prevent them from being victims of police brutality. For every Rev. Jermaine L. Pearson who makes it home safely to see his family at night, there are people like George Floyd, Alton Sterling, and Philando Castille, to name a few, who are not so lucky and privileged.
I wrestle with this…
I wrestle with this often…
I wrestle with this daily…
