It’s easy to back a Hate Crime Bill. But does it discriminate against some victims?

South Carolina’s effort to legislate the acceptance of a Hate Crime Bill is absolutely with good intention. On the surface, who would not agree with combatting hate crimes? Who would not agree that it is absolutely egregious to discriminate against anyone in a protected category?

Yet, the question arises, shouldn’t we all be viewed as being in a protected category? I do not mean in terms of public awareness, education, special services or accommodations. I mean in terms of the value, worth, and validity of our lives. In terms of equal protection and equal justice under the law. Is murder, assault, rape, arson or the unspeakable sexual assault of babies and children less tragic because they aren’t labeled “Hate Crimes”?

The legitimate concern is that we language pain and the weight of grief. And we amplify our response to prosecute and convict and mete out sentences based on the designation of “Hate Crime.” Is hate any less when it is just pure hate and violence and rage but not specific to an individual’s identity or inclusion in a protected group, or as a result of bias, even in an historically overlooked, even persecuted group?

Once again, we are making very important and far-reaching decisions about whose pain matters. About whose suffering matters. About whose life matters. When, in fact, we should stand fiercely and courageously for every single human being not only in our communities but in our nation and our world who suffers and is victimized. Empathy and compassion should have no boundaries. A Hate Crime Bill may certainly appear very necessary, crucial, timely, in South Carolina, even long past its time. But it also, for me, and for others, speaks to the weaponization and escalation of language for some, not all, and that in itself can be discriminatory.

My beloved cousin, our shining star, was murdered after spending his Thanksgiving vacation with my parents in Charleston, South Carolina. I was physically assaulted during a store robbery. When I was 23 years old, I was the victim of home arson. Our home was poured with gasoline and set on fire while we were sleeping. We escaped with the clothes on our back watching it burn to the ground. Are these tragedies any less traumatizing because they were not labeled a “Hate Crime”?

We all know the answer. The answer is no. You can’t weigh someone’s pain or suffering. Nor can you effectively and truthfully weigh the effects upon our communities that will ripple through time and generations when murder, assault, theft, sexual abuse and assault, arson, or any manner of evil is committed against anyone. Yet, as soon as we hear this or that act was a “Hate Crime” we will have immediate outrage and indignation. We will fight harder. We will mobilize. And fairly or unfairly we will penalize and prosecute more stringently. The bill itself makes sure of that fact.

I have met and spoken with perpetrators of the most heinous and hateful crimes, including Dylann Roof, as a result of my prison outreach. I also met men who have murdered during my prison reentry work in New Jersey. I stand against hate. In every form in every manifestation. And more powerfully, stand against the deeper root that feeds hate, prejudice, discrimination, bullying, and racism — human evil.

But that is a root of which we dare not speak. In fact, we even shudder to name it because every single one of us would have to search our own soul and admit that we, too, may be responsible for the “hate” in this world. To legislate the weight of pain and suffering when the crimes are equivalent in nature comes dangerously close to politicizing mercy. And this bears thoughtful consideration especially in a time when so many in our nation are suffering.

This story was originally published February 2, 2021 at 1:23 PM.