Black South Carolina Trooper Explains Why He Helped a White Supremacist
By Dan Barry

COLUMBIA, S.C. — What the black state trooper saw was a civilian in distress. Yes, this was a white man, attending a white supremacist rally in front of the South Carolina State House. And yes, he was wearing a black T-shirt emblazoned with a swastika.

But the trooper concentrated only on this: an older civilian, spent on the granite steps. Overcome, it appeared, by an unforgiving July sun and the recent, permanent removal of a Confederate flag from state capitol display.

The trooper motioned for help from the Columbia fire chief, who is also black. Then, with a firm grip, he began walking the wilted white man up the steps toward the air-conditioned oasis of the State House. As they climbed, another state employee snapped a photograph to post on Twitter, where it continues to be shared around the world.

The meaning of this image — of a black officer helping a white supremacist, both in uniform — depends on the beholder. You might see a refreshing coda to the Confederate flag controversy; a typical day for a law-enforcement professional; a simplification of racial tensions that continue. But what does the trooper see?

His name is Leroy Smith, and he happens to be the director of the South Carolina Department of Public Safety. He was at the rally, working crowd control, because he likes to signal to his 1,300 subordinates that he has their backs.

Mr. Smith said he was taken aback by the worldwide attention but hoped the image would help society move past the recent spasms of hate and violence, including last month’s massacre of nine black people in a church in Charleston. Asked why he thinks the photo has had such resonance, he gave a simple answer: Love.

“I think that’s the greatest thing in the world — love,” said the burly, soft-spoken trooper, who is just shy of 50. “And that’s why so many people were moved by it.”

Earlier this month, Mr. Smith donned a dark business suit to join Gov. Nikki R. Haley and thousands of others in witnessing an honor guard of seven of his troopers march stone-faced toward a flagpole on the State House grounds. There, a few feet from a soaring Confederate monument, the white-gloved troopers lowered the Confederate flag in 30 seconds and presented it to an official from a state-supported museum.

Just like that, a red, blue and white battle flag — representing Southern white pride to some, Southern black oppression to others — was removed from the whims of the South Carolina breeze.

A different sort of photograph had helped to end the flag’s official stature. After images surfaced of the suspect in the Charleston shootings, a white man named Dylann Roof, posing with the Confederate flag — and after families of the victims publicly forgave him — Governor Haley said: Enough. Legislation was swiftly drafted, a law was signed, and this flag of pride was demoted to relic.

As Mr. Smith watched the flag rolled up and history unfold, he felt chills running along his spine. “Very moving,” he nearly whispered.

Now, on a hot Saturday afternoon eight days after that emotional ceremony, Mr. Smith was back at the capitol, only this time in his gray uniform and broad-brimmed campaign hat. A group called the Black Educators for Justice would be rallying in the early afternoon on the north side of the State House. And on the south side, a couple of hours later, the Loyal White Knights of the Ku Klux Klan would be demonstrating.

It promised to be a busy day.

Mr. Smith watched from the north side’s top granite step as black demonstrators vented their frustrations. Then he walked through the blessed cool of the State House to the south side, which faces the back of a statue of Strom Thurmond, the longtime senator and segregationist.

Bike-rack barricades had been arrayed to separate the white-supremacist demonstrators from a swelling crowd of people, some fresh from the black-empowerment rally on the north side. “You could kind of feel the tension in the air,” Mr. Smith recalled.

Soon the demonstrators, a few dozen, came marching from the west, flanked by Mr. Smith’s “advance civil emergency response team.” Many wore the black shirts of the National Socialist Movement, a neo-Nazi organization that, according to its website, believes: “Only those of pure White blood, whatever their creed, may be members of the nation. Noncitizens may live in America only as guests and must be subject to laws for aliens. Accordingly, no Jew or homosexual may be a member of the nation.”

These people entered their State House pen and waved their Confederate flags. The public-address system they were said to have ordered never arrived, so all they could do was exchange taunts with hecklers and issue occasional bleats of “White power!” and “Wooo!”

The heat turned up a notch: a bottle thrown, some jostling at the barricades. Mr. Smith called his commanders down to a lower level because, he said, “we were getting ready to work a little.”

Then a demonstrator directed his attention to an older man all but melting on a bottom step. “He looked fatigued, lethargic — weak,” Mr. Smith said. “I knew there was something very wrong with him.”

He called up the steps to the Columbia fire chief, Aubrey Jenkins, for assistance. Then, with his left arm around the man’s back and his right hand on the man’s right arm, he walked the swastika-adorned demonstrator up the steps, as many as 40. Slowly, steadily, all the while giving encouragement:

We’re going to make it. Just keep on going.

A female demonstrator shadowed the climb. On the back of her black shirt appeared a familiar white-supremacist slogan (“Because the beauty of the White Aryan woman must not perish from the earth”). She kept asking Mr. Smith whether the man was going to be all right — as if his safety, as well as his health, might be in some jeopardy.

Up the steps the two men went. They didn’t talk much, although the older demonstrator allowed that he wasn’t from around here. A spokesman for the National Socialist Movement declined to identify him, other than to say he is a senior citizen who doesn’t need people knocking at his door.

Mr. Smith isn’t from around here, either. Born in Haines City, Fla., the fifth and last child of transplants from Alabama. Mom worked at home while Dad worked in the citrus groves. Went to an all-black elementary school and then to an integrated high school, where those with Confederate flags on their pickups never bothered him.

Four years in the Navy. Then, after a brief spell in retail — “I sold cars, and I was pretty good at it” — a long career with the Florida Highway Patrol, where he rose through the ranks. After that, his appointment in 2011 as the first African-American director of South Carolina’s Department of Public Safety.

At this moment, though, Leroy Smith was a state trooper, helping a civilian suffering from the heat of the day.

As they approached the top step, someone nudged Rob Godfrey, 34, a deputy chief of staff to Governor Haley, who is known for his diligent chronicling of everyday history. He snapped a shot with his iPhone, sensing a distillation of the grace with which South Carolina has responded to these days of tragedy and strife.

“In that moment, Leroy Smith was the embodiment of all that,” Mr. Godfrey said. He quickly shared the moment with the world — to the benefit, it must be said, of his boss, Governor Haley, as she tries to lead her state beyond its racially troubled past.

Mr. Smith did not know about the photograph. He knew only what was before him. He walked the man into the air-conditioned State House, led him to a green-upholstered couch, and left him there to cool down.

救中暑「三K黨」白人 黑人警紅遍全球

美國南卡羅來納州公共安全部首位非裔部長史密斯說，很驚訝他十八日攙扶一名白人至上主義者的照片在全球瘋傳，他只是盡到州警本分，協助一個身體不舒服的年長男性，希望這張照片能幫助社會化解仇恨與暴力。

被問到這張照片為何能引發熱烈迴響，年近五十的史密斯說：「我想，它顯示出世上最偉大的事物－愛，這就是那麼多人被感動的原因。」他生於佛羅里達州，當過海軍、賣過汽車、在佛州當了多年的公路警察，2011被提拔為南卡州公共安全部首位非裔部長。

紐約時報報導，本月十八日，南卡州州議會永久撤下代表種族歧視的邦聯旗後第八天，主張白人至上的組織「3K黨」旗下的「忠誠白騎士團」數十人在州議會南側示威，抗議撤除邦聯旗，其中許多人穿著新納粹組織「國家社會主義運動」的黑色上衣。根據官網資料，這個組織認為，只有純粹白種人才有資格成為美國公民，其他人只能客居美國，並適用「為外國人制訂的法律」。

史密斯在現場坐鎮。一名示威者提醒史密斯注意，有個年長男子筋疲力竭地坐在州議會花崗岩階梯最底層。史密斯回憶說：「他看起來很累。」

史密斯打電話給南卡州首府哥倫比亞的消防局局長詹金斯，請他幫忙，而後伸出左臂撐住男子背部，右手握住男子右臂，協助這名衣服上有納粹標誌的男子走上四十階樓梯，到州議會裡吹冷氣休息，一邊走，一邊鼓勵他：快到了，繼續走就對了。

當他們終於到達最頂層，有人看到這一幕，忍不住用手肘碰了碰在場的南卡州州長副幕僚長高富瑞，他一向喜歡用照片記錄歷史，高富瑞隨即用iPhone拍下，傳上推特。

原文參照：
http://www.nytimes.com/2015/07/26/us/black-south-carolina-trooper-explains-why-he-embraced-a-white-supremacist.html

2015-07-27．聯合報．A13．國際．編譯李京倫