How the Illusion of Denial Will Never Save You From Accountability

We can’t succumb to the temptation to put aside our basic humanity

It’s been twenty years since my cousin told a story that I’ve come to regard as a confession. I still don’t know for certain if he spoke honestly or was exaggerating for the benefit of his audience. I haven’t talked to him in all that time.

This happened during the last family gathering I attended. The idea of a shared Thanksgiving dinner has become so contentious that I wonder if it will tumble out of existence in our society. But twenty years ago, we all showed up braced to endure the abuses of our families.

I have one branch of relatives that all became long-haul truckers. It felt like they came to dinner as a mob. They all wore chains connecting their wallets to their belts.

Often, I felt I had to apologize for earning a bachelor’s degree. They derided me for wasting so much money on something that they considered without value. “Why would you take on student loans just to get indoctrinated?”

The truth is that they made good money as truckers. They made more than I did. But I also saw how sitting in that cab all day broke you down physically and mentally. These were men who earned their living driving when they were tired. That’s a lot of power and force to wield while you’re nodding off.

Maybe everyone had already consumed a couple drinks when my cousin started talking. Most of their stories involved having been on the road for eighteen, or twenty-five, or thirty-six hours. They’d all nod in reserved agreement as to how dangerous it gets.

“I came upon the construction zone at dark,” he said. “I was blinking away sleep, and there was a light rain that made visibility difficult. I was almost to the end, when I thought I saw a worker poke his head up from a hole next to the road. I realized I’d drifted across the line, but as I swerved to get back in my lane, I heard a thump.”

Oddly, my other cousins laughed as if this was the kind of thing that happened on the road all the time. But I felt sick to my stomach.

“Did you hit him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you stop to check?”

“Heck no!”

The group of truckers kept laughing as if laughing was the only thing you could do. The idea of checking to see if your actions had hurt or killed somebody was out of the question. But I’d caught my cousin’s eye, and though he was trying to join in with the laughter, I saw real terror there.

He didn’t know for certain, but I knew that ever since that moment he’d lived with a fear that he might have killed someone.

I wondered if he’d ever considered whether the pain of not knowing might be worse than going back to accept the consequences for what he’d done. Had he told me this story in confidence, I might have been able to steer the conversation there. But with his fellow truckers around him, his only reaction was mockery and dismissal.

“Dang fool, he should have known better than to hunker down right next to the road. It serves him right.”

Denial is far too prevalent a concept in human history. Even after the experience of fifty years of life, I believe that human beings are fundamentally good. My wife says I give too many second chances. She says I’m foolish for expecting anyone to do better. She teases me sometimes. Other times she’s frustrated. But I also know she admires that part of me too.

I’m willing to see the good in people, despite all evidence to the contrary. I’m willing to give them one more chance to show the world the quality of character I know they aspire to embody.

The problem is that denial gets in the way.

Most people agree that nobody should suffer, that children should be treated with kindness, that justice should prevail. They’ll agree to these things in principle. But when you show them evidence of the harsh reality of the world, they respond with denial.

“Oh, that’s simply not happening.”

Over the last ten years, I’ve shared a lot of stories about how my wife has been harassed because she’s an immigrant. Her accent and appearance designate that she wasn’t born in the United States, and some people are provoked by the mere sight of her.

People have asked, “Are you here legally?”

When I tell that story, some people admit that such a question is appallingly racist. But there are others who refuse to believe such interactions ever happen.

“I don’t believe anyone’s ever asked your wife that. You’re lying.”

There’s a chasm between our ability to have empathy for our fellow human beings, and our ability to process the true horrors of the world. Some people observe and recognize the injustices of our society. Other people wrap themselves up within a shroud of denial. In so doing, they’re able to protect their own sense of righteousness while ignoring the pain that transpires all around them.

“How often do people say things like that?” That is another deflection I’ll hear. Or people will say, “Well, in the community where I live, that would never happen.”

Again, these reactions represent a poor interpretation of data that demonstrates a denial bias. There are many factors that deserve consideration. My wife is Latina. There are people with different skin tones, different religions, and different cultures who all experience different degrees of harassment.

Where we live, in northern Wisconsin, my wife can expect to be harassed by a stranger once every 3 months. This might be an aggressive shopper at the grocery store, or a waiter who refuses to serve her table, or a driver who becomes inexplicably aggressive and enraged.

“Are you here legally? This is the United States, we speak English! Go back to where you came from!”

These phrases are out there in the world. Denial doesn’t make them disappear.

Some people say that being harassed four times a year is a small price to pay for the privilege of living in the United States. I say that it’s wrong to expect anyone to endure any level of harassment.

When my cousin confessed that he might have killed somebody, I recognized the fear that keeps prejudice alive. There is a massive blind spot that people have to maintain in order to protect their sense of personal identity.

It’s more appealing to go through life thinking that you’re a “honest and hard working truck driver.”

It’s a lot harder to live with yourself when you have to accept that you made a mistake and got somebody killed.

I expect that even the people who indulge in racist language have constructed a mechanism that allows them to deny the pain inflicted by their actions. They make statements that sound like a body bouncing off the side of a truck, but they don’t think to stop and evaluate the damage.

They continue along laughing at their own ability to escape the clutches of fate, and they indulge in the same behavior at the next construction zone, and the next. They leave a countless number of bodies in their wake, but if you try to make them see the pain they cause, they hold up their shroud of denial.

Perhaps I’m foolish, but I’m still convinced that there’s some part of every mind that remains connected to the truth. When the pile of bodies you leave behind becomes too large, your conscience rips the protective shroud away.

I imagine the pain and torment awaiting those who indulge in denial must be terrible. Despite our warnings, so many refuse to listen. But there’s still time.

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