‘RACIAL PROFILING” has become one of the shibboleths of our time. Anyone who wants a public career in the United States must place himself on record as being against it. Thus, ex-senator John Ashcroft, on the eve of his confirmation hearings: “It’s wrong, inappropriate, shouldn’t be done.” During the vice-presidential debate last October, moderator Bernard Shaw invited the candidates to imagine themselves black victims of racial profiling. Both made the required ritual protestations of outrage. Lieberman: “I have a few African-American friends who have gone through this horror, and you know, it makes me want to kind of hit the wall, because it is such an assault on their humanity and their citizenship.” Cheney: “It’s the sense of anger and frustration and rage that would go with knowing that the only reason you were stopped . . . was because of the color of your skin …” In the strange, rather depressing, pattern these things always follow nowadays, the American public has speedily swung into line behind the Pied Pipers: Gallup reports that 81 percent of the public disapproves of racial profiling.
All of which represents an extraordinary level of awareness of, and hostility to, and even passion against (“hit the wall . . .”) a practice that, up to about five years ago, practically nobody had heard of. It is, in fact, instructive to begin by looking at the history of this shibboleth.





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