One evening I returned home very late. I had just parked and was about to get out when I noticed a car approaching me from behind very slowly. I felt nervous, so I placed the key back in the ignition. As the car stopped behind me, I could see there were two uniformed officers inside. I was relieved, but as I got out of my car the car pulled up beside me and the driver asked sternly “What are you doing down here?” As he did this, the other officer jumped out of the car and lunged at me as though he was about to tackle me to the ground.
This officer stood about 6” from me, saying nothing the entire time, as I conversed with the driver. I told him that I live here, and pointed to my home. He quickly demanded to know the address, and I answered. He then demanded that I show my I.D. which was snatched from my hands by the officer standing beside me. After a minute the officer nodded to the driver, then he returned my I.D. and got back in the car. I asked the driver if I had done anything wrong. He simply replied “I didn’t know there were any white guys living down here,” then left.
OK, for anyone who does not live in this neighborhood, I can almost guarantee that this would have left you a little bit upset. My only “crime” was, driving while white (meaning they thought I was here to buy drugs.) But you really have to spend some time here to appreciate the situation. By this point, I had come to realize that my home was in the middle of crack-central station. Given what I had seen and experienced so far from the dealers, I still felt that this amount of heavy-handedness from the police was appropriate if that’s what it took to keep the neighborhood under control. Also, I figured the more encounters that I had with the cops, the better chance that I might be able to eventually communicate with them on a functional level. So I played the good little citizen, confident that very soon they would recognize my cooperation and begin to help me keep the drug dealers away from my house.
It would take a while before I came to realize that while the police continued to harass me for simply driving to my home or walking to my truck, they would also continue to ignore the armed drug dealers who were selling on the sidewalk, in the middle of the street, and sometimes in my front yard.
Phil:
ReplyDeleteI stand about 5'7" tall, and I learned early on in life that one person CAN be heard, especially when they SHOUT...and shout OFTEN.
But I hear 'ya...single voices are rarely heard at all. It's the "well, if the majority of people don't bitch, things MUST be OK" rhetoric time and again.
Things are NOT "OK"...it just means more people don't give a crap, that's all that means.
I know I, like yourself may be the only ones "shouting" at this point, but we CAN be heard (depending on which way the wind blows...if you get my drift.
;)
B.G.