Brown Man Thanks Monroe Police
Dear Monroe Police Department (okay…maybe just two specific members of the Monroe PD…but that takes a lot more words than I feel like right now…)
Dear Monroe PD…I really must say thanks.
Thanks for reinforcing for me how much my son loves me.
Thanks for reminding me how much I trust and value my wife and my life.
Thanks for reinforcing for me that my choice of profession–as a director of a summer camp where we intentionally bring together children of varied backgrounds–is an especially important one.
Thanks so much for inspiring me to provide a teaching moment for about 20-25 children who otherwise wouldn’t have a direct chance to deal with issues of race and authority.
So thanks Monroe PD. I appreciate you for all of the above.
Okay, so maybe there was no benevolent intent. All of the above benefits resulted from my being apprehended for not even driving, but walking while black…or maybe more spefically, dropping off at someone’s back door ice skates for sharpening while black.
I guess I should have known better…that slowing down to look for an address meant (according to Mapquest) to be on the left side of the street might arouse “suspicion.” I guess I should have known that getting out of the car, skates in hand to cross first to one side of the street then the other to drop said skates at the back door of the sports shop…before hustling back to the car (since the sub-30 degree temps made me long for the relative warmth of the car parked quite legally on the street with its lights on) might not be the most strategic choice for a brown man to make in small town U.S.A.
Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised that first one police car, then another—lights flashing—would quickly arrive in front of my car. Not quite blocking an exit but ready just in case I suppose.
Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised at how quickly my feeling of impotence, powerlessness, and simultaneous fear at what these two officers might do—how quickly those feelings arose. Inside me, a conflict raging between anger at why I’m being accosted and the need to make sure I get home alive. So I make sure that I ask them if it’s okay to sit in my car, hands carefully at 10 and 2 on the wheel. I ask them if it’s okay if I reach into my bag on the front seat to retrieve my wallet since they’ve asked for ID.
I know that the result of my making a poor decision or wrong move can result in my wife becoming a widow or my son becoming fatherless. So that’s a hard thing to cope with while filled with impotent rage knowing I’ve done nothing wrong, knowing that the feeling of powerlessness combined with shame combined with I don’t know what courses through me.
Eventually, it’s over, and I’m “free” to go on my way. My ID checked out I suppose, or whatever it is that happens.
I’ve apparently grown complacent in my older years…thinking that the days of my being routinely stopped while driving while black, or walking while black (yes, twice before!) were in the past. I thought that DWB (and WWB) stops were just for me as a younger brown man, but I guess not, since I’m now solidly a middle-aged (or slightly beyond, whatever almost 50 is…) brown man. I was wrong to be complacent. It still feels terrible; it still feels helpless; it still feels hopeless.
Nevertheless, I say thank you Monroe PD. On the way back to pick up my son (whom I had left at the rink to run what I thought was my quick skate-sharpening errand), I could call my wife and cry and have snot run down my nose and spray the steering wheel (thanks Subway for the extra napkins…came in handy for cleanup). She loves me and I know that.
I say thank you Monroe PD. My son was among those gathered around me during my return to the rink—when I was unable to quietly explain to another team parent why I was without words…but then finding words, loud words, loud words with lots of profanity (from someone who rarely swears). Words that brought the bantam practice to a standstill, words that brought from the gathered parents expressions of dismay? concern? confusion? pity? non-comprehension? My son, understanding what happened, able to convey (then and after our return home) that his love is boundless.
I say thank you Monroe PD. The kids (and a coach or two) from the now-interrupted bantam practice, with looks of concern? confusion? dismay? Non-comprehension? perhaps hearing me as I implored them to truly interact with people different from themselves. Maybe their generation will get it right.
I say thank you Monroe PD. The parent or three who expressed genuine concern as I gathered equipment (and my child) to put in the car. I appreciate them for being quality people, and am hopeful that maybe now they might understand a little more about what happens sometimes when the “other” meets the “authority.”
I say thank you Monroe PD. Maybe a few more people might watch “Blackish” or read Stamped from the Beginning.
Keep Up to Date
Have access to incredible articles and keep up to date with all Camp Kupugani life here!