I Can't Breathe!
1988 proved to be a beautiful summer in New England. I had just turned 18, graduated high school and the world was my oyster. I felt young and free and full of potential. My cousin was visiting from Puerto Rico as many of my family members did during summer. I wanted to impress him so we drove from the small city I grew up in to Boston. You gotta take family to Boston when they visit. So we spent the day taking in the sites.
On our way home I was driving across a well-known bridge called the Tobin Bridge when I saw police lights behind me. My heart sunk. I was anxious. I had grown up terrified of the police. Where I lived, the police only came into my neighborhood when they were looking for someone to arrest. There were never any conversations, no small talk, no recognition. It was always like a military assault when they showed up. If you were a kid you were taught to stay out of their way in hopes of not being arrested or worse. So on this particular day, I put on a brave face for my cousin but I'll admit I was scared.
I kept my hands on the wheel and waited. When he approached my door he asked me where I was going and I told him I was going home after visiting Boston for the day. He asked for my license and registration and I asked for permission to move to get it. He told me to hurry up. As I bent over to the glove compartment to find the documents, he must have felt I wasn't moving fast enough so he opened the door and pulled me out of the car. My seatbelt was on so I tripped and fell onto the street and felt quite embarrassed. He picked me up and threw me against the car, put handcuffs on me and whispered in my ear "see what you made me do?" He then proceeded to sit me on the curb along with my cousin (also in handcuffs) until he cleared my name with dispatch and inspected my entire car. He didn't ask permission and I didn't think to bring it up. When he was done, he took our handcuffs off and told me to be a good Spic and get out of the city before it got dark. I was so scared I just said "yes sir," got in my car and got the hell out of town. It was a day that is seared into my memory.
In the interest of full disclosure in 1988 I drove a $500 beater which was held together by Bondo and duct tape and my fashion style was what I called "Prince meets Michael Jackson in a dark alley." Having said that and to this day, I have no idea why he stopped me but I suspect I know why.
In the years since, I left my hometown and have served my country in the U.S. Army for 24 years. In those years I have had many positive interactions with police officers and have gained an incredible appreciation for what they do. I genuinely believe the vast majority of law enforcement officers are good people who are doing the best they can.
This week as I saw the second acquittal of a police officer by a grand jury in as many weeks for what seemed like excessive use of force, I had to ask myself if I missed something. I am after all just an average, middle-class American. I tried to understand both sides of the conversation, and I switched between television networks and news websites in hopes of gaining enough information to form my own opinions of these two polarizing situations. I don't know the law and I sure as heck don't have all the information those grand juries did, but I know what it feels like in my gut.
At the end of the day I know this; in the poor communities of the United States with large numbers of black and brown peoples, there is a great distrust between the people and the police. While that may come as a surprise to many of you who didn't grow up in those places it is a way of life for the people who live there and the officers who serve there.
It didn't hit home for many Americans until they saw a man get choked from behind, even as he screamed "I can't breathe" over and over until he went unconscious and ultimately died.
It is at these terrible times in our national history where real conversation can take place across the socio-economic and racial divides. If past performance is a predictor of future action then sadly we will rage for another week or two, entrenched on whichever side of this topic we fall. We will fill ourselves with the self-justifying indignation that the other side doesn't see things "our" way. Then in a couple of weeks, a celebrity will get a new haircut, or wear something unthinkable to an awards show and we will all gladly go on because it is easier to just not talk about the uncomfortable elephant in the room. We'll just kick this issue forward in hopes we don't have to be the ones to finally deal with it. "We" will have that luxury. We still have the power to breathe.
On our way home I was driving across a well-known bridge called the Tobin Bridge when I saw police lights behind me. My heart sunk. I was anxious. I had grown up terrified of the police. Where I lived, the police only came into my neighborhood when they were looking for someone to arrest. There were never any conversations, no small talk, no recognition. It was always like a military assault when they showed up. If you were a kid you were taught to stay out of their way in hopes of not being arrested or worse. So on this particular day, I put on a brave face for my cousin but I'll admit I was scared.
I kept my hands on the wheel and waited. When he approached my door he asked me where I was going and I told him I was going home after visiting Boston for the day. He asked for my license and registration and I asked for permission to move to get it. He told me to hurry up. As I bent over to the glove compartment to find the documents, he must have felt I wasn't moving fast enough so he opened the door and pulled me out of the car. My seatbelt was on so I tripped and fell onto the street and felt quite embarrassed. He picked me up and threw me against the car, put handcuffs on me and whispered in my ear "see what you made me do?" He then proceeded to sit me on the curb along with my cousin (also in handcuffs) until he cleared my name with dispatch and inspected my entire car. He didn't ask permission and I didn't think to bring it up. When he was done, he took our handcuffs off and told me to be a good Spic and get out of the city before it got dark. I was so scared I just said "yes sir," got in my car and got the hell out of town. It was a day that is seared into my memory.
In the interest of full disclosure in 1988 I drove a $500 beater which was held together by Bondo and duct tape and my fashion style was what I called "Prince meets Michael Jackson in a dark alley." Having said that and to this day, I have no idea why he stopped me but I suspect I know why.
In the years since, I left my hometown and have served my country in the U.S. Army for 24 years. In those years I have had many positive interactions with police officers and have gained an incredible appreciation for what they do. I genuinely believe the vast majority of law enforcement officers are good people who are doing the best they can.
This week as I saw the second acquittal of a police officer by a grand jury in as many weeks for what seemed like excessive use of force, I had to ask myself if I missed something. I am after all just an average, middle-class American. I tried to understand both sides of the conversation, and I switched between television networks and news websites in hopes of gaining enough information to form my own opinions of these two polarizing situations. I don't know the law and I sure as heck don't have all the information those grand juries did, but I know what it feels like in my gut.
At the end of the day I know this; in the poor communities of the United States with large numbers of black and brown peoples, there is a great distrust between the people and the police. While that may come as a surprise to many of you who didn't grow up in those places it is a way of life for the people who live there and the officers who serve there.
It didn't hit home for many Americans until they saw a man get choked from behind, even as he screamed "I can't breathe" over and over until he went unconscious and ultimately died.
It is at these terrible times in our national history where real conversation can take place across the socio-economic and racial divides. If past performance is a predictor of future action then sadly we will rage for another week or two, entrenched on whichever side of this topic we fall. We will fill ourselves with the self-justifying indignation that the other side doesn't see things "our" way. Then in a couple of weeks, a celebrity will get a new haircut, or wear something unthinkable to an awards show and we will all gladly go on because it is easier to just not talk about the uncomfortable elephant in the room. We'll just kick this issue forward in hopes we don't have to be the ones to finally deal with it. "We" will have that luxury. We still have the power to breathe.
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