I have had run-ins with the police before. Generally I am driving too fast, or have a headlight out, or am destroying the DC metro system (not that it needs any help), but almost all of these interactions have been, in a way, pleasant. I am polite to the officers, apologizing for my heinous crimes, and they have been friendly and kind to me. Even the guy that arrested me felt very bad about. I would say that I have never been scared of the police, even when getting in trouble. Except for one time.
I was 21 or 22 years old, working as a manager at the Ben & Jerry’s in Georgetown, Washington, D.C., and I was working late. It was a hot summer night and we were open late. Trying to close had done no good, as there was a line out the door, and it was well after midnight as my friend and I were finishing up our closing duties. He was mopping, I was scrubbing, and we were both dead exhausted. As I was getting ready to lock up, he told me that he had missed his bus, so of course I offered to give him a ride home. And this should not matter at all to the story, but he happened to be black. And sadly it does matter to the story.
I was driving along like a normal person, not even speeding because I was so exhausted. It was maybe 1 o’clock in the morning. Suddenly I see those red and blue lights spring up behind me, accompanied by their familiar whine. Did I have a taillight out? Was I actually speeding? Was I so tired that I was driving the wrong way down a one-way street? It wouldn’t have surprised me. So I pulled over and rolled down my window, ready to smile apologetically and make nice with the friendly officers.
There were two of them, and it only took about two seconds for me to realize that my friend and I were not going to be treated the same way. The first officer came over to me and asked to see my license and registration, which I gave to him. The second officer went around to the passenger side and shouted at my friend to get out of the car. I asked the first officer what the problem was, as my friend stepped out of the vehicle and was told to put his hands against the side of the car.
I was in shock. What the hell was going on? Why on earth would they be treating my friend this way? That was when the first officer asked me if I knew my friend, or if he was hitchhiking, or if he was selling drugs to me. They searched my friend for drugs in fact. They did not search me for drugs. They did not ask me to step out of the car. They did not ask my friend if he knew me, or if I had kidnapped him, or whatever other absurd connection they were trying to create. I explained that we worked together, that we were friends, and that I was giving him a ride home after a long shift. We were tired, I told him, and we wanted to get home. He grunted as though he didn’t believe me, but after what seemed like an eternity, and after they did who knows what to my friend (I was not allowed out of the vehicle, although I tried), they finally let us both go home.
I was enraged. I could not make sense of what had just happened. I started to rant about it to my friend, who shrugged sadly and told me that this wasn’t the first time that had happened to him. REALLY?! We lived in nearby neighborhoods, we worked at the same place, we walked and drove the same streets on the same schedule, and yet this had never happened to me before. And we had never been given a reason for being pulled over. They never accused me of anything. The only crime I committed was driving with a black person in the car. And you know what? Thank God I was white.
Things have not changed. I know there are friends of mine, dear friends, who are out there dealing with this terrifying crap on a daily basis. Friends, I’m sorry. I have no idea what you are going through. I almost got a taste of it once, for about an hour, on the streets of D.C. But they didn’t pat me down. They didn’t ask me to leave the car. They never threatened me. So although I was scared, I still have no idea of what it’s like to be black in America. I have no idea what it’s like to live on that uneasy edge, every single day. It must be exhausting. Even a glimpse of it was frightening, and I will never forget that evening of prejudice and injustice. And I know my friend won’t either.
this is a terrific essay. Thanks!