SATURDAY THOUGHTS: PERSPECTIVES: TRAFFIC STOP

I was heading home Thursday night. I wasn't in a hurry. 

As I approached the intersection, I looked to my left to see if my way was clear. 

The sirens and lights seemed to come out of nowhere— like someone jumping from behind bushes and shouting, "Boo!". 

I was being pulled over. 

For what?

 

The Law Abiding Citizen in me was wondering if I should stop, or continue driving to the police station in Eastover. 

I was so startled that my foot hit the brakes three times before I pulled over to the left, and put the car in park.

My hands were trembling as I searched for my driver's license. 

It never occurred to me to turn on the overhead light. 

I knew the drill. 

Take out your driver's license. 

It was dark. (Darn that Daylight Saving Time). 

“Lord, please let this go well" I thought. "Black or white, please don't let him be a jerk, high on the grand jury's verdict, and looking for someone to harass.“

“What did I do?", I thought, as the officer approached with his flashlight.

I'd made that turn hundreds of times. Apparently, on Thursday night, I didn't stop long enough before I turned on red at the intersection of Indian Head Highway and Livingston Road. 

Cars were passing by, and I was made conspicuous by the flashing lights. Some drivers slowed down. People waved and nodded as if to say, "I'm watching. Don't worry." 

People were walking by. Some of them slowed down. (It’s not uncommon for folks to just hang around, phones in hand, waiting to switch it into camera mode, just in case.)

I looked up into the face of a young, Black officer. He saw my hands. 

I could feel my eyes widening and filling with tears, but couldn't figure out why I was about to cry, and couldn't stop my hands from shaking. 

I asked him if he could direct his flashlight toward my wallet. My driver's license was where it always is, but it was as if I was rifling through a wallet that wasn't mine. 

The look on his face was telling; apologetic even. 

I could almost hear him thinking. 

"I've frightened this woman, and I don't want to be frightening. That's not why I became a police officer." 

He took my license, when I finally found it, came back to the car and said, "It's okay Ma'am. Calm down. It's just a routine stop. Happens all the time".

 

I wanted to tell him, "Not to me", but I kept my mouth shut. 

"Just be careful back there next time, okay?" 

I took his warning, and he went back to his cruiser. 

I was glad the light was red, because I needed to gather myself. I headed home so slowly everyone was whizzing by me.

When I got inside I was still rattled. 

I sat down— then realized that potato chips are my drug of choice. I immediately reached for the bag. 

I killed that bag of Utz. You know, the one you're supposed to share with at least 14 other people. 

I turned it up in the most unladylike way, and downed every crumb. I hate to admit how much better I felt. 

Then, I thought about why I had reacted so emotionally. 

Injustice, arrogance, and bullying is everywhere. 

I'd inhaled the news stories. 

I'd seen the images. 

I'd shaken my head. 

I'd been baffled. 

I'd seen Twitter and Facebook posts. 

I was absorbing the frustration and unfairness, but hadn't let it out. 

Being pulled over was just an added insult to all of the indirect injury.
I realized that the unrest in the country has affected me. 

The sadness and mourning of families, and the public trashing of reputations was bothering me. 

The bullies, manipulators, instigators, and liars seemed to be winning.

I want to care, but I don't want to be afraid, rattled, or angered over headlines every day. 

I don't want to be afraid when it comes to law enforcement officers. 

My father had been a Federal Protective Officer. 

I am of the "Officer Friendly" generation. 

I have nephews. Handsome, young African American males who are outstanding students, athletes, and responsible, respectful sons. 

Law enforcement officers are not obligated to love them, like I do, though. I am concerned about how they are viewed by those who legally bear arms, and are tasked to protect and serve. 

I have reason to be very vested in how case after case of brutality and excessive use of force are resolved. My nephews have to know the drill. They have to get the old-school speeches and advice:

1. There is a way to go out in to the world, maintain integrity and respect, and self-worth--and remain alive."

2. "Do the right thing."

3. "Don't be a dummy."

4. "Know when to shut up."

5. "Let your parents defend you."

6. "Watch your attitude."

7. "Avoid confrontation."

8. "Walk away."

9. "Don't take the law into your own hands."

10. "Know where you are. Check your surroundings."

11. "Don't be found where you don't belong."

12. "If you're going to do something, let it be your idea. Don't be a follower."

13. "If you see trouble that way, go the other way."

14. "Get your education. You need that piece of paper. It's your ticket out."

15. "You have to be twice as good; twice as smart."

16. "Have a purpose. Don't just hang around like you're up to no good."

17. "Know where you're going."

18. "Know when to turn it on, and when to turn it off..."

19. "If you're right, I've got your back. If you're wrong, you're on your own".

People get tired of being on their best behavior and still being hated, targeted, misjudged, and demonized. It's infuriating and offensive.

It was just a "routine" traffic stop, but it occurred to me that my response, too, was riddled with offense. 

When you're doing the right thing, why are you still bothered by, or suspicious to anyone? 

Weren't there real criminals out and about, whose disdain for the law could have used those sirens and lights more than me? 

Wasn't there a crime taking place somewhere that warranted the young officer's time and attention? 

Why pick on law-abiding me? 

There I was. Mighty glad that police officers exist, but not at all happy that one had stopped me. 

Had I kept my foot on the brake a millisecond longer, maybe I'd be blogging about something else--something frivolous like the terrific savings I got by using my CVS Extra Care card...or the Atomic Fireballs that were in stock. 

I was in a good mood, too, when I left the Rivertowne CVS, and headed home. 

Those lights and sirens successfully disturbed my peace, and gave me a police story. 

Fortunately, mine ended well.

When I was younger, I remember my Dad saying, "A Black man's life ain't worth nothin' in this country." 

He has many justifiable reasons to feel that way as an octogenarian born in the deep South. 

He was elated when Senator Obama became President Obama, and joined the chorus of voices that declared, "I never thought I'd see this in my lifetime". 

Even as President Obama continues to lead, however, my Dad's words about the worth of Black life seem to have a regularly occurring ring of truth.

 

My own reaction last night, to a situation that IS routine, didn't diminish my hope that everything-- every offensive occurrence-- stops boiling down to race. 

It did let me know that I am still referring and deferring to the speeches and adages of my parents and grandparents, concerning my behavior as a Black person in America: 

"Be polite."

"Be calm."; 

"Put your best foot forward"; 

"Don't make any waves.";

" Always be on your best behavior."; 

"Don't worry about what people say. You know who you are".

Perhaps, on Thursday night I was an example of the "acceptable", "non-threatening" Black person I'd been coached to be. 

Back in the day, it was all about staying alive, keeping the peace, and making it home. 

We learned that you could be demanding the respect you deserved as a human being, and exercising your rights as an American citizen, but be just as dead. 

Our elders knew the drill. 

Play the docile role, then go home--alive--and laugh about it. 

Racism didn't diminish them. It was motivation to pray for people who hated, and sought to manipulate them. 

Their oppressors' fate (if the God they served was really just) was more frightening then any ignorant, hurtful thing they could do or say.

I learned the drill. It's still there. 

Broadcast news and social media is proving that we can't put the lessons away just yet. 

We have to dust them off, and reintroduce them. 

It’s a nice song, but we haven't overcome. 

There is no post-racial America. Not yet. 

The Race race is still in full swing. 

Those angry mobs. of the 60's, had children...and their children had children...and not everyone abandoned the mores of their parents and grandparents. 

People still need someone to blame for the systems they put in place that have backfired. 

Race is still an issue, and perhaps, it will always be. 

I wonder if our methods of fighting back are effective, though. 

We've abandoned the Apostle Paul's declaration in his letter to the Corinthians: 

"For though we walk in the flesh, we do not war according to the flesh, for the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh, but divinely powerful for the destruction of fortresses. We are destroying speculations and every lofty thing raised up against the knowledge of God, and we are taking every thought captive to the obedience of Christ..."

It was good to see a Black officer. I think. 

Should it matter? 

I know they exist, but we weren't buddies. 

There was no slapping five, secret handshake, or hip verbal exchange when we saw each other. 

One wrong move during my "routine" experience; one defiant word; one appearance of indignant, loud, neck-snapping, lip-smacking, Ebonics-fluent, finger-waving, uncooperative angry Black woman, and things would have ended very differently.

I imagine that there are some caring, well-meaning police officers who are just as cautious, nervous, and bewildered as the citizens they're bound to protect and serve. 

They just want to do their jobs, do them well, and go home alive, too. 

They believe the law is truly for the lawless. 

They do respect the citizens of the cities and towns where they work. 

They don't lead with their weapons. 

They do know how to communicate respectfully. 

They aren't bullies with badges.

I think I encountered one, but one is not enough.