Walking While White
For the first time ever, I was singled out and detained by law enforcement for being white. This happened last night in my neighborhood as I had gone out for some nicotine gum. The scenario happened like this, to the best of my recollection:
On 1st Avenue, between 97th and 96th, a dark sedan screeches up next to me and three guys jump out. One of them is wearing a badge on a chain around his neck. They tell me to, "hold it right there!" Like a deer in the headlights, I freeze.
COP: What are you doing?
ME: I'm going to the store.
COP: What for?
ME: Some gum.
COP: Are you sure?
ME: Yeah, why?
COP: I'll tell you in a minute. Put your hands on the car.
ME: What?!?!?
COP: Put your hands on the car.
I did as instructed. The next couple of minutes were just like an episode of "Cops."
COP: Do you have any ID?
ME: I have a credit card and my building ID.
COP: So what are you doing?
ME: I'm going to the store.
COP: Anything else?
ME: No.
COP: You're lying. Do you have anything in your pockets I should know about?
ME: No.
COP: Anything illegal? Anything sharp that might stick me? Any weapons?
ME: No.
He proceeds to give me a full patdown and goes searching through every pocket on my multi-pocketed cargo shorts. Of course, he finds nothing, but he keeps searching, turning my pocket liners inside out and rubbing my ass while checking my back pocket.
By this time, the other two cops have lost interest. They seem to realize that nothing is going to come of this. So the cop doing all of the "work" asks me for my full name, date of birth, and my apartment number at my building. All of which he writes down in his little book. Then he offers his thanks.
I remember my earlier question: why? So I asked it again.
"We have been having a problem with crack around here. We are watching for people walking south on 1st Avenue who look out of place. People like you come up here to buy their drugs."
So because I am white and walking south on 1st Avenue, the cops suspect me of buying crack, ironically, across the street from the door of the building where I live.
Now, better than I had even imagined, I understand, at least partly, the feeling of violation that members of other races have felt for doing nothing more than looking "out of place."
I realize that my constitutional rights were violated at least a couple of times, but what could I do about it? If I did not fully cooperate, I surely would have been in for much longer night. And if the shit really hit the fan, I would be one voice against three of New York's finest because no one else saw what was going on and there was no crew from "Cops" to document the harassment.
Even as I think about it again this morning, I get nervous. I get scared. Then I get mad. A thousand different emotions flooded me last night and I dealt with them all alone as I didn't want to call anyone lest I wake them up (the Good Nurse is out of town). I should be able to walk in my neighborhood without the fear of being molested or having my rights trampled. As should all my neighbors.
So, if you are white, don't go walking south on 1st Avenue after dark. Unless you have a few minutes to kill. Incidentally, when I returned to my building there was a lot of fun and excitement going on where the cops said the drug dealers were allegedly doing their business. Why not get closer to the action? This is another form of racism because in my neighborhood, where the majority of residents are non-white, the cops ignore what's happening there. It's almost as though they are setting up borders between the "good, white people" south of 96th and the rest of us ruffians north of 96th.
(And for those of you asking, the answer is "no." The cops were not cute.)
On 1st Avenue, between 97th and 96th, a dark sedan screeches up next to me and three guys jump out. One of them is wearing a badge on a chain around his neck. They tell me to, "hold it right there!" Like a deer in the headlights, I freeze.
COP: What are you doing?
ME: I'm going to the store.
COP: What for?
ME: Some gum.
COP: Are you sure?
ME: Yeah, why?
COP: I'll tell you in a minute. Put your hands on the car.
ME: What?!?!?
COP: Put your hands on the car.
I did as instructed. The next couple of minutes were just like an episode of "Cops."
COP: Do you have any ID?
ME: I have a credit card and my building ID.
COP: So what are you doing?
ME: I'm going to the store.
COP: Anything else?
ME: No.
COP: You're lying. Do you have anything in your pockets I should know about?
ME: No.
COP: Anything illegal? Anything sharp that might stick me? Any weapons?
ME: No.
He proceeds to give me a full patdown and goes searching through every pocket on my multi-pocketed cargo shorts. Of course, he finds nothing, but he keeps searching, turning my pocket liners inside out and rubbing my ass while checking my back pocket.
By this time, the other two cops have lost interest. They seem to realize that nothing is going to come of this. So the cop doing all of the "work" asks me for my full name, date of birth, and my apartment number at my building. All of which he writes down in his little book. Then he offers his thanks.
I remember my earlier question: why? So I asked it again.
"We have been having a problem with crack around here. We are watching for people walking south on 1st Avenue who look out of place. People like you come up here to buy their drugs."
So because I am white and walking south on 1st Avenue, the cops suspect me of buying crack, ironically, across the street from the door of the building where I live.
Now, better than I had even imagined, I understand, at least partly, the feeling of violation that members of other races have felt for doing nothing more than looking "out of place."
I realize that my constitutional rights were violated at least a couple of times, but what could I do about it? If I did not fully cooperate, I surely would have been in for much longer night. And if the shit really hit the fan, I would be one voice against three of New York's finest because no one else saw what was going on and there was no crew from "Cops" to document the harassment.
Even as I think about it again this morning, I get nervous. I get scared. Then I get mad. A thousand different emotions flooded me last night and I dealt with them all alone as I didn't want to call anyone lest I wake them up (the Good Nurse is out of town). I should be able to walk in my neighborhood without the fear of being molested or having my rights trampled. As should all my neighbors.
So, if you are white, don't go walking south on 1st Avenue after dark. Unless you have a few minutes to kill. Incidentally, when I returned to my building there was a lot of fun and excitement going on where the cops said the drug dealers were allegedly doing their business. Why not get closer to the action? This is another form of racism because in my neighborhood, where the majority of residents are non-white, the cops ignore what's happening there. It's almost as though they are setting up borders between the "good, white people" south of 96th and the rest of us ruffians north of 96th.
(And for those of you asking, the answer is "no." The cops were not cute.)
posted by Michael Vernon at Friday, May 25, 2007
2 comments
