Who’s Next? Am I Next?

Illustration by Carolyn Burt

For some people, their reality is a day filled with optimism and hope, while for some us our daily dose of reality is filled with fear. We fear not making it back home when we leave out the front door. We fear being pulled over while driving because of the unknown that can come along with that encounter. We fear going into certain neighborhoods because of how we will be perceived and profiled. There’s mothers and fathers who are in constant fear when their sons and daughters walk out the front door. You get the picture?

As a black man in his early 20s, having to see all the brutal murders that have been happening to men that share the same skin color as me is discouraging, infuriating, maddening, and disturbing. It’s discouraging, and infuriating to see the police, who are supposed to “to protect and to serve”, violating the very oath that they take when they are sworn in as an officer by murdering black men and women. With the senseless murder of George Floyd by a Minneapolis police officer, Derek Chauvin, once again the world is put on notice to see the excessive force, and unnecessary violence that law enforcement uses often amongst many black men and women.

My interactions with the Los Angeles Police Department (LAPD) have been just like many other black men, young and old. For example, while in my third year of high school, I was walking with two friends afterschool. We were met by two Los Angeles Unified School Police and their question to me was “Do you go here? Do you have identification?” I had been at this school since my freshman year and I was in my third year attending the school, where I put my health on the line playing for their football team. I had previously had a run-in with these two officers, but nothing confrontational. I responded to them, confused, “no I don’t”, and just like that I was asked to turn around because I was going to be put in handcuffs and taken to the office.

The encounter turned sour when I put my backpack down, as I was asked. The two officers started to put me in handcuffs while I asked, “why am I being arrested?” But instead of receiving an answer, I was slammed into a parked van that was in the schools parking lot. I blanked out. After tussling with the two officers, I started walking with them to the office, but as I was walking, one officer held on to me by the handcuffs and started swaying me side to side. As I swayed back into the officer, we fell. This time my mind was focused on one thing, and that was just hoping I could get through this tussle without being beaten by a baton, or worse, the officer I fell with’s gun going off.

This instance with law enforcement was an eye opener to me because of how this could’ve turned out differently. I was lucky enough to be able to come out of that encounter unscathed, physically. I’ve never felt so hopeless before in my life. Even to this day, I think about that incident often, and the aftermath of that incident. 

Ultimately, I wound up getting expelled from that school. A teacher who was helping me prepare to go to college after my senior year I no longer had contact with because if I were to step on the school premises, I would be arrested and taken to a juvenile detention center. Unbelievable right? All from “trespassing.”

This is just an example, and a minor one, compared to the excessive force that we’ve seen caught on camera that ultimately winds up turning into killings of black men. But this is how it starts. It feels as if the LAPD has a tactic to scare you, and belittle you because of the authority they have.

Another example: sitting in my car on the phone, about 12 feet from the front of my house, LAPD crash unit drives by. They flash their spotlight on me but give me a little head nod, weird enough. As they passed by, I kept an eye on them through my sideview mirror. Before they hit the end of the block, I noticed all their lights shut off. They make a right turn around, and double back. Before I knew it, two LAPD officers were getting out of their cars blinding me with their flashlights in one hand, with their other hand on their holstered guns. 

Now you may wonder how I could see an officer’s hand on their weapon when I was blinded. Having LAPD use their spotlight on you is a constant, whether you’re sitting in front of your house or driving in your car (how in the world does that work for safety?). You have to learn to try your best to see while squinting, because any sudden movement can get you shot.

But back to the story. As the officers were outside of my car and commanded me to step out so they could search it, my mother came outside, along with my brothers and my neighbor, to see what was going on. The police’s explanation for searching my car was that I looked suspicious and that my music was loud. When my neighbor asked what was going on, my mother told him the reason. My neighbor responded, “That kid sits in his car all the time and doesn’t cause trouble, they’re just trying to mess with him.” After they were done searching and found nothing but a spotless clean car with my work shirt in the trunk, they decided to proceed with their night. However, it wouldn’t be the last time that I would see those two same officers.

No less than a month later, I had another encounter with them. Again, they blind me with their flashlights, but they don’t drive away this time. Commanding me out of my car once again, I notice one hand on their weapon but their other hands empty. What a coincidence that I come across the same officers who I’ve just faced and in the same spot in front of my house. As I’m getting pulled to the side, right on the steps of my apartment, my mom comes outside again and she asks what’s going on. This time, for no reason at all, they just wanted to do a search. 

But in other words, those searches were to check to see if I had drugs, weapons, or whatever it was they could find to take me to jail. Keep in mind I’ve never been involved in a crime, done drugs, been in a gang or anything that would make me a threat to society; but because of the color of my skin, I’m automatically a threat until proven otherwise. This is part of the racial profiling black men and women have to endure way too often. Those two encounters left a traumatic mark on me, never having before met someone who perceived me as such a threat to the point where they may want to shoot me.

I used to be confused and hopeless because of those experiences, which left traumatic marks on me. Now, I feel pain, anger, and rage because it seems that this will never stop. The police brutality will never stop, racial profiling will never stop, the injustices that serve against black men and women will continue to happen. At what point will it stop? At what point will Black Lives Matter?