abused and dehumanized in our stops. A 2016 review of a thirteen-month period showed that Oakland police handcuffed 1,466 black people in nonarrest trafficstops, and only 72 white people 5 , and a 2016 study by the Center for Policing Equity found that blacks were almost 4 times more likely to be subject to force from police—including force by hand (such as hitting and choking), pepper spray, tazer, and gun—than white people. 6
So maybe that time I got pulled over wasn’t about race. Maybe the time I’d been pulled over before that wasn’t about race.Maybe even the time before that. But those who demand the smoking gun of a racial slur or swastika or burning cross before they will believe that an individual encounter with the police might be about race are ignoring what we know and what the numbers are bearing out: something is going on and it is not right. We are being targeted. And you can try to explain away one statistic due to geography,one away due to income—you can find reasons for numbers all day. But the fact remains: all across the country, in every type of neighborhood, people of color are being disproportionately criminalized. This is not all in our heads.
When we first learn to drive it’s with the same excitement of anybody else newly behind the wheel. A bit of fear mixed with a sense of freedom and power. But whileour white friends quickly settle into the mundanity of the daily commute, we never get that sense of ease. The first time I was pulled over was at age sixteen, for going five miles over the speed limit in a wealthy white neighborhood. I explained that I hadn’t realized the speed limit had been recently lowered. But the cop wanted to know if I was drunk. If I was on drugs. What he would find if helooked in my trunk (I believe I answered “snacks”). A few months later I was pulled over for not coming to a “complete stop” on a suburban road, empty of all traffic except for me and the officer. I’ve been stopped for having my vehicle tabs expired by one day (even though it was still within the month indicated on the tab, which meant that the officer was scanning my plates for the hell of it). Timeand time again the questions I was asked were along the same lines: “What are you doing in this neighborhood?” “Have you been drinking?” “Do I smell marijuana?” “Do you have any illegal substances or weapons in your car?” I know it sounds silly, but it surprised me every time. I’ve never been a big drinker; I’ve never driven drunk, and weed never did anything for me. I have no criminal record,no past indication of dangerous driving or violence. And yet, by the age of eighteen I couldn’t shake the feeling that cops were out to get me. And this experience is even worse for many black men and for those who do have criminal records that give cops even more reason to harass them.
Like myself, most people of color I know do not enjoy driving. We have moments where we forget what our blacknessmeans behind the wheel, when we are enjoying a great song on the radio, or leaving a fun event. For a few moments, we are driving like any other carefree American. But then our pulses rise at the sight of an officer on the street. Will this be the time? The moment the lights on the police cruiser go on we know—that’s for us. We are watching our speed and using our turn signals and yet whenthose lights go on we know that there is no other car that officer is going to pull up behind than ours. And we pray that our paperwork is all legit, and that the officer won’t be afraid of us, that we won’t make the wrong moves or say the wrong things. We hope that all we get out of this encounter is a ticket and a nervous stomach.
And I’m not sure what’s worse, the fear and anxiety and fatiguebrought on by yet another encounter with an officer that you are hoping and praying to make it out of intact, or the never-ending denial by the rest of society of the fear and anxiety and fatigue you
So maybe that time I got pulled over wasn’t about race. Maybe the time I’d been pulled over before that wasn’t about race.Maybe even the time before that. But those who demand the smoking gun of a racial slur or swastika or burning cross before they will believe that an individual encounter with the police might be about race are ignoring what we know and what the numbers are bearing out: something is going on and it is not right. We are being targeted. And you can try to explain away one statistic due to geography,one away due to income—you can find reasons for numbers all day. But the fact remains: all across the country, in every type of neighborhood, people of color are being disproportionately criminalized. This is not all in our heads.
When we first learn to drive it’s with the same excitement of anybody else newly behind the wheel. A bit of fear mixed with a sense of freedom and power. But whileour white friends quickly settle into the mundanity of the daily commute, we never get that sense of ease. The first time I was pulled over was at age sixteen, for going five miles over the speed limit in a wealthy white neighborhood. I explained that I hadn’t realized the speed limit had been recently lowered. But the cop wanted to know if I was drunk. If I was on drugs. What he would find if helooked in my trunk (I believe I answered “snacks”). A few months later I was pulled over for not coming to a “complete stop” on a suburban road, empty of all traffic except for me and the officer. I’ve been stopped for having my vehicle tabs expired by one day (even though it was still within the month indicated on the tab, which meant that the officer was scanning my plates for the hell of it). Timeand time again the questions I was asked were along the same lines: “What are you doing in this neighborhood?” “Have you been drinking?” “Do I smell marijuana?” “Do you have any illegal substances or weapons in your car?” I know it sounds silly, but it surprised me every time. I’ve never been a big drinker; I’ve never driven drunk, and weed never did anything for me. I have no criminal record,no past indication of dangerous driving or violence. And yet, by the age of eighteen I couldn’t shake the feeling that cops were out to get me. And this experience is even worse for many black men and for those who do have criminal records that give cops even more reason to harass them.
Like myself, most people of color I know do not enjoy driving. We have moments where we forget what our blacknessmeans behind the wheel, when we are enjoying a great song on the radio, or leaving a fun event. For a few moments, we are driving like any other carefree American. But then our pulses rise at the sight of an officer on the street. Will this be the time? The moment the lights on the police cruiser go on we know—that’s for us. We are watching our speed and using our turn signals and yet whenthose lights go on we know that there is no other car that officer is going to pull up behind than ours. And we pray that our paperwork is all legit, and that the officer won’t be afraid of us, that we won’t make the wrong moves or say the wrong things. We hope that all we get out of this encounter is a ticket and a nervous stomach.
And I’m not sure what’s worse, the fear and anxiety and fatiguebrought on by yet another encounter with an officer that you are hoping and praying to make it out of intact, or the never-ending denial by the rest of society of the fear and anxiety and fatigue you
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