The saddest part is that this is not a unique story.
Some number of weeks ago, I "fit the description" of a latino male exiting Safeway after having caused some kind of spat in Mountain View. They "identified" the male as having on black shorts and wearing sandals, and some kind of sleeve tattoo if my memory serves.
I am a fairer-skinned black male, I did have on black shorts and Birkinstocks, so close enough I guess. I was over a block away from Safeway, but the cop still felt the need to creep up on me, then bleep his siren, turn around, get out of his SUV and question me.
The cop felt the need to know if - simple Silicon Valley yuppie me, carrying a Starbucks cup from earlier in the day and a fresh bag of Thai food with a receipt dated no more than nine minutes prior - I had gang tattoos and/or affiliations, asked me to roll up my sleeves. He needed to know why my out-of-state drivers license didn't have my current California address (no, I'm dead serious, I guess he couldn't figure it out.)
Of course, I grew up in the deep south so I'm more than used to this, and know how to keep my head on when dealing with a police officer who is holier than thou and is packing the hardware to prove it to you at a twitch's notice. My upbringing taught me that, as a black person, this is what we have to expect from officials, be it police, school officials, any petty tyrant's office job. This is why you don't talk to the cops and you keep your head down when walking - your skin still says enough about you.
However, even after climbing the broken ladder, fighting my way out of abject poverty through stacks of student loans, it was truly disheartening to see it's still true, even here in the land of million dollar homes and self driving cars.
Some number of weeks ago, I "fit the description" of a latino male exiting Safeway after having caused some kind of spat in Mountain View. They "identified" the male as having on black shorts and wearing sandals, and some kind of sleeve tattoo if my memory serves.
I am a fairer-skinned black male, I did have on black shorts and Birkinstocks, so close enough I guess. I was over a block away from Safeway, but the cop still felt the need to creep up on me, then bleep his siren, turn around, get out of his SUV and question me.
The cop felt the need to know if - simple Silicon Valley yuppie me, carrying a Starbucks cup from earlier in the day and a fresh bag of Thai food with a receipt dated no more than nine minutes prior - I had gang tattoos and/or affiliations, asked me to roll up my sleeves. He needed to know why my out-of-state drivers license didn't have my current California address (no, I'm dead serious, I guess he couldn't figure it out.)
Of course, I grew up in the deep south so I'm more than used to this, and know how to keep my head on when dealing with a police officer who is holier than thou and is packing the hardware to prove it to you at a twitch's notice. My upbringing taught me that, as a black person, this is what we have to expect from officials, be it police, school officials, any petty tyrant's office job. This is why you don't talk to the cops and you keep your head down when walking - your skin still says enough about you.
However, even after climbing the broken ladder, fighting my way out of abject poverty through stacks of student loans, it was truly disheartening to see it's still true, even here in the land of million dollar homes and self driving cars.
I've felt this man's fear.