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Driving While Black - October 8, 2005

 
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Maurice
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PostPosted: Sun Aug 13, 2006 12:17 am    Post subject: Driving While Black - October 8, 2005 Reply with quote

Driving While Black


By Mark Herbert, Journalist


He had encountered this kind of thing before; heard stories from friends and family about being stopped by the police for no apparent reason, other than for the colour of their skin. He’d been pulled over once or twice because either he or his car “fit the description” of one sought by the police in connection with some crime or wrongdoing—like that time when he was pulled over for a “routine” stop, just as he was turning into the parking lot of his workplace. Events like these have always left Mark feeling as though he can’t own anything nice or expensive without the police assuming that it’s been stolen, or acquired through some other illegal means. And as these incidents keep happening, something his older brother once told him comes startlingly close to the truth: Black folk just can’t have nice things.

* * *

It had been a good evening; Mark and his friends had finally decided to bring their regular Thursday night get together to a close. It was 3am when Mark, Justin, Everton, and Richard piled into Mark’s Audi and pulled out of his driveway. They traveled up Brandon Gate and headed north on Goreway. As they came upon the lights at Morning Star, Mark spotted a squad car to the left. That’s when the night took an interesting turn.

“Just great,” Mark said as they came to a stop at the intersection.

“What’s up?” asked Richard from the backseat.

“Any money this cop is gonna stop me,” Mark replied.

“For what?” Richard asked. “You weren’t speeding.”

The cop progressed slowly through the intersection, his eyes fixed on the car the entire time.

“He’s gonna pull us over.” Mark insisted.

“No he’s not,” Richard argued. “See he’s going.” The car passed them. As Mark accelerated through the lights, the squad car began to make a U-turn.

“I told you,” Mark said. “He’s gonna pull us over.”

He continued up the road cautiously, driving just under the speed limit. The cop had followed Mark’s car at a steady pace until coming to a stop directly behind him at another red light three intersections later.

“Why hasn’t he stopped me yet?” Mark wondered aloud. “I know he’s running my plates.”

When the light turned green Mark made sure that he executed the perfect turn. Left-most-lane to left-most-lane. He was certain the officer had no reason to stop him. But when the cop finally flashed his lights prompting him to pull over, Mark got his license and insurance papers ready, wound down his window, and waited to find out what he had done to warrant the officer’s attention.

“License and registration,” requested the officer.

“Is there a problem?” Mark asked as he handed over his information.

The officer ignored Mark. “This is a nice car you’ve got,” he said. “Whose is it?” His question was loaded with suspicion.

“It’s my mother’s.” Mark responded, at which point he reached into the glove compartment to get a pad of paper to take down the officer’s badge number, just in case. Mark already didn’t like the way things were going.
As the cop made his way back to the squad car, Mark felt his frustration mounting. He’s probably gonna write me up for not being intimidated by him, he thought. “This is so messed up!” he said, angrily.

“Calm down,” said Justin. “He’s not going give you a ticket.”

Waiting impatiently, the boys discussed the situation amongst themselves. Mark kept an eye on the officer through the rearview mirror, and told his friends to keep it down as he approached the car once again. Standing beside them now, the cop took out his flashlight and shone it into the faces of Mark and his friends. They all burst out laughing. The officer’s blatant attempt to rattle them was actually comical.

“What’s so funny?” demanded the cop.

“I don’t think you had any reason to pull me over, and now you’re pointing your flashlight at everybody. What did I do? Why did you stop me?” Mark asked.

The cop bristled. “I didn’t pull you over because you’re black, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I never suspected you did,” Mark said, voicing the opposite of what he felt.

“Well that’s what everybody in Malton seems to think,” the officer replied.

Then maybe you should stop pulling Black people over for no reason, Mark thought to himself. “You still haven’t told me why you stopped me,” he said instead.

“I stopped you because of your plate,” said the cop, and ordered Mark out of the car to show him what he was talking about.

“You see that border around your plate?” The cop asked, as Mark approached the rear of his car. “It’s an obstruction. I can fine you for that.” His bone of contention was the black plastic frame bearing the name of the dealership from which the car was purchased.

“But that was put on by the dealership.” Mark said, exasperated. “Why would they put it on my car if it was illegal?”

“Do you think the dealership cares if you get a ticket?” The cop retorted.

I guess I can’t argue with that, Mark sighed inwardly. “When you first saw my car it was from the front,” Mark challenged. “There’s no border on my front plate. What made you want to follow me?”

“Well, I couldn’t really tell until I got close enough,” said the cop.

Mark was unsatisfied with the explanation. It really didn’t make any sense. He was about to pursue the matter further when the cop ordered and followed him back to the car, where he then demanded identification from all of his friends.

Mark had had just about enough.

“Excuse me officer,” he said. “No disrespect intended, but if you only pulled me over because of my plate obstruction why do you feel it’s necessary to have my friends I.D.?” The question was obviously one that the cop had not planned on answering. He pondered the question for a while and finally said:

“‘Cause I’m the police, and I said so!”

Thirty-five minutes and one warning notice later, the four friends were sent on their way. Mark received a notice— signed by one Officer ******—and not a ticket because, said the officer, he was a “nice guy” in a “good mood”. Mark felt like telling him not to do him any favors. A ticket would have at least given some credibility to his bogus charge.

The mood inside the car was somber. “I can’t believe he actually said he didn’t pull you over just ‘cause you’re Black,” said Everton.

“I know,” Mark agreed. “It’s one thing that we were thinking it, but for him to actually say that makes him seem so guilty. I’m sick of this. They make you feel like you can’t do anything!”

“He knew he couldn’t give you a ticket for that.” Justin said.

“He took that plate obstruction thing way too far. He told me that the ‘Yours to Discover’ must be visible. He’s full of s---.” Mark said, shaking his head in frustration.

As they drove, they exchanged tales of similar experiences. It was shocking to realize how instances like that night happened far more often than they knew; and how the frequency of the occurrences was probably the norm, and not the exception.

A few days later, Justin called Mark after having returned from the DMV. He’d gone to get a copy of his driver’s abstract for a job, and had inquired about the validity of Officer ******’ claim. He told Mark that the Officer’s charges about the illegal border were untrue. Mark didn’t say anything when he received the news; he’d known all along that the officer had nothing on him.

Sadly, the fact of the matter is Officer ****** is one of many others like him; and Mark has grown tired of having to put up with these stereotypical attitudes. He looks forward to a day when he won’t have to; he looks forward to the day where he won’t have to believe what his brother told him so long ago:

That Black folk just can’t have nice things.
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