When I Encounter Police — A monologue.
Narrator: Stephanie is driving in her car and pulled over by police. She goes into park. She immediately calls her husband and puts him on speaker. She cracks her window slightly enough to be heard but not enough for a hand to pierce the opening. She locks her car doors and takes a deep breath as the officer approaches. The officer speaks and Stephanie responds:
My name is Stephanie Fleming. I live in Decatur. I am married. My husband’s name is Phillip Fleming. We have been together for over 5 years. My husband is on the line and listening to this conversation. I suffer from anxiety and this encounter is a major trigger for me that I have feared and prepared for since 2015. I do not know why I have been stopped. My license is in my purse in the passenger seat. My vehicle registration is in the glove compartment. I do not have any weapons on me nor in my vehicle. This vehicle is owned by me and was originally purchased in Palm Beach County Florida. I am not comfortable rolling down my window any farther and will not exit my vehicle. With all do respect, I am terrified at the moment due to your presence and fear for me life. Please state your name, position, and reason for pulling me over.
End scene.
I waited 5 years to type that monologue and scene out and get it off my brain and onto paper. According to MappingPoliceViolence.org, unarmed black people were killed at 5x the rate of unarmed whites in 2015 and over 100 unarmed Black people were killed by police that year alone.
There came a moment that Summer of 2015 that I became paralyzed with fear to even drive to work. I had nightmares of what if scenarios imagining I was Sandra Bland, Eric Garner, Filando Castille, Michael Brown, Tamir Rice, and so many others. Earlier that year I had just returned to the states from my time over seas working on a cruise ship where these deaths were not reported as widely as they are in America. So returning to this was jarring and playing catch-up.
I became hyper aware of police officers and their vehicles including undercover ones as well. I remember after Sandra Bland’s death I came into work that morning at a community center I worked at upset and shaken. I was the only Black person among the small staff. My boss, an older white woman who I was close to spoke with me and I shared my fear and how I had counted every officer I saw on my way to work just that morning to be safe. I told her that could have been me. Any of these deaths could have been me. No matter how polite, formal, or put together, it became clear to me that it still could have been me just because of the color of my skin. I don’t remember exactly what she said but I know it was from the bible and she made reference to God and how I am not to be fearful and that I was blessed. I know she meant well but what could really be said in that situation that is consoling. The truth was paralyzing enough.
The truth is that it is not up to me and what I say or do or don’t do. It’s not something any individual person can fix and it is a fear and a trauma that will be and already has been passed down to younger generations of people with brown skin. When someone witnesses these deaths and relate to the person due to race, gender, or even community they develop an association between the event and themselves. It doesn’t have to be you to be physically and mentally impacted when a black and brown man or woman is killed by police. The association alone is a dangerous impact and the lack of justice to follow are additional blows to endure. Having no control over the possibility of death by a police officer, I consoled my fear with the monologue above which has defiantly changed as I moved and got married and changed my name. But the heart of it is there. I memorized it, not word for word but I memorized the intention.
Be calm. Don’t get angry. Humanize yourself for them because they can’t do that for themselves. Get personal and be specific. Don’t get angry. Be relatable and try to silence any of their presumed fears so that you do not become a victim nor an aggressor. Share your fear and concern so that they might question their own actions. Get their name and badge number. Do not make sudden movements. Don’t get angry. And no matter what have someone you trust on the phone who can witness the conversation and cross reference who they are and where you are for your own safety. Trust no one but God.
I’m not proud of this. I hate that I even have this stupid monologue. It’s enraging. But what bothers me most is that I need to drive confidently everyday. I need it to engage with any officer in uniform. I refuse to be a victim of a white man or woman’s own fear and intolerance of people who look like me.
It makes my blood boil that this trauma, fear, and pain is becoming normalized. It has already numbed so many. It is even worse when these events occur and you have to go to work and act like everything is okay. Please note that you do not need to act like anything. You have ZERO responsibility to console white discomfort by concealing your own hurt and frustration. I stopped putting on face years ago. If you are going to have a moment of silence in the workplace and acknowledge the death of a celebrity or politician but not that of an unarmed Black person what does that tell your staff of color. It tells me I am not seen. It tells me that it is my problem alone and your white discomfort is more valuable than the death of someone that could have been me.
My Black brothers and sisters, please please take care of your whole self. To say “be safe” is a loaded statement and weighs heavier with every additional death that occurs and goes unjustly treated.
From the bottom of my heart, be safe, take care, and I love you.
