Showing posts with label racial profiling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label racial profiling. Show all posts

Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Existing While Brown or Black in America

In light of what happened yesterday in Ferguson, Missouri, and the numerous comments I saw about how the police would never harass or harm anyone who wasn't doing something wrong, etc., etc., I'm reposting a blog I wrote for Writers Who Kill immediately after Michael Brown was killed.



In all the turmoil around #Ferguson, Missouri, right now, I notice the inevitable outcries from parts of the white community that the police wouldn’t shoot and kill Michael Brown for nothing, that he must have brought it on himself in some way by his own lawless behavior. Perhaps. We haven’t had a real investigation yet, and only when a stringent, trustworthy investigation has been made will we know all the facts of the situation. From the facts we do know, however, it looks unlikely that Brown did anything so major that it would have warranted taking his life. But to many white, middle-class people who are never hassled and threatened by police as they move through daily life, it seems that surely Brown and all these other unarmed African American, Latino, and Native men killed by police every year must have brought it on themselves through some fault of their own.

So allow me to tell a little story from my own life. In Kansas City, Missouri, where I live, the police used to be as undisciplined and out of control as the Ferguson and St. Louis police. A crisis finally forced the city to crack down, bring in a strong police chief to rebuild the force, and reorganize the police force around the motto of “Protect and Serve.” It’s not a perfect police force now, of course, but it’s plagued by less racial profiling and unnecessary civilian deaths than most urban forces today.

Back when Kansas City’s force was like the Ferguson and St. Louis departments we’re seeing on the news right now, pointing loaded rifles and screaming obscenities and death threats at unarmed demonstrators and reporters, I lived with my late first husband, Michael Rodriguez. Mike was a decorated veteran of Vietnam, married to me with two little kids, working a white-collar, full-time job as manager of a printing supply company branch, going to college at night, and the most non-violent and non-criminal person anyone could imagine. A fire station stood on the corner of the block where his company offices were, and several of the firefighters who were also Vietnam veterans had made friends with him since this was when no one in this country wanted to hear what these guys had gone through. This fact later saved his life.

 One evening in winter when twilight came early, Mike was the last one out of his office, as usual, since he locked up at night and opened up in the mornings. He found his car’s battery had died and called a cab to come take him home. While he stood outside his own offices, dressed in a business suit, waiting for his cab to arrive, two policemen pulled up, got out of their police cruiser, and started harassing him. They shoved him back and forth between them, called him racial slurs, searched him, and found nothing but his wallet, keys, and a tube of prescription ointment for psoriasis in his pockets. One then told the other, “We could shoot this motherfucker and say we thought that was a gun.” Kansas City police had just shot a fourteen-year-old African American boy three days before, claiming they thought the comb in his pocket was a gun—and they got away with it.


Mike thought he would die on that spot, leaving me a young widow with a baby and a toddler and no way for his kids or anyone to know that he had never done anything to deserve it. His firefighter friends had seen what was happening, however, and came out calling his name and asking what was going on and if he needed help. The cops told them to go away, but the firefighter veterans stood there watching until Mike’s cab came, and he got safely away.

If you talk with people of color, you will hear story after story like this. A friend of mine who is a well-known white mystery writer married to an African American (extremely successful) artist just went out and bought all new dress business suits for her husband who, like most artists, normally wears jeans and T-shirts to work in, in the hopes that this will keep the New York City police from stopping and harassing him as he must travel through her city from home to his workplace and back. He must dress up for the commute, only to change into jeans and T-shirt at work, and then reverse the process to go home. White people don’t face this kind of treatment by law enforcement in their own lives, and it sounds so crazy and unreal to them that they assume people of color are exaggerating or making it up out of whole cloth, understandably, but this kind of harassment, threat, and fear is a part of daily life in communities of color all over this country.



Racism is a fixture of American life, but if allowed to flourish openly and unchecked, it won’t stop with communities of color. With the rising militarization of the police forces of large cities and small towns, I would caution my white friends to learn from our experiences. If this kind of behavior is allowed to continue and grow, it will eventually overflow into the white communities, beginning with poor and working-class communities and eventually moving up the socioeconomic ladder. It’s a matter of power and control, even beyond the matter of race and ethnicity.


Whether we know it or not, all of us in the United States have a vested interest in the Ferguson situation. Americans need to have a thorough, unbiased investigation of the Brown killing first, but then we need a reorganization of the Ferguson and St. Louis police forces and other similar departments, such as New York City, like the one Kansas City went through, and we also need a national discussion of the growing militarization of our police departments, large and small, and what we as citizens want to do about this growing threat.

REPLIES TO COMMENTS because Blogger won't let me comment on my own blog:

Anonymous, thank you! I'm glad this helped you to see a different perspective. It's what I was hoping for. I think the actual bad racists are a small minority. I do think that most white people are sheltered by their own unseen privilege (for which they are not to blame since they didn't ask for it, but from which they have benefited) from seeing the realities people of color live with daily. My experience is that, when they learn what is really going on, many white people join in the fight against racism and for equality.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Radio Interview, Protest Poetry, and Racial Profiling

In art we try to find or make patterns in life. Sometimes, life just hands us the patterns without any disguise or dissemblance. I ran into that recently when an issue discussed in a radio interview reared up again in my real life.

To begin, here’s the link to the great interview Michael Medrano and David Campos did with me for their radio program, Pakatelas!, in Fresno, CA, on station KFCF 88.1FM. Much talk about the blog in it. Also, I’ve included below the poem about Arizona’s SB1070 that I read on the radio. (And I can't keep Blogger from double-spacing it throughout. My apologies.)

FEAR AND GUILT: AGAINST SB 1070 IN ARIZONA

When they stop the brown faces,

the Chicanos, the Indians,

when they say, “Show me your papers!”,

when only the white people walk free

without fear of being accosted

and arrested,

I want to tell them

their real fear comes from guilt.

Their ancestors killed the People,

the ones who were originally here.

They stole a continent.

Now they are afraid

that what goes around comes around.

It’s the Indigenous in the mestizos coming here

that they fear, can’t stand.


I am trying to swallow rage.

I am trying to remember

that my purpose is to heal

what has so long been broken.

I am trying to remember

that I know so many white people

who are outraged by this law, as well.

I am trying not to remember

the way they drove my ancestors

like cattle across the country in winter,

leaving a trail of the very young, the very old,

the too-weak-to-make-it behind in graves

scratched by hand from the frozen dirt.


And now they want us to show them proof

that we belong to the land they stole.

Does understanding the language of the heron

constitute proof of belonging?

Does listening to the wind?

Respecting the sacredness of corn?

Caring for the land?

Do they forget that the state they live in

was taken by force of arms,

that they once signed a treaty

giving full citizenship rights

to those who lived there,

that many of those brown faces in Arizona

have been there generations

longer than the earliest white faces?


It is more than I can handle, this hot anger,

this break in harmony with the world.

I must turn to the ancestors,

to the spirit world.

Give me strength and sense

to deal with this outrage.

Grant me to hi dv, the peace that starts within.

Help all of us draw together

to a s qua dv, triumph over oppressing powers.

You who were responsible for the survival

of following generations, even under conditions

that seemed to dictate that the People must die,

lend us your courage and your wisdom

as we fight against this unfair and callous law.

We will be shrewd and clever as you were.

We will not allow them to win.

Not this time.

Never again.

© 2010 Linda Rodriguez

As many of you probably know, several states have followed Arizona’s example and enacted similar (or even more severe) laws. Both of the states I deal with in my daily life, Missouri and Kansas, have wanted to pass similar laws, but haven’t been able to do it yet. In fact, Kris Kobach, who wrote this law for Arizona, is now Secretary of State in Kansas.

Ben and I drove down to Topeka, KS, for the Fourth of July to celebrate with my sister and her son and one of my brothers. On the drive back to Kansas City that evening, we were pulled over for routine traffic stop in Lawrence, KS. At that time, we discovered that Ben’s license had expired a few days before, and he had not realized it. So the police officer took his license back to her police car to run it for other offenses (none, of course) and to write up a ticket. This took quite a while—about 15-20 minutes. She came back with the ticket and asked if I had a valid license so I could drive the rest of the way home. I nodded and pulled it out so she could see. I saw her eyes widen as she saw my name, and suddenly she had to take my license also to run it. At the same time, she called another cop who had been at the other end of the block to come and stand guard by the passenger door of the car where I sat. I assume this was to guarantee that I did not bolt for freedom. (Both times she had come up to the car, she had approached the driver’s door.) This officer started asking me where I was from, what I was doing, where I was born, where I was going and why.

We sat for another 15-20 minutes while the first officer, I believe, tried to find a way to arrest me for being an illegal alien and my white husband of an English last name for transporting me (illegal in KS) while her colleague stood at my window keeping me from escaping. Fortunately, Kansas has not yet passed its Arizona-clone law. In the end, they had to let us go.

I do not carry my passport or my birth certificate on me routinely, nor should I have to. No one in this country should have to carry proof that they were born here and are citizens. “Show your papers” used to be the cry of the totalitarian states. I hate to see it become the de facto law of the land here. If an Arizona-like law were on the books in Kansas, Ben and I would have not been able to keep ourselves out of jail. They don’t accept just drivers licenses there, saying they can be too easily forged, the same thing they say about birth certificates and passports.

I am afraid of what is happening to my country.