No more ‘yes, sir’

No more ‘yes, sir’
March 28, 2012|By Mac D’Alessandro

WHEN I was a kid growing up in Chicago in the 1970s, my two white parents told their two adopted black children that the only words we should ever utter if stopped by Chicago Police were “yes, sir.’’ This was not out of some insidious desire to raise black men who “knew their place.’’ Instead, it was a defense mechanism - a precautionary measure to the very real danger that the slightest bit of expressed indignation, even if legitimate, could result in being physically assaulted or worse, if you encountered the wrong police officer.

I remembered that advice all too viscerally in the past couple of weeks as I read about the shooting death of Trayvon Martin, the 17-year-old African-American who was killed while carrying a bag of candy and an iced tea by a Hispanic neighborhood watch captain. I tried to figure out why I seemed incapable of doing what I’d successfully done so many times before, step far enough back from an unpleasantness to ensure my role is that of observer, not participant. Then it hit me: I’ve been a participant in this story my whole life.

The first time I remember using my parents’ precautionary measure, I was 12 and waiting for the school bus in front of my house. Instead of a bright yellow bus pulling up to take me to school, a police cruiser pulled up. I was grabbed by my hair, tossed into the back of the car, and taken several blocks to a crime scene. Then, I was pulled out of the squad car, again by my hair, and thrust in front of a white woman who was sobbing hysterically on the ground while being tended to by police and paramedics.

I realized much later that this woman had been assaulted, but I had no clue at the time because I was a victim myself. The officer holding my hair asked the woman, “Is this the one?’’ to which she managed through trembling sobs to respond, “No.’’ I don’t remember much from that day other than the wave of relief that washed over me after I’d been exonerated; the rage I felt when that officer grabbed my hair again to pull me into the car to take me home, where I was dropped off as though nothing had happened; and the confusion I felt after being invaded by injustice and rage for the first time. At no time during this entire incident did I utter anything other than “yes, sir.’’

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And now, I fear, these costs can no longer be contained. In light of the death of Trayvon Martin, I am left to wonder what my response would be to being stopped by some fellow citizen and asked what I’m doing in a certain place at a certain time. It is one thing to have borne the cost of all that swallowed pride and lost dignity and pent up anger deferring, albeit as a precaution, to those who we are all supposed to defer to - police. It is something entirely different if this country now expects me to walk around saying “yes, sir’’ to anyone who thinks I don’t belong on a street or in a neighborhood. There’s no more room inside to swallow any more pride or dignity, and I have found that anger and confusion have become indigestible.

More:
http://articles.boston.com/2012-03-28/opinion/31245278_1_squad-car-defense-mechanism-chicago-police