Making good on the promise...my most recent Hilltop article

Hey everyone,

Hope you all have a great day, I am about to get ready for work, but wanted to share the story of my experience with the PG police a few years ago. Please note that I am not bitter, I don't hate cops; I am disappointed though with the fear that exists in many law enforcement officers that causes them to treat people as if they were less than. Just imagine for a second, if officers had shot a beloved generic pet such as a cat or dog 50 times what an outrage there would be with the masses; yet a young black man, Sean Bell, is shot 50 times by NYPD and it hardly makes a blip on the national radar nor were the officers convicted of any wrongdoing. Such imbalance is a daily reality for many people across this land, especially minorities; that is why I want to share this with you, that you make your own stand for justice and stay mindful of the struggle of people from every walk of life on a daily basis.

"Put your hands behind your back!" Five years at Howard and I had only heard the phrase aloud while I watched television and movies. Although aware of injustice against many young men who looked like me, I vowed never to be in that position by simply never getting into trouble. That night, I found out trouble finds you; and all too often it can at the hands of those who have sworn to "serve and protect." As black people, we are inundated with day to day news of our people being harassed by police. In the past decade, celebrities, professionals, and even D.C.’s former mayor, Marion Barry, have all experienced the phenomenon that has come to be known as “driving while black.” The weekend before my spring break would constitute a new experience, as I was caught “biking while black.”

*Taken from The Hilltop, Howard University's school newspaper


At approximately 8:30 p.m. on March 16, 2007, in Hyattsville, Maryland, I was approached by the police as I rode to the intersection of the Volta Ave and Rhode Island Avenue on my bicycle. I had just received directions from a friend with whom I was going to see her brother and his band at a local club. Once stopped, the officers inquired of my whereabouts and I informed them of my friend's concert and that I had just received directions. I was then asked where I lived and I told him the location of my residence as well as the school I attended. Inquiries about why I was so far from home surfaced and I again informed him of my friend’s concert and that I had traveled via bus and bike. I even offered evidence of my bus pass. He refused, and demanded to see my ID. I expressed my confusion as to why I was being stopped only to be given an elusive response that alluded to a robbery in the area but said nothing about a handgun. I was directed to sit on the ground, as he placed his hand on his gun. Given such a nonverbal cue, I quickly complied, and sat on the curb. He then requested ID and I offered him my Howard University ID, only to be told that it was insufficient and was commanded to produce my driver's license, which I did. As I sat there solemnly agitated, I told him that I would need his badge number. He ignored me and requested to search my backpack and of course, I acquiesced. I pulled out my phone and called my Mother so that there would at least be some other type of witness besides myself and the four armed officers.  As I was on the phone with my Mother, I watched him unzip my bag, pull out the contents, and literally throw them into the air on the windshield soaking my reading and school materials. I informed my Mom of this as she tried to comfort me by telling me to stay calm.

As a natural reaction to cold, and in an attempt to calm I put my hand in my pocket for warmth, then another officer told me to take my hand out of my jacket, and I did so. I was then told by on of the four officers to stand against the fence. I complied, and asked the officer for a badge number the second time. One of the officers exclaimed that I needed to “cool out or his badge number was going to be on my arrest record.” I told them that I was complying with everything that was being asked of me. As I stood in the assumed position, I was asked by one of the officers why I was on the phone. I told him I was on the phone with my Mom. He then said that I didn't need to be on the phone with my mother because I was a “grown man and didn’t need to be on the phone with my Mom and literally ripped the phone away from my hands while I was in mid-sentence. Upon their instruction, I turned around to see an officer pulling a kitchen knife out of my bag. The lead officer then asked what I was doing with a kitchen knife I informed him that I used it in my meals when I ate in my student council office, a fact to which my former staff members can attest to. (Amazingly, he never found the fork which was there as well.) I continued to stand there, in the freezing cold on a deserted street surrounded by four armed officers.

He told me to sit on the ground again. I did so and he explained to me why I was stopped. He said there was a call about an armed robbery in the area and that I fit the description. Quite certain that the ‘description’ did not include a black male on a bike with a Howard ID, I told him what they did was unwarranted and that they had no right to harass me, especially when they saw that I had no gun. I told him I would need his badge number. He said, "You want my badge number, go ahead and put your hands behind your back." I did so, and was arrested and charged with a felony, carrying a concealed deadly weapon. After being frisked four times that evening, I would be strip searched as well before the night was over. Thanks to the grace of God and fast thinking on my parents and Grandmother’s part, they were able to find the jail I was in. I sat through most of the night telling my story to countless others who were brought in on narcotics charges and others for domestic abuse. While I was being processed, the officers taking my fingerprints and mugshot could only shake their heads in disbelief when I told them what I was brought in for. I made calls throughout the day, the hardest being the ones to my grandparents, as I held back the seething anger and hot tears to the best of my ability. Although my bail was posted by four o’ clock the next morning, I was not released until five o’ clock in the evening. In the thirteen hours I endured of monotony and isolation, I reflected on how ironic it was that in all the places I had been in my five years at Howard and seventeen years in the Deep South, nothing even remotely close had ever happened. Yet, here I was, two months from graduating from one of the top schools in the world and I am here in this jail cell waiting to be released for a bail that has already been posted for a charge that didn’t have two legs to stand on in the first place.

Upon my release and my last two months at Howard, I learned several important lessons along the way. In my last semester at the Mecca, I sat in on a class with a giant in the field of African-American studies, Dr. Carr; One day in class, the subject of the police came up and they were referred to by some members of the class as “frustrated cowboys.” I was confused as to what this meant until this debacle. To be subject to the fear and insecurities of several armed “men” allowed me to understand what my favorite rapper meant when he said that “there’s a thousand Rodney Kings that don’t make the news.” It was in this experience that I came to fully know the truest meaning of family and friends. To be able to call on loved ones, knowing that they trust you, as well as the veracity of your account is a privilege that many do not have. This was evident in my great uncle waiting literally all day for my release without even a sigh of complaint. Yet in the midst of these lessons one stood out in front of them all, the in“justice” system that continues to thrive here in America. How is a felony charge levied against someone who has a kitchen knife and a fork in their backpack? What was in my backpack was no different than what many people have in their cars, not to mention the damage that has been done with writing utensils in fights. Adding insult to an already dubious situation was the masterful job of the arresting officer’s fable, also known as his police report. In his “account” he alleged that I refused to give him my ID (I gave him two) and that I tossed my backpack at him after I acquiesced to his searching my belongings. He said that it landed with a “loud metallic clang.” Now let’s get this straight, I had a full backpack of school materials, along with my dining utensils, (i.e. the “deadly weapon”) and was surrounded by four armed officers, yet I decided to toss my backpack at them after I already agreed to their search of my belongings? If you believe that, then I have several sandboxes on Miami Beach that you might be interested in purchasing.

To top it all off, two thousand dollars later the case went to court, but an actual trial never occurred because the officers could not produce the knife in the courtroom even after a recess was granted. So after I spent several paychecks to defend my future advancement after matriculating from Howard, the officers went on their donut break. It is situations such as these that have made me grateful for my time at Howard, for it is the core values that we hold so dear that must guide in all aspects of life. Leadership, excellence, truth and service must be the beacon that guides us day to day in all of our dealings with others whose light remains more dim than bright. This is accomplished through remaining vigilant and aware of the struggles that blacks go through, particularly at the hands of those who have sworn to “protect and serve.”

Perhaps a feature can be submitted in the following weeks detailing student’s rights when dealing with the police so that my fellow students might never experience my ordeal for themselves. For the time being, I will no longer ride my bike alone at night.

Regardless of your course of study, we as Howard students and alumni have an innate responsibility to reach beyond the confines of our dorms, offices, and the Yard and effect the world around us. As one of the top politically active universities in the nation and world, the call of justice and equality beckons for us to follow her and join her zeal and passion for all. This is manifested in our action through organized protests, financial support, or even in the thoughtful stroke of the pen. It is only in this manner that we can boldly proclaim truth and fully realize the fruits of our ancestor’s tears, struggles, and dreams. I thank the Hilltop for making the voice of the struggle heard in the face of opposition, duplicity and apathy.