This Is My America(43)

Quincy arrives, taking a seat next to his younger brother, Malcolm. He gives me a nod. Quincy’s been through this session at least six or seven times. He always stays in the back with his headphones on, not fully covering his ears, leg stretched out, and usually outta here before I can say something to him. Today, though, his headphones are off while he reviews the pamphlet with Malcolm. Malcolm’s now thirteen, no longer a boy in the eyes of police or white America.

“Welcome, everyone,” I say. “Let’s go around the room and share why you’re here today.”

“Thought I’d come by and refresh my stuff,” Demarcus says.

“Yeah.” Todd flicks his finger in the air.

I go around the room to a few more people. Malcolm stands up when it’s his turn.

“My sister is a cop.”

Heads turn to him.

“Her and my brother said I should be learning my rights.”

“That’s wassup,” Demarcus says.

Quincy pulls his shoulder-length locs back, taking his time sitting up. I wait to see if he’s going to speak before I start my presentation. He watches me, and with Malcolm here I know he won’t play quiet in the back.



“And what are you here for?” I call him out.

“For you.”

Snickers in the front take over. My face feels hot. I hold back any reaction so they don’t think they can mess with me the entire presentation.

“Didn’t want you presenting to yourself,” Quincy says when the chuckles settle.

“Appreciate that.” I look around the room for anyone else, then begin.

“All right, let’s start with common scenarios.”

I go through the typical variety: being pulled over, walking on the street, coming to the house for questioning. Then I go over an actual stop scenario.

“Safety is always first,” I say. “You’re not in a position of power, and it feels bad. You could be angry, scared, defensive. But that officer doesn’t care how you feel. You’re a suspect, until you’re not. And in that moment, you’re a threat. You have to control your language and your body movements.” I did that first step when the gun was on me at the Pike. Keeping myself still and following directions. I’m lucky it didn’t turn south when I ran out of that building.

“Now show me.” I put my hands up, spreading my fingers and staying still. “Everyone up.”

A few chuckles take place, and only a few people stand.



“I said up.” The rest of the group slowly gets up. “You got a gun on you, a Taser, a dog. Don’t move. Don’t talk back. Breathe in and out slowly to calm your nerves.”

“I don’t think I can stay calm if a cop’s yelling at me,” Malcolm says.

“It’s okay to be afraid,” I say. “Practice helps, but it never fully takes away the fear. Controlling your response can reduce the fear in an officer who’s reading you as a suspect, hiding something. Remember, they’re thinking in split seconds—all the bias goes up.”

“Why do I gotta calm down a professional? Shouldn’t he be breathing in and shit?” Demarcus says.

“They do, but I’m teaching you how to survive. Don’t try and reason. It ain’t fair, but a gun on you isn’t the time to debate. They’ll just twist in their head your confusion for anger.”

“Yeah, they see your black ass and think you a King Kong or something, D.” Todd locks his hands behind his head like he’s been through a few stops himself.

“Number one priority is your safety. Not the time to pop off.” I put my hands down, and the group takes a seat. “You use your resistance in other ways. Follow instructions. Be calm. State you know your rights if what they’re doing’s in violation, but always know who’s got the upper hand.”

“So, heads getting smashed in the ground ain’t the time, then.” An older guy in the front finally speaks.



“Definitely not the time. Now, everyone download the ACLU Blue app. You or someone else gets stopped by police, you can start filming. You can upload immediately. If they confiscate your phone, they can’t delete the video. Or press this button and it goes right to Twitter.” I pass out a handout on rights to film police in Texas.

“If you’re filming, and they tell you to put the phone down, state you have a right via Texas law, even state you’re filming live.”

“Yeah, ’cause if they confiscate your phone, you know it’s not going public,” Todd says. “Sandra Bland’s videos didn’t get out for years.”

“It took ten years for video to go public to prove that BART cop lied about Oscar Grant,” Demarcus says.

“Filming is powerful. The app makes it fast, so you don’t have to think about filming, then getting deleted. What other scenarios do you have?” I ask the group.

“What about in your car?” Todd says. “Music bumping, you’re stopped, and your wallet’s in your pocket or something?”

“As you pull over, turn off your music. Don’t reach. Ever. Keep your wallet in your drink console. ID and insurance inside. Hands out in front, ten and two on the steering wheel. If a gun’s drawn, only move your hands to put them on top of the dashboard. Say ‘Yes, sir. No, sir. Officer.’ The deference brings down their alarm. So you can move on to having a conversation. Always ask the officer for permission if you’re reaching for something. If they look jumpy, don’t move until they’re calm.”