You are living under a rock if you don’t recognize the depth of distrust that festers in the United States between police officers and many African American citizens. Making even small steps towards bridging that gap requires that we talk about these issues with one another—and that we actually listen to one another. There’s not enough of that.
Last Thursday, I was a panelist at a community forum concerning the over-representation of minorities in the criminal justice system. Personally, I think it is something of a national disgrace that the demographics of our jails, prisons, and correctional institutions is so racially skewed.
What we see in the criminal justice system mirrors economic, educational, and other disparities in our society. I can’t solve every social ill that exists in America and contributes to this, but there are some things I can influence. One of those as a police officer is to try my best to treat everyone fairly, and to understand that the perceptions of my fellow citizens may differ.
A good example arose in the discussion Thursday night, and this is now the fourth or fifth time I’ve heard this in recent years. Two men separately described what sounded to me like reasonably routine contacts by the police. In both cases, the contact was brief, no law was violated, and after a short interlude the officer departed. No one was ticketed or arrested. Neither of these men knew the identity of the officer. They both (and many others, judging by the stir in the audience) perceived the fact that the officer departed without any documentation as evidence that he or she was trying conceal their identity.
From my perspective, it sounded different: an officer made a brief and voluntary contact with someone, determined that nothing consequential was occurring, had no reason to delay the person, and went on his or her way.
Contacts like this happen regularly in many different contexts: a brief conversation is engaged, a little body language is assessed, the officer moves on. Sometimes the contact is more formal and serious: police officers have sufficient probable cause to detain someone involuntarily, but further investigation reveals that the person has been mistakenly identified, or other exculpatory evidence is uncovered. In these cases, the arrestee is typically released with no further adieu.
I think these contacts are often perceived quite differently by people of color—particularly young people—than police officers realize. Here’s something we could do in some of these short, informal contacts that do not result in an arrest, citation or report: give the citizen a business card. You don’t have any doubt who I am, or any reason to suspect that I am trying to conceal anything. If you feel that you have been unreasonably treated, you can effectively make a complaint or an inquiry. The second thing I can do is to be sure I explain the reason for the contact.
The third thing I can do—particularly in those situations where we have mistakenly detained people originally thought to be suspects--is to apologize. An apology doesn’t mean that there was no legal basis for the detention, or that I have done anything wrong, it simply means that I am sorry. If your child falls off her bike and scrapes her knee, you tell her “I’m sorry, honey.” You are not sorry because it’s your fault she fell down, you are simply expressing your empathy for the way she feels.
Being wrongly accused or suspected—even briefly—is quite disconcerting. Having been at the bottom of a scrum of police officers in Washington, D.C., I speak from experience. I knew when I started this dust-up that I would be taken down and restrained right along with the suspect. Had I been black, or had I lacked a few years of police experience myself, I imagine I might have seen it differently. It was absolutely the right procedure, but when the appropriate time arrived, I appreciated the empathetic words of Officer Mike Stafford from the uniformed division of the Secret Service.
