Twenty-one years ago, on a snowy winter evening, my youngest sister picked me up at 79th and the Red Line to take me home after work. At the time I lived on Champlain in Chatham. We noticed a squad car pull in behind us and make each turn as we wound our way through one-way streets, but we figured they must be going in the same direction. As we pulled up and parked in front of my building, a voice on a loudspeaker said, “Get out of the car with your hands up in front of you!”
My sister and I looked at each other and didn’t know whether to laugh or be upset. We followed direction and got out, slipping in the snow because it’s hard to maintain balance with your hands up.
Another squad pulled up and then another, all white cops save one. They walked up, surrounding us, and I asked, “What’s going on?” They replied that there had been a stickup in the area and our car fit the description. Never mind what we were driving. When two almost-50-year-old women get out of said vehicle, both very nicely dressed, one in business attire, that should have been the end of it. However, they called for a female cop, who was white. She gave us each a very intimate frisk while two others searched our car.
As this was all happening, I looked up. All my neighbors stood watching from their windows on this block of three-flats, and I was glad! The cops followed my line of vision and saw what I saw. My neighbors may have wondered what we had done, but at least they saw us. And this happened in an all-black neighborhood.
When they were done, they got in their cars and left. No apology.
I’ve tried not to think about it because when I do, it messes with my peace. My sis and I didn’t talk about it for a very long time. Now it’s time. Recent events have stirred the pot of distasteful memories. This experience is not isolated. It’s the black experience in this America. But now we have cameras and social media.
— Northa Johnson, Chicago
From intellectual to heartfelt outrage
In a sense, I have always known it.
In the 1960s or ’70s, if someone had asked me if I thought that a black man had much higher odds of being treated brutally by police personnel than a white man like me, I’m certain I would have said, “Yes, I’m sure that’s true.”
I guess it’s one thing to know it in your head as I did for all those years.
The first video of police brutality against a black man I saw was in 1991 — Rodney King. And in recent years, especially since the advent of the smartphone, after seeing so many similar, wrenching videos of police brutality, I have come to know it viscerally, in my gut: This is wrong, this must stop.
This time is different. I feel the exhaustion of the protesters in a deeply personal way. I especially relate to the older protesters, no doubt because I’m a senior myself.
These black Americans, my fellow citizens, have lived their whole lives trying to be patient while waiting to be treated like first-class citizens — treatment that I receive every day and take for granted.
And recently, in the twilight of their years, these black Americans have been given ample reason to wonder when — if ever — their dream of true equality will become a reality, even for their kids and grandkids. No one can blame these human beings for being exhausted and out of patience.
Now I feel it in my heart.
My days of demonstrating in the streets are over. But I do pledge that, from this day forward, appropriate police reform and oversight will be one of my top priorities in evaluating elected officials’ performance, and candidates’ worthiness of my support. This must stop now.
— Barry Dockswell, Pompano Beach, Florida
Friendship born of mutual faith
Sixty-five years ago in Montreal, a young Jewish boy named Douglas was beaten up if he crossed to the other side of his street because that was where the French Canadians lived. Fifty- five years ago in Tennessee, a young black boy named Richard was beaten up if he took the shortcut to school because he wasn’t supposed to walk through the white part of town. Today in 2020, that Jewish boy named Douglas can drive through Kenilworth after dark without fear of repercussions. However, that black boy named Richard still cannot drive through Highland Park at night without fear of the police.
I know this because Douglas Goldhamer is our rabbi. And Richard Mercer, associate pastor of Tabernacle Missionary Baptist Church, is his best friend. When the Rev. Mercer was ordained as a Baptist minister, Rabbi Goldhamer was at his side, with a panel of other ministers, laying their hands on his head to bless him. Since then, they have shared their pulpits many times, uniting their two congregations, one black and one white, in fellowship and understanding.
We are very proud of Rabbi Goldhamer and the Rev. Mercer. They are models for the kindness and compassion that our nation desperately needs today.
— Laura G. Schwartz, president, Congregation Bene Shalom, Skokie
Perspective of a Vietnam veteran
As a Vietnam combat veteran, I remember well the attitude in this country toward those in uniform in the 1960s and ’70s. In movies, in protests, in the press, we were all considered psychotic, racist baby killers. It wasn’t cool to be in uniform. The nation eventually apologized some 20 years later.
I fear the same thing is happening now as all police officers are routinely portrayed in protests, in the press, in celebrity tweets, as brutal racists enforcing a flawed justice system.
I hope we as a nation do not make the same mistake we made 50 years ago: To assign to all members of a group the adjectives that define the worst of them, is blatant prejudice and is the antithesis of meaningful dialogue.
— Tom Bowes, Oak Lawn
Defaming all based on the few
Like many, I know a few police officers.
Like many, I know not to categorize them all into one narrow group of racist and unfeeling men and women.
Though it may be unpopular to say it now, isn’t that akin to racism — in which hate results when all are judged by the negative actions of a few?
Yes, we need police reform. But keep in mind, who else can be called when need arises for an accident, a burglary, a robbery or a threat in some other way?
How many of us have able-bodied good neighbors who can be counted on to come to our aid at all hours of the day and night? No man is an island.
We need to say thank you to those who routinely risk life and limb for not just family, but also for the community.
— Sandra Riordan, Ivanhoe
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