Tribute to Skip Gates Upon His Arrest for Breaking into His Own House

I saw the highway patrol officer across the highway right away. We, my two daughters, my youngest brother, and I were pushing through Oklahoma City in early fall 1999. I consider myself pretty well versed in the art of spotting police. I cannot exactly tell you why, but I think mainly because I have been pulled over so many times, then let go without a citation. Aptly, I think, I find that vile and humiliating.

He must have been about half a mile up the road, headed in the opposite direction, on a six lane highway. I thought I was safe, but wouldn't you know it: as soon as he passed us, I looked through my rear-view mirror and saw him make a u-turn across the median, (dust flying everywhere) and quite awkwardly proceed to position himself directly behind us. He began to follow.

We were driving across country first to Pine Bluff, Arkansas, then to our final stop in Atlanta. I was temporarily relocating to Atlanta to complete a master's program in English. I do not look upon that time fondly now because I know how much the move would later cost me, but I digress--the cop was on my tail. He was obvious, and I was pissed.

I imagine this is the sort of thing to which people who don't have this experience cannot relate. They might wonder why I am angry. They may ask what my concern would be if I were not doing anything wrong. They may suggest that I was acting rashly. Now, keep in mind, I consider myself very sensible today. Most people who know me would say I appear cool, cool, calm--especially when pressured. A colleague of mine once told me that he'd read that that was one characteristic of an effective leader; one who can remain calm (at least appear poised) under the sort of stress that buckles others. I can remain temperate and speak clearly when under stress. But, and I say emphatically, BUT, that does not mean that I am devoid of the same emotional responses that others experience. I just know how to side step the emotion to revisit it at a more private time. This is all theoretical. When the cop in Oklahoma City pulled me over I could not contain my rage. I saw him from across the highway. I guess he saw me too.

Of course I was driving the speed limit. Of course I was not driving under the influence. Of course I was not running drugs, or guns, or anything else. I was off to school. My little brother was in the passenger seat and my daughters, 8 and 6 were in the back. There was no reason for me to have any concern, right?

Well, the cop was right on my tail as I told myself there was no reason for him to stop me. I signalled right, moved over and waited for him to pass. He didn't pass, however. He turned on his pull-over lights and ordered me on his loud speaker to pull off immediately. I did. I did not feel like I did the first time I got pulled over, at sixteen; afraid and nervous, wishing to be forgiven for my mistake--not having my headlights on during dusk (LOL). This time, at 31, I wanted to scream at him for messing with me. Him and all his lot. Constantly messing with me. I'm trying to go about my business, live my life peacefully and successfully. Always messing with me.

African Americans have a strained relationship with the law. The law and law enforcement has historically been the apparatus to which those in power relied upon to maintain their power. Law enforcement works at the lowest end of the scale of oppression throughout the world--keeping systems of brutality and exploitation in command. They have done so physically and psychologically through the use of terror and the threat of terror. That terror is exacted upon communities that do not have the power of legal recourse nor the power of voice. When no one with the power of voice, say a good attorney or an Internet blogger speaks to the conditions of those without access, no one really knows or really cares.

We can survey history and look at the examples of Emmett Till, Fannie Lou Hamer, Amadou Diallo, and the tens of thousands of unnamed and unaccounted for African Americans crushed through their experience with the American justice system. Over the course of history we have also seen furious city explosions resulting from this imbalance of power. It always starts with a stop.

Communities almost always accept this reality with the idea that if we can avoid the police, we can avoid their influence. We can stay out of the snare. Now I promise you, I did nothing wrong. The cop's red and blue lights flashed in my tired eyes and I pulled over, fuming.

He walked to the passenger side window and glared at my little brother--who by the way does nothing for a living but teach and play chess. He is nearly a grand master, yet the cop surveyed him and looked inside the car. He looked into the back seat at my daughters. I am certain he didn't think about how they ranked with their classmates or what their grandparents call them for nicknames. Little girls.

"Why am I being stopped, Officer?"

"You didn't signal your lane change."

Breathe. "Yes, I did." I cannot hold it. "I did signal. And I saw you turn around from the other side of the highway and come directly here."

He looked closely at my little brother.

"Where y'all headed?"

"Atlanta, I am a student and my brother doesn't sell drugs or carry guns."

"You've got quite a chip on your shoulders ma'am."

"I don't think I do. I know how you treat black people, is all."

"Let me see your license and registration."

"It's a rental," I say as I hand him my license.

He walks behind the car and I grab my head and cuss him out under my breath. I draw from some of the words we used in South Oxnard, California, during the seventies when we saw police driving down the block. Bacon. We were all black or brown, poor or comfortably middle class, and we all had the same feelings and experiences with the police. We did not trust them because they didn't trust us.

The highway patrolman returned, handed me my license, and said, "Thank you, you can go. You also might want to do something about that chip on your shoulder."

I pursed my lips and said, "Unh, huh." And off we drove.