Injustice

There are hundreds of people walking this street every day. And since it’s near a college campus, there’s a pretty diverse crowd that comes through. Men, women, boys, girls, professors, students, parents, and just about every variation of the former list. There’s usually a police car camping out on this street also – maybe for safety or maybe just to catch somebody doing something wrong. Of all the times I’ve passed this road, I’ve never seen the police talk to anybody. They usually just sit in the car, and get paid to watch people pass by. But this particular night, they felt they had a reason to talk to a certain young man.

There was a boy walking down the street, probably about 18 or 19 years of age. He was African-American, wearing baggy pants, a baggy black shirt, a backpack, and a durag. He walked right past the police car, and for some reason, they thought they had a reason to question him. From across the street all that I could tell was going on was the officer stopping the young man, and a couple minutes later began to search his belongings. The young man looked irritated, as if he was in a hurry to be somewhere and they had interrupted his journey. One police man opened his backpack and began searching, while a second police man patted him down.

By this time they had finished searching the young man and his things, and apparently had found nothing worth arresting him for. I was now walking back across the street, and I heard the police officer say, “Sorry for the inconvenience, it’s just, you were wearing all black and…”. The officer seemed to have no real excuse for searching the gentlemen. The young man gave the officer a scouring look, picked up his backpack and continued to walk away. The two police officers sheepishly got back in their car and drove away. As the young man walked away, he passed me, and I heard him say under his breath, “Damn pigs…”.