What It’s Really Like…Being a White Man Who’s Afraid of the Police
I am a white man, and I have no criminal record. Four speeding tickets between the ages of 17 and 26 are the only unlawful activity I can really claim. There’s no reason in the world that the police should have any interest in me.
But I panic every time I see a police officer anywhere near me.
No human being, innocent or guilty, who encounters the police deserves an automatic death penalty, especially in this nation which is supposed to be a Democracy.
I battle General Anxiety Disorder, so a lot of things make me nervous and uneasy. Few things rattle me like a police car driving behind me.
This is how I feel as a white man. I can’t imagine how all other demographics feel. I have the easiest possible profile of any citizen in America these days — the same gender, race and orientation as our divisive, domineering president — and I still fear the police because of the simple interactions I’ve had in the past. I fear the police because I see in the news just what they’re capable of because of the power they have in wearing the uniform and carrying the gun. I can’t imagine being a Black man who has to fear the treatment police have levied over and over again in recent months on people just like them.
My own experiences with the police have been nothing compared to what we see in the news, but they still haven’t been good.
Once while driving to visit a girlfriend — when I was still a teenage driver — three police cars surrounded me at a four-way-stop intersection in my hometown. They flashed their lights, stopped my car, told me to get out and searched through the back seat and trunk before finally telling me they were looking for a blue 1990s Honda Accord coupe like mine. It turns out someone had robbed a corner convenience store in my home community, and I appeared to match the description.
They let me go, but ever since then I’ve felt more uncomfortable every time I see a police car or anything that has the appearance of an unmarked car. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been irritated because some senior adult or teenager in a dark-windowed Ford Crown Victoria has rode my tail, made me think I’m being followed and then passed me, revealing who was really behind the wheel. It happens often. Every time my heart beats heavy, I sweat a little bit through my hair, and then I slump into my seat, both irritated and relieved I won’t be stopped by a cop.
I once was stopped by a cop in Eastern North Carolina who told me I was weaving across several lanes of traffic on a rural highway. He asked where I had been and if I had been drinking. I had been to an ice cream shop, the flavor I consumed wasn’t even bourbon pecan, and I am certain I wasn’t weaving. When I pulled back onto the road, I remember now, I felt like the cop was just bored and hoping to score a charge.
Every other time I have been stopped by a police car has been for speeding, always between 9 and 12 miles per hour over the speed limit. I got a ticket, never a warning, all four times.
One policewoman in Alabama told me, “Children play here, and you could have hit one back there. You need to drive safer.”
Another cop in the North Carolina foothills asked me, “Where are you going in such a big hurry, son?” I was on my way to a breaking-news event while editor of a small newspaper. I later learned that the same officer had ticketed two other people in our five-person newsroom on that same street.
I have the easiest possible profile of any citizen in America these days — the same gender, race and orientation as our divisive, domineering president — and I still fear the police because of the simple interactions I’ve had in the past.
I’ve always caught a hint of a derogatory tone in each interaction with a police officer. I hate having to know that could happen any time I get on the road or go out in public.
But I am lucky, in a sense. I am a white man, and police don’t react the same way once they stop me that they obviously are, in many cases though not all, prone to interact when they meet a Black man behind the wheel.
About a year ago, I was driving through the country in western North Carolina when I noticed a sheriff’s deputy was following me. He trailed me closely for 11 miles before finally turning off and going a different way than me. Would he have stopped me if I had been Black and not white?
Every time I see a story about a Black man being shot by police, I wonder why they must face such cruelty when all I face is a little discomfort in similar interactions. So many of these news stories happen as results of what appear to be simple traffic stops or calls for service. Truly, what is the difference between me and human beings like Ahmaud Arbery, Jacob Blake, George Floyd and countless other men who’ve faced a tragic result when they encounter the police?
In so many instances, police appear to be incredibly quick to pull the trigger. How are there not other ways to respond first? Is it all about trying to be first to fire in an effort to shoot and not be shot? Police work is dangerous, as so many officers and their family members know too well. If any officer feels the need to shoot fast as a means of protection, they’re probably not in the right career. And why should that approach be any different based on the demographic of the person you’re encountering?
One of my family members loves to point out their opinion that crime stories always involve a Black person. How much more racist and wrong can you get? That is simply not true. If you check out the arrest reports and the “who’s in jail” logs of local law enforcement agencies in our community, you quickly see that the races of the offenders are pretty evenly split.
Many police officers obviously see crime as Black and white, just like my family member. And one way or another that has to stop.
As a nation, the United States of America is as divided as it has ever been. But the heart of the Black Lives Matter movement, the people who are out there truly fighting for something real and reasonable, has nothing to do with divisive politics or even race. It’s about humanity. Simply put, lives matter, folks. It doesn’t matter if you’re a Democrat, Republican or independent voter. If you don’t have a soft heart for all of humanity, you need to reassess your priorities.
Not all cops are bad. One police chief in my community is among the nicest and most considerate people I know. But that’s an exception to the rule that many cops just don’t have all of the public’s safety in mind when they’re on the job.
I’m scared to death every time a police officer comes anywhere near me because I fear the costs of another ticket or arrogant interaction. But that’s nothing. Men like me, other than their race, face death when they meet police, just because of the color of their skin.
Every time I see a story about a Black man being shot by police, I wonder why they must face such cruelty when all I face is a little discomfort… Truly, what is the difference between me and human beings like Ahmaud Arbery, Jacob Blake, George Floyd and countless other men who’ve faced a tragic result when they encounter the police?
Many police officers obviously see crime as Black and white, just like my family member. And one way or another that has to stop. It may not be me who’s most at danger to get shot, but it doesn’t make me feel any better seeing so many cases where officers are so quick to draw and fire.
No human being, innocent or guilty, who encounters the police deserves an automatic death penalty, especially in this nation which is supposed to be a Democracy. But that’s what we’re all learning could be our fate any time we meet an officer on the street. That’s terrifying, and I’m just a white man.
“What it’s Really Like…” is a regular series by North Carolina writer and author Matthew Tessnear, who writes mostly about mental health, food and history from his perspective in the American South. You can follow him on Twitter @MatthewTessnear.
