Unjust Treatment, by Otis Funches Jr.

“Sit your ass down, boy!”

These harsh words came from a “citizen protecting” police officer. I remember this day like it was yesterday. It was about 7:30 p.m. on a Tuesday in July earlier this year on Detroit’s west side. When I came back from baseball practice, I sometimes dropped off my teammate Justin, who lived directly behind the neighborhood high school where we practiced. Justin would usually walk home, but due to how dark it was getting, I offered to take him home. As soon as I turned a corner, a car came zooming down the street. I calmly waited for the driver to pass me because I had to turn down the street as well.          

One block down, I saw the police flashing their lights. I then pulled over, thinking that they were going to pass me, but then I realized there were two police cars. One passed me to get the speeding car and the other stopped behind my car. What did I do wrong? I focused on staying calm, being polite, and making no sudden movements.

After several minutes a police officer finally approached my car. He asked if the car was mine, to which I replied yes. The police officer also asked for my license and registration. I assumed he ran both through the system. He finally came back to the car after several more minutes, and asked if I knew the person in the car ahead of me that had been pulled over, I answered no. Then he asked my friend and me to get out of the car with our hands showing. We got out and the officer put handcuffs on us and sat us down on the curb. I stood up and asked  if we were under arrest and, if so, on what charges. At this point, the most unforgettable thing happened to me. He commanded me, “Sit your ass down, boy!” and aggressively pushed me to the curb.

At that time I felt scared, confused, embarrassed, hopeless, sad, and mostly frustrated. All those emotions were coursing through me, and all I could do was sit down, shut up, and wait for what was about to happen next. The officers began to search my car, a 2003 Ford Mustang, and came back asking again if I knew the car ahead of me. I again replied no and the officer proceeded to tell me that he pulled me over because I was riding too close to the speeding car. I felt that that wasn’t the true reason, nor was it a legit reason. This could’ve been a case of bad timing and being in the wrong place, but I felt they profiled me because I was a black male driving a nice car in a bad neighborhood.

The cuffs were finally taken off of me with the police officers saying, “Your car is clean and you’re free to go.” I had no words. Was I supposed to “thank you”? I hadn’t did done anything wrong! What was their cause in pulling me over, putting handcuffs on me, embarrassing me and talking to me with no respect? This is when I realized that slavery is not dead but wears a uniform and calls itself justice.