Collar(ed) city

Last Wednesday, N. and I went to Troy to catch some live music and enjoy the sunshine while it lasted. It has been a very rainy spring, hasn’t it?  Ryan’s Wake hosted a great evening out and we would happily truck over to Troy again for some midweek fun. 

At one point, as I stood alone while N. visited with some friends, I noticed a bicyclist riding across the Green Island Bridge above me. Behind him, there was a city police car with its lights on. Hmm. I became curious, especially after a second police car joined the first on the bridge.

Impulsively, I began walking towards the situation, passing through the parking lot and up the ramp to the bridge where I saw a third, and then a fourth car, pull up. I arrived on the bridge and posted myself perhaps 10 yards from the interaction between the cyclist and the police officers. 

A young officer approached me and questioned my interest. I told him I was just there as an observer. The police were questioning the man they had detained and the situation seemed pretty calm. The officer again suggested I move along as he informed me that the police were dealing respectfully with the man and that there was no need for me to continue hanging around. 

I explained that I appreciated his perspective and that, should I be asked, would be happy to relate that I had witnessed a respectfully managed detainment/arrest. I expressed that 4 police vehicles, as well as an officer who had followed me from the show to the bridge, seemed a bit excessive for a single man on a bicycle. He assured me that my perspective meant nothing. 

I guess he didn’t really appreciate my presence.

While I stood there at a distance from the action, I considered what I was doing and why. I didn’t have my phone with me, so I wasn’t documenting what was happening. I didn’t know any of the involved, so it wasn’t as if I had anything invested in what was occurring. What in the world was I doing?

Perhaps it was the news about ICE being in my neighborhood hunting for “illegals.” Maybe it was the protests in L.A., and elsewhere, where people had been standing up for and defending those being targeted because of their country of origin. Or, just maybe it was because he was Black and everyone else on that bridge was white.

Honestly, I’m just not sure.

I wish I could return to the days when I believed police officers were good guys protecting everyone equally. But that innocent time is gone. I’ve seen too many examples of those with the responsibility to “serve and protect” opting to do the very opposite instead.

So, I watched until the man was placed in the back of the police car. The officer who had asked me to move along, told me, with no small measure of spiteful glee, they had found drugs on the cyclist.

I walked away on shaky legs.

Standing up can make one need to sit down.