Policing in Brooklyn
On set with Brooklyn Savvy! This conversation is incredibly interesting.
Black Teen With White Parents Mistaken For Burglar, Assaulted By Cops In His Own Home
‘Put your hands on the door, I was like, ‘For what? This is my house.’ Police pointed at photos of white people hanging on the wall and told him that he was lying.
A North Carolina teen was recently assaulted and pepper sprayed by police in his own home, after he was mistaken for a burglar. 18-year-old DeShawn Currie has been living with foster parents Ricky and Stacy Tyler in Wake County, North Carolina for about a year.
The Tylers love DeShawn as their own son and they have taken him into their home, in hopes to provide him the safe and loving environment that he needs to thrive in the most important years of his life.
Unfortunately, some of the Tyler’s neighbors were not familiar with the family dynamics of the home, and decided to call the police to report a burglary when they saw the young man entering his home after school one day. DeShawn did not climb through a window or struggle to get inside, but simply walked through the unlocked door of the home. The only thing that actually made his neighbors suspicious, was the color of his skin.
When police arrived on the scene they treated DeShawn like a criminal without asking any questions.
“They was like, ‘Put your hands on the door, I was like, ‘For what? This is my house.’ I was like, ‘Why are y’all in here?” DeShawn said in an interview.
When DeShawn asked the officers why they were in his home, they pointed at photos of white people hanging on the wall and told him that he was lying.
“I’m feeling comfortable, I had moved into my room, and I’m feeling like I’m loved. And then when they come in and they just profile me and say that I’m not who I am. And that I do not stay here because there was white kids on the wall, that really made me mad,” DeShawn later told reporters.
During the entire altercation, police were shouting profanity at the young man, and pointing multiple guns at his face. When DeShawn stood firm and insisted that he was in fact in his own home, police attacked him with pepper spray.
When Stacy Tyler came home from work she saw her son DeShawn in the driveway being treated by paramedics for the injuries that police had inflicted.
“My 5-year-old last night, she looked at me and said, ‘Mama I don’t understand why they hated our brother, and they had to come in and hurt him,” Stay Tyler told reporters.
“Everything that we’ve worked so hard for in the past years was stripped away yesterday in just a matter of moments,” father Ricky Tyler added.
The police department has defended their actions, saying that that DeShawn did not obey the officer’s orders to the letter, despite the fact that they were intruders in his home and had no right to be there barking orders at him.
Now this is something to bring attention to.
Yes
you who weigh your worth like dust,
why do you walk with
the posture of a whisper?
you tiptoe even when you’re alone,
as if your footsteps are not
important enough to be
heard by the ghosts you store underneath your floorboards.do you tire of apologizing
for your existence?if only you knew that it is
you who diamonds envy.
it is you who the sun
looks to for light.
who told you to be anything
but majestic?
Did anyone notice...
Obama mentions his wife in his victory speech: “…The woman who agreed to marry me 20 years ago”
Romney mentions his wife in his concession speech: “… The woman I chose to marry”
It’s amazing how someone’s views on equality can come out in one simple sentence
still relevant
In San Francisco last year, a man stabbed a woman in the face and arm after she didn’t respond positively to his sexually harassing her on the street.
In Bradenton, Fla., a man shot a high school senior to death after she and her friends refused to perform oral sex at his request.
In Chicago, a scared 15-year-old was hit by a car and died after she tried escaping from harassers on a bus.
Again, in Chicago, a man grabbed a 19-year-old walking on a public thoroughfare, pulled her onto a gangway and assaulted her.
In Savannah, Georgia, a woman was walking alone at night and three men approached her. She ignored them, but they pushed her to the ground and sexually assaulted her.
In Manhattan, a 29-year-old pregnant woman was killed when men catcalling from a van drove onto the sidewalk and hit her and her friend.
Last week, a runner in California — a woman — was stopped and asked, by a strange man in a car, if she wanted a ride. When she declined he ran her over twice.
FUCK YOU if you think that street harassment is a “compliment” or “no big deal” or that it’s “irrational” of us to be afraid because “what’s actually gonna happen.” Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you some more.
A boy sprawled next to me on the bus, elbows out, knee pointing sharp into my thigh.
He frowned at me when I uncrossed my legs, unfolded my hands
and splayed out like boys are taught to: all big, loose limbs.
I made sure to jab him in the side with my pretty little sharp purse.
At first he opened his mouth like I expected him to, but instead of speaking up he sat there, quiet, and took it for the whole bus ride.
Like a girl.Once, a boy said my anger was cute, and he laughed,
and I remember thinking that I should sit there and take it,
because it isn’t ladylike to cause a scene and girls aren’t supposed to raise their voices.
But then he laughed again and all I saw
was my pretty little sharp nails digging into his cheek
before drawing back and making a horribly unladylike fist.
(my teacher informed me later that there is no ladylike way of making a fist.)When we were both in the principal’s office twenty minutes later
him with a bloody mouth and cheek, me with skinned knuckles,
I tried to explain in words that I didn’t have yet
that I was tired of having my emotions not taken seriously
just because I’m a girl.Girls are taught: be small, so boys can be big.
Don’t take up any more space than absolutely necessary.
Be small and smooth with soft edges
and hold in the howling when they touch you and it hurts:
the sandpaper scrape of their body hair that we would be shamed for having,
the greedy hands that press too hard and too often take without asking permission.Girls are taught: be quiet and unimposing and oh so small
when they heckle you with their big voices from the window of a car,
because it’s rude to scream curse words back at them, and they’d just laugh anyway.
We’re taught to pin on smiles for the boys who jeer at us on the street
who see us as convenient bodies instead of people.Girls are taught: hush, be hairless and small and soft,
so we sit there and take it and hold in the howling,
pretend to be obedient lapdogs instead of the wolves we are.
We pin pretty little sharp smiles on our faces instead of opening our mouths,
because if we do we get accused of silly women emotions
blowing everything out of proportion with our PMS, we get
condescending pet names and not-so-discreet eyerolls.Once, I got told I punched like a girl.
I told him, Good. I hope my pretty little sharp rings leave scars.
‘My Perfume Doubles As Mace,’ theappleppielifestyle. (via queenofeden)
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This is why I love Stephen Colbert. Because he told the ENTIRE story.
If the full moon loves you, why worry about the stars?
Take A Risk
A few weeks ago I had an extremely difficult conversation. One I've been anticipating for about 8 years. Yet, through the many physical and emotional obstacles experienced during the few hours the conversation lasted, I managed to get all my points across. Days after the conversation, The Great Debaters mantra came to mind.
Henry Lowe: Who is the judge? James Farmer Jr.: The judge is God. Henry Lowe: And why is he God? James Farmer Jr.: Because, he decides who wins or loses, not my opponent. Henry Lowe: And who is your opponent? James Farmer Jr.: He doesn't exist. Henry Lowe: And why doesn't he exist? James Farmer Jr.: Because, he is a dissenting voice to the truth I speak.
I may have unknowingly internalized that concept, because I initiated the conversation without fear, despite having much reason for it. I was well aware of how ugly it could get, considering how ugly it got the last time I tried to have it. Yet, this time things were different. I was 100% sure I was speaking the truth, I knew I was standing up for something important.
After much rumination over the details exchanged, my mind started to wander and focus on the future. I began to wonder where I will be in 20 years if I live my life like I did that one moment. Determined to publicize the truth, free of fear, and prepared to fight if it came to it. It got messy but everything that needed to be said was said, and despite the tears blurring my vision, and the milliseconds spent gasping for air mid-cry, I was able to say what I needed to say, clear enough to be understood. I took a huge risk, and things turned out alright.
I should have taken that risk a long time ago.
I'll Win The War
I constantly feel like I'm in a battle. A battle for my most basic rights, and those of the people around me. Often times when I hear stories of relationship problems, or the bad decisions women make concerning men I'm quick to respond. Almost immediately I'm enraged, disgusted, and ready to deliver a passionate speech about women's rights and self worth. I forget to have compassion for what these women are feeling, and for the past struggles they've endured, that for them rationalizes their current state. I forget the first step I should ever take should be a step back, to gain perspective and understanding. I am no veteran in the field of relationships, not even close. In fact I'm guilty of committing quite a few mistakes myself. But I've had plenty of examples of what a healthy relationship is not, and I've learned from them. I've been exposed to men who have a deep seeded belief that women are inferior to them. That women have certain household responsibilities that must be taken care of at all times, even if their dreams have to take a back seat, even if they work full time and put in just as much, if not more money into building a life for their family.
I grew up believing my role as a female is to play host when my parents are entertaining guests. I was supposed to help clean the house, serve drinks, put coats in the bedroom...my brother wasn't told to do the same, at least not to the same extent. When my dad came home from work, I served him a plate of food, rice on one end, beans off to the side (never on top of the rice) and the meat on the remaining side. I also had to give him a cold beverage of his choice, with a napkin of course. When he was done I took everything the to the kitchen. I'm surprised I wasn't asked to feed it to him. It took a few years for me to start saying no. But not much has changed, the behavior has been tweaked but the belief is still the same. Men don't do, and aren't supposed to do the dirty work.
Last time I strongly and loudly expressed my disgust for that belief I was 14 years old. I held nothing back, you see I have my father's temper. I got smacked across the face so hard my glasses hit the ground several feet away. It didn't take long for me to realize I wasn't the crazy one, I wasn't the irrational one. My ideas and beliefs were founded on a very simple concept, that of self worth.
Since then my actions have been more subtle and unfortunately more sympathetic. That has been my biggest mistake. And seeing the women I love, both family and friends, being manipulated into doing certain things to avoid the arguing, the yelling, the nonsense has made that very clear. See, I try to keep the peace, I see the stress the women around me are drowning in, and I don't want to make things worse. I don't want to rock the boat, instead I want to mediate all problems, I want to distract. However, that doesn't, and hasn't solved the problem. I run around trying to get people to understand our actions are enabling the bad behavior we hate so much. A close friend of mine told me people don't change without consequences for their actions. So I've made it a point to be very clear about what I dislike, and what I won't stand for.
I probably won't win the battle at home, at least not in the entirety that I dream of. However, the inequality will stop with me. I will not be taken advantage of, and if I ever have daughters I'll make sure to teach them there's a higher standard they ought to live up to. People ought to be appreciated for their hard work, they ought to be thanked for all they do. There's nothing wrong with choosing your battles for the greater good, or with tolerating things here and there. But there's a limit. Being strong doesn't have to mean putting aside your self-worth.
Resting in Paradise
As I lay in the clear blue waters, I listen to the hum of the breeze, the palm trees brushing against each other, and the bass of a salsa classic in the background. I gaze at the palm trees above me, as they cut into twilight. Small waves tickle my ears and mute the sound of glasses clinking, of the drunk laughter of those who forgot their hardships, and have stalled the search for the remedies.
A Life About [FILL IN THE BLANK]
I spent the afternoon of New Year's Eve in a movie theater watching The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. The concept of day dreaming peaked my interest. Often I spend my day replaying situations in my head, usually altering my actions in the hopes of producing a better outcome. An outcome I'm more tolerable of, or comfortable with. If I'm not day dreaming I'm organizing, constantly making lists, writing myself notes, creating calendar events on my Gmail account. It all comes together in a big strategy for distraction. I don't distract myself purposefully, in fact I usually see it as a method to move forward, when in reality I'm just maintaining the status quo. At times I believe the best way to get out of my routine is to do something spectacular, out of character, and to do it suddenly. However, after watching this movie I'm toying with the idea that maybe my exit strategy doesn't have to be so drastic. Maybe I just need to live with purpose. What ever I decide to do, I should do it because I want to, because it serves a purpose, not because it will make a good story. Why travel the world if all it means to you is a check mark on a to do list?
So that's what 2014 will be about, my journey to purpose.