I Think My Neighbors Called the Police . . . on Me!

In another world, in another year, I would have attributed the presence of the police in my neighborhood to literally anything else. I do not want to think that my neighbors have called the police on me for . . . the unfathomable political act that is taking a leisurely walk around my own neighborhood before work.

Alas, for all of the trauma and turmoil we have all experienced in the hellish nightmare that is 2020, one silver lining is that none of us can close our eyes to the evils happening around us every day.

Try as we might.

To wit, and in a strange moment of serendipity, I started my day off by scrolling through Facebook. I woke up early, but I was afraid to take my daily morning walk too early lest I be confused with a burglar. Also, the bugs out here are of the Jurassic variety and mama needs to see where she’s going, okay!

So I stayed in bed as my husband slept and I scrolled through the social medias and, within about a minute, found a video of a black man being pulled out of his own home by the police. Apparently, a neighbor tripped his security system and the police responded. The man, in his big, bold body and beautiful black skin walked down his own steps to find the police had opened his door and were pointing guns into his home. No warrant - no questions - no permission to enter.

I actually tried to ignore the story. I tried to scroll past without seeing it because, for the past few days, I have been determined to shield myself from the ugliness of this world. My husband and I have been gardening, I have been honing my language skills by listening to podcasts in four languages, and I am even preparing myself to bake up a storm for my family before the next step on our adventure towards Europe and Cabo Verde.

I tried to ignore the story, but I couldn’t. So I watched, in horror, as this man was dragged out of his own home by the folks who are supposed to protect him.

Bearing witness is a heavy burden, so I watched some feel good videos online before putting on my workout clothes and beginning my walk.

Now, the key to this story is understanding my location. We are located about 7 miles off of I-20 in a very rural part of Georgia called “Social Circle.” My family, the only black family in the area, lives in a well-to-do neighborhood with about 100 families. This neighborhood development is the only one for miles because the rest of the land in our area is farmland. To put it into perspective, it takes us about ten minutes to drive (at 60 miles an hour) to get to the nearest gas station.

The point that I am trying to make here is that there are not many people here, there is virtually no crime, and everybody roughly knows everyone . . . But me. A big-bodied black man in a “wakanda vs. everyone” t-shirt.

I’ve talked about this before, but the people here seem to be friendly. They smile and wave but privately wonder who the hell this black person is in THEIR neighborhood. Another (Black) one?! Maybe he doesn’t belong?

My husband and I have been “home” about a week now, and I have relished the opportunity to walk in nature. To breathe fresh air, hear the birds chirp and the cicadas sing. I’ve come out every day, with something akin to religious fervor, at the top of every morning. Today, I went out a little earlier than normal, but I wanted to add a lap to my routine because I’m feeling strong and healthy. As I’m rounding the curve on my last lap, I hear a car coming up behind me. Prepared to flaunt my ability to code switch into southern gentility, I slightly turn my head to the right as I wave and smile. The Queen of England ain’t got nothing on me!

Or maybe she does, because my face absolutely cracked when I saw a police car ever so slightly slow down as he pulled up beside me but then continued and drove off.

It’s 7am. On a Wednesday. In a place with very few people and zero crime. I do the quick math in my head, and come to the unfortunate conclusion that someone called the police on me.

And here we are . . . the sun is only beginning to rise and I feel like I’m going a little crazy. Is it me being sensitive? There are 100 families in this neighborhood. Does a cop live in this neighborhood? No. I would have seen them by now. Maybe some other domestic disturbance? Perhaps.

But in the year of our Lord 2020, the most reasonable conclusion is that someone saw me, and called the police. My neighbors called the police on me. In the age of undeniable, egregious, extra-legal violence against black bodies perpetuated by the police, a neighbor called the police on me.

This story isn’t about the police, to be clear. It is about our friendly but very racist neighbors who see my big body and my black skin as a threat for walking around “their” neighborhood.

My simply existing in space should not be a political act. My insistence upon taking advantage of the beautiful nature around me and getting exercise should not unnerve my white brothers to the point of calling the police. Alas, here we are, and now my husband and I are having a serious conversation about the very extent to which I should take my morning walk at all… rightfully so.

But my spirit is tired, y’all. I’m exhausted. Let’s just all try to be a little kinder, okay?

Peace and love to all of you,

The Trendy One

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ps - have you listened to the latest episode of “The Family We Choose” Podcast?