‘Ella no me ve como un policía blanco, me ve como un humano’

As a teenager, I took his stories as an example of being able to work past the divisions of white and black. I saw my uncle — and most of his fellow officers — as «good cops.» I grew up middle-class in a nuclear household gloria rezo in a nice house in the suburbs. I went to private Catholic school — mostly attended by the kids of my midsize town’s affluent movers and shakers — beginning in sixth grade. I was one of the only black kids; I stuck out.

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• As a teenager, I took his stories as an example of being able to work past the divisions of white and black.
• I saw my uncle — and most of his fellow officers — as «good cops.»
• Right now, for some angry black protesters, white people — especially cops — are oppressors, responsible for years of sustained systemic racism that can only be solved with drastic action and violence.
• But I’m uneasy about burning the communities — the eateries, the corner stores and small businesses our neighbors invested life savings in to build and work everyday to keep afloat — to the ground.
• There is an urge to make their voices the loudest in the room so they can’t be ignored anymore.
• As I got older, my uncle told me stories of the adversity and downright racism he faced as he rose through the ranks of the police force and earned the respect of his colleagues.

My booksmarts helped me assimilate socially, but never culturally. I’m angry and disgusted and hurt too by institutional racism perpetuated by white privilege and by whites who don’t even realize that the mere fact that their skin is lighter than mine gives them a leg up in life. But again, none of these emotions are simple. I lived and worked in Baltimore when Freddie Gray was beaten by police en route to the police station and subsequently died. But the watershed moment for me was when my niece, about 9 years old at the time, came home from school and told my older sister that she was scared of the police.

As a child, I didn’t fear law enforcement. My uncle is a retired Gainesville police officer. In my kid brain, my family was literally like the TV show «Law and Order,» a show that my mom, little sister and I watched during many weeknight dinners. My mother, Dandreinne, was quick-witted DA Jack McCoy.

Right now, for some angry black protesters, white people — especially cops — are oppressors, responsible for years of sustained systemic racism that can only be solved with drastic action and violence. There is an urge to make their voices the loudest in the room so they can’t be ignored anymore. But I’m uneasy about burning the communities santa misa — the eateries, the corner stores and small businesses our neighbors invested life savings in to build and work everyday to keep afloat — to the ground. As I got older, my uncle told me stories of the adversity and downright racism he faced as he rose through the ranks of the police force and earned the respect of his colleagues.

My uncle, Eugene, was wise-cracking detective Lennie Briscoe. suggested should be lynched like blacks were for decades. I come from a law enforcement family, the very people protesters across the country are accusing of racism and injustice. And I’m married to the kindest man you will ever meet, who happens to be white. I thought of my great-granddaddy who lived in the South knowing the real probability of bigots in white robes planting a burning cross on his front lawn.

Conflicto: un periodista negro se enfrenta a su raza, familia y brutalidad policial

Mi mamá lo llama «medio juego», la mayoría de la gente vino con dos, me dice. Durante los próximos meses, esperamos escuchar sus historias sobre cómo la raza y la etnia dan forma a su vida y, con suerte, publicar tantas de estas historias como podamos, para que todos podamos seguir hablando. Haga clic aquí para obtener más información y detalles sobre cómo participar.

El oficial de policía de Dedham, John Rinn, estaba sentado en su coche patrulla cuando una mujer negra se acercó y preguntó si podían hablar. A medida que nos acercamos a tener hijos, gloria rezo te escuché decir recientemente: «No sé si tendría lo necesario para mantener vivo a un niño negro en este mundo». Ese destello de tu terror se quedará conmigo para siempre.

I thought back to my mom and her brothers who switched high schools when de jure integration forced administrators to bus in black students like them. Arbery’s death pierced something deep inside of me. My mom graduated from college with a baby at age 21. Fourteen years later, with two more daughters, she finished law school and passed the bar exam on her first try.

I remember cheering for her at her graduation and my kindergarten class coloring her a «Congratulations» banner in magic marker. Despite her job prosecuting juvenile offenders for a living, I never feared the criminal justice system. I didn’t know how the scales of justice historically tipped in favor of white defendants from «good homes» or who were «just good kids who made a bad decision.» I looked at my mom and I saw justice, fairness and equity. Cuantas más noticias cubro, más leo y trato de entender, más me doy cuenta de que la policía y el sistema de justicia penal están desproporcionadamente sesgados para castigar y controlar a los negros, especialmente a los negros.

«Necesitamos más personas en el mundo como esta mujer», decía la publicación. Desde la muerte de George Floyd a manos de la policía de Minneapolis el 25 de mayo, se han producido protestas en todo Estados Unidos, incluso en varias ciudades de Massachusetts. Dana Amihere es la orgullosa hija de un padre inmigrante de Ghana y una madre estadounidense.

Asistió al Wesleyan College exclusivamente para mujeres después de sentirse inspirada por la fuerza y ​​la resistencia que le inculcaron su abuela, madre, hermanas y tías. Ha estado casada con el mejor aliado y amigo que podría pedir desde 2017.

Amy Cooper, una mujer blanca que reaccionó de manera beligerante hacia él cuando le pidió que le pusiera la correa a su perro como mandaban las reglas del parque. Llamó al 911, su voz repentinamente histérica, alegando que un hombre afroamericano la estaba amenazando. Tengo un hoyuelo en el lado derecho cuando sonrío.