Stop and Frisk in a Dystopian Society
Published: 15 May 2013 By Abiodun Giwa
Ray Kelly
Have you ever been stopped and frisked by the police? If you have not; I have and here is a detailed account of my experience. The time was about 2210hrs on Monday. A police car, windows rolled, stopped at the traffic light at the corner of Caton Street and East 21 Street in Brooklyn, New York. The men inside the car, about six of them, looked at my direction and that of two ladies waiting to cross the road.
Worried by the way the men in uniform in the car set their eyes on me and the two ladies, I asked aloud inquisitively “Why are they looking at us so curiously?” Thought they were eyeing the ladies. Did not know they were looking for a criminal wearing the same blue jean pant, blue jean jacket and a black hat like mine. I had hardly completed the questions, crossed the street, walked behind the car, the police car made a right turn to my direction, one of the officers opened the right front door, jumped out, and he ordered me to stop. I complied.
“Raise up your arms,” the officer ordered. I complied. Other officers in the car have all stepped out and observed me and their co-officer.
“Do you have fire arms on you?” he queried, twice softly.
“No,” I responded.
He ran his hands all over my body and asked for my identification. I tendered my school identification card. He looked and asked “are you a graduate student?”
“Yes, I am.”
“I am sorry that we have to stop you. The reason is that your dressing of jeans (jacket and pant) and a black hat matches that of someone we are looking for.”
As he was talking, a voice (of a female) came from the radio he had hung on him: “The guy
is wearing a black hat, blue jeans pant and jacket and brown shoes.”
The officer who apprehended me replied “The guy we have stopped is not wearing brown shoes.”
I listened attentively to the exchange of sentences between the female voice on the radio and the officer who stood before me. The fact that I knew I was not having brown shoes as described by the voice on radio gave me relief.
“My shoes are not brown.”
“Yes, it is what has saved you. Your shoes are not brown, but black with white sole.” Meanwhile, the officer scribbled down information from my identification card on his note book.
“Officer, does wearing a jean pant and jacket, and a black hat constitutes a crime that warrants you to book me?”
“No, I am not booking you. I am writing down the information I can tell them at the station we stop you but find nothing on you.”
“Please, I don’t want my name on a crime record,” I told him politely. He asked for my address, and I gave him. He handed my identification back to me. I walked away from the scene.
I was already tired, having left home about 12.00hrs in the afternoon; was in a housing court in Brooklyn from 1245hrs to 1550, left the court and went to school in Hempstead, and left school at about 1930hrs, hopped on a NICE bus at about 2000hrs and was in an F train from Queens to 34 Street Station, where I changed into a B train and walked out of the Church Avenue Station at about 2205hrs. I was not in the mood for any interference.
I wanted to get home and sleep. I did not have the time and strength to even look at the officer’s name or ask for his station. I knew my experience was part of an ordeal for living in a dystopian society... a global village that is far from perfect.
Worried by the way the men in uniform in the car set their eyes on me and the two ladies, I asked aloud inquisitively “Why are they looking at us so curiously?” Thought they were eyeing the ladies. Did not know they were looking for a criminal wearing the same blue jean pant, blue jean jacket and a black hat like mine. I had hardly completed the questions, crossed the street, walked behind the car, the police car made a right turn to my direction, one of the officers opened the right front door, jumped out, and he ordered me to stop. I complied.
“Raise up your arms,” the officer ordered. I complied. Other officers in the car have all stepped out and observed me and their co-officer.
“Do you have fire arms on you?” he queried, twice softly.
“No,” I responded.
He ran his hands all over my body and asked for my identification. I tendered my school identification card. He looked and asked “are you a graduate student?”
“Yes, I am.”
“I am sorry that we have to stop you. The reason is that your dressing of jeans (jacket and pant) and a black hat matches that of someone we are looking for.”
As he was talking, a voice (of a female) came from the radio he had hung on him: “The guy
is wearing a black hat, blue jeans pant and jacket and brown shoes.”
The officer who apprehended me replied “The guy we have stopped is not wearing brown shoes.”
I listened attentively to the exchange of sentences between the female voice on the radio and the officer who stood before me. The fact that I knew I was not having brown shoes as described by the voice on radio gave me relief.
“My shoes are not brown.”
“Yes, it is what has saved you. Your shoes are not brown, but black with white sole.” Meanwhile, the officer scribbled down information from my identification card on his note book.
“Officer, does wearing a jean pant and jacket, and a black hat constitutes a crime that warrants you to book me?”
“No, I am not booking you. I am writing down the information I can tell them at the station we stop you but find nothing on you.”
“Please, I don’t want my name on a crime record,” I told him politely. He asked for my address, and I gave him. He handed my identification back to me. I walked away from the scene.
I was already tired, having left home about 12.00hrs in the afternoon; was in a housing court in Brooklyn from 1245hrs to 1550, left the court and went to school in Hempstead, and left school at about 1930hrs, hopped on a NICE bus at about 2000hrs and was in an F train from Queens to 34 Street Station, where I changed into a B train and walked out of the Church Avenue Station at about 2205hrs. I was not in the mood for any interference.
I wanted to get home and sleep. I did not have the time and strength to even look at the officer’s name or ask for his station. I knew my experience was part of an ordeal for living in a dystopian society... a global village that is far from perfect.
