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As a young child in my grandparents’ car, my grandmother used to tell me and my siblings not to look at police officers as they were driving by because they would “find a reason to pull us over.”
I grew up with police patrolling my black neighborhood, perched in corners, searching for reasons to arrest my neighbors.
In 2012, I watched news coverings of Trayvon Martin’s death and overheard my mother give my little brother “the talk.”
In 2013, someone called the police on my friend and I for “potentially selling drugs” as we sat in his car listening to music and talking. Our night together was cut short as we were followed home by police. I was in tears.
In 2014, I marched in my first #BLM protest the night before a chemistry 101 exam on VCUs campus against the murder of Mike Brown. I remember the fear I felt, terrified that police would show up and harm us.
In 2016 I got my first car. All I could think about was the overwhelming anxiety I felt every time I drove past a cop, terrified of being pulled over for something arbitrary and being murdered for it.
My entire life has been built around the overarching fact that police are not here to protect us. Each of these events have heavily influenced and shaped every aspect of my life in ways my white friends could never imagine.
At 24, I have experienced so much fear, pain and hopelessness associated with the knowledge that at any moment my life, or the life of my family members and friends could be cut short at the hands of an officer. Enough is enough. Something needs to change.
