When I was 12, a teacher sent us home early with a permission slip in case we were stopped. I was. By two officers who pulled up on my right down the block from my house.

They asked what I was doing out of school so early. I didn’t respond verbally, put my book bag down, and opened it to get my permission slip. All I heard was commotion from the police car and then “Whoa, whoa whoa whoa!”

I knew immediately that I could have been a wrap and my mind then became shrouded with shame, confusion, sadness and depression. Of course, I blamed myself and couldn’t bring myself to talk about it with anyone.

Realizing that I was seen as disposable and a threat by the police *in my own neighborhood* at 12 changed my life forever and to this very day, I’m not really all that sure how I survived.

The idea that the catastrophe of what happened to Daunte Wright was some kind of mistake is, in reality, completely incongruous with the truth of the entire American story. It’s the product of a dangerous level of denialism and violence in our culture we’ve grown accustomed to.