“What’s your name? Where are you going? Where are you coming from?”.
These were the questions I registered as my eyes transmitted an image to my brain of 4 uniforms and 4 guns aimed at me while walking down a darkened Pierre Koenig street in the Jerusalem industrial area at 2:30 in the morning. “What’s your name? Where are you going? Where are you coming from?” they ask again. My brain yells at me to open my mouth and start answering questions. “My name is Marvin. I’m going home”. “Where do you live?” “David Raziel” I answer. “Where are you coming from?” I respond “a bar in Talpiyot”. “What were you doing there?” “Dancing”. A pause. “Oh, you’re a dancer?” “Yes….” “So dance for us….” One of them pulls out a phone and starts to play music, and I dance.
I’ve told that story more times than I care to remember or count, and each time is met with one of 2 reactions. Reaction number 1 is disgust. “That’s so typical of the police to throw around their power like that!” “That’s why I hate cops!” Reaction number 2 is outrage. “How dare they!” “Did you get their badges or numbers?” “Why didn’t you call somebody?” “ Why didn’t you just say no?!” This scenario happened in late 2007 / early 2008 and was my first experience with police in Israel. I had only been in the country a short time, having made aaliyah in June 2007, and so was still unknowing of Israeli society. I wasn’t sure what cops were like in Israel. What the justice system would do with me should I make a mistake somewhere down the road. My main goal was surviving the experience and getting home to live another day, and for far too long, that has been the mindset of most African Americans in regards to dealings with police, survive the experience.
I’ve had numerous experiences with the police in Israel since then. Some good, some bad, and some disgusting. I don’t want to speak about other peoples experiences with them while living here, as I believe a first hand accounting gives stronger credibility. Some years later, again in Jerusalem, but in a different area, I had another run in. I was studying at the teachers college (David Yellin), and had just parked my car. It took me a minute to connect with the paid parking system, which I did while leaning against a wall, my car a few meters infront of me. I had just returned from a trip to America, during which Michael Brown had been shot and killed, so my anxiety in regards to police were fairly high. While attempting to navigate the parking app, 2 cruisers pull up and 4 officers get out. I register them, but don’t think any more than that as I’m not doing anything other than standing, until I hear “Sir, who are you and why are you here?” I look up, and 4 officers are standing in front of me. I freeze, my heart skips a beat. I can feel a panic attack beginning. I stop all movement and stay as still as I possibly can.
I don’t make eye contact, I don’t reach for anything. Again, the question is repeated. I respond, “I’m trying to pay for parking so I can go to school”. “We received a call that someone matching your description was trying to break into a car”. “I haven’t touched any cars here, my car is right there.” “Can you show us it’s your car?” Yes, I have the key and I can open it from here if I get my keys.” “Ok, get your keys out.” My mind is racing. Rule number 1 is to never reach into your pocket! Never, no matter what. What do I do, how do I survive this interaction? It was then that one of the officers actually looked at me. I’ll never forget hearing him say, “wait a minute. Why isn’t he moving? Why is he shaking?” and then he came closer, and asked if I was simply ok. I responded, “no, I’m scared. I’m frightened” I don’t want to reach for my keys. I don’t want a mistake. I don’t want to die…” And then they understood. They took a few steps back and told me it was ok, repeatedly, for me to grab my keys. They did their best to assure me that everything was fine and that I would live, and it still took all my willpower to actually do it. When they saw that it was in fact my car they apologized and drove away, but the damage was done. To this day I will not stand beside my car.
Police are human, and humans are fallible. Just as we can learn a skill or language, we can also learn to hate and use power in a corrupt fashion. I say this because I was also witness to police abuse from the side of privilege. While at work, I received a phone call from the police that an undercover officer had caught a local boy damaging my car, actually walking on it. I was upset, and annoyed, but went outside to meet with the officer who then asked me to come to the station to give a statement. While there, the officer made it very clear that they boy, who was of arab background, “is going to be nothing but trouble when he grows up, as they all are” and that I should get what I can now if I have any problems with my car; scratches, dents, you name it, whether from the kid or not, he’ll list it if I ask him to and the boys family would have to pay. I had already looked at the car and there was maybe a minimal dent on the roof that I pushed up from the inside. When I told the officer I couldn’t see anything he asked to double check, twice, just to make sure. He had given me the power to do whatever I wanted. It was a sickening feeling that made my skin crawl and left me feeling uneasy about who are the people that we are calling for help.
Our world and our understanding of it has been turned over repeatedly in the past few months as our recovery from Covid-19, murder hornets, mass protests, riots, and use of excessive force by police forced us to review and rethink ideas and understandings many people held as unshakable proofs. In regard to law enforcement, it became alarmingly and increasingly clear that there are 2 sets of cultural understandings in regard to law enforcement; one as defenders and upholders of justice and the other as a modern day extension of the plantation overseer.
Growing up African American in America and living in the suburbs of what is considered to be one of the most segregated cities in America to this day gave a different perspective on police and policing that often led to confusion. My parents tried to instill in me an understanding of the police as a force not to befriend. To be aware and be on guard when dealing with them. To respond yes or no officer and do my best not to question or provoke. Don’t make sudden movements and don’t reach for anything, not a phone, not a pen, nothing. Observing my white counterparts and dealings with the police, I saw a mentality and attitude that ran counter to everything I had ever been taught. It wasn’t until later that I truly started to understand the depths of this. Coming back to my story, the reason I didn’t ask for a badge number or call someone to help me or simply say no was not because of lack of want. It was because I couldn’t. My primary concern was to make it home. Simply to survive.
Seeing police as wholly good and infallible or inherently evil are both wrong. They’re human, capable of both great things and immense shortcomings, much the same as anybody else. Viewing them as any but human is a crime, but there does need to be a higher level of accountability for those that are sworn to protect, serve, and uphold justice. Who polices the police?
