My Healing Is Undone Every Time One of Us Is Killed by the Police
How do I work to get better if my presence in this country is a constant threat?
On one unexpectedly temperate night in December 2014, I was taken into police custody after attempting to place myself between a young Black man who was curled up in the fetal position on the asphalt in front of me, and the two officers who were beating him across the back with their batons. My response was a gut reaction to having spent a season wrapping my face in black scarves and pouring milk in my eyes to counteract the corrosive effects of tear gas. I had spent months watching police officers from all over the Bay Area converge on my city, littering it with bean bag rounds and flash bang grenades in their attempts to quell the unrest that had enveloped the nation. Earlier that year, police officers had murdered Eric Garner in Staten Island and Michael Brown in Ferguson, one right after the other. All over the country, demonstrators were protesting the murders of unarmed Black people at the hands of police, and that night, we were out in response to a grand jury’s decision to not indict Daniel Pantaleo, the officer who killed Eric Garner.
Compared to other protesters, I had it easy. I was only detained for one night, and my charge was dropped months later. But at the…
