Both Sides of the Invisible Line
RALPH RUFFIN
PA R T 1 BECOMING A POLICE OFFICER
When I was a kid, the police stopped in our neighborhood and passed out baseball cards to my friends and me. But police officers passing out baseball cards did not square with the image of police officers on my doorstep hauling my uncle away, or the impudent officer who talked to my grandmother in a McDonald’s parking lot. That day, my cousins and I were in the car with my grandmother. We were so happy because we loved McDonald’s but didn’t get the chance to eat there often. A police car got behind us and my grandmother reminded us to make sure we were wearing our seatbelts. I was scared and nervous and remembered all the times I was taught to “be still” and “don’t look at them” whenever the police were near us. In North St. Louis County, Missouri, it was common to be stopped by the police for mundane reasons. There was a fear of the police in my community. Fear and distrust. The police officer pulled us over as we turned into the drive-through. My grandmother told us to be still and not say anything. The officer approached my grandmother’s driver’s side window and talked to her for a bit – the conversation was heated and my grandmother became very upset, even furious: he’d pulled us over because our tail light or brake light was out. The entire event was unpleasant and I lost my appetite. I share this story because most of my interactions with police were negative, and still are. At the age of 18, I was pulled over by police and the officer asked to search my vehicle. Not knowing any better, I allowed him to search my vehicle. The officer did not have probable cause, but because he asked, I consented, although I questioned his reasoning. I could’ve said no. The officer completely ransacked my car. Three years later, in January 2011, I was 21 years old. I attended a local community college and worked full-time as a correctional officer at the Pine Lawn Police Department in St. Louis County, Missouri. I’d accepted the position because my uncle came home one day and asked my siblings and me if we wanted to work with him. He worked as a police officer in Pine Lawn at that time. They all declined; I accepted. I accepted because I was ready for a change and I wanted to do
3
something significant with my life. Up to that point, my interactions with the police had been invasive and frightening, but I also knew that police officers were not all the same. Plus, I had family members who were police officers and I admired them. At the Pine Lawn Police Department I was exposed to many amazing men and women in law enforcement who allowed me to ride along with them. I looked up to them, was inspired by them, and grateful to them for opening these experiences to me. I was attracted by the shiny badges and the fancy cars, and most attracted by their ability to deeply connect with the community, my community. I observed how police officers can be leaders in their respective communities. People confide in them, look to them for peace, support, refuge, safety, and much more. That’s the type of leader and person I wanted to be. I was able to see police officers as regular people with families and a job to do. I was also able to recognize much needed change. Eager to be a leader and a part of real change, I completed the 32-page application for the St. Louis City Metropolitan Police Department (SLMPD). I was quickly invited to begin the rigorous hiring process and was successful. Due to budget cuts in the city, however, I was placed on a waiting list. After waiting some time without hearing back, I enlisted in the United States Army and was scheduled to fly out sometime in June 2011. Meanwhile, the City of Pine Lawn offered to sponsor me in the St. Louis County Police Academy. Frantically, I raced over to my Army recruiter’s office to speak with him about my opportunity to join the police academy. I specifically asked him if it was too late to back out from the deal. It was not too late, but the recruiter resented my decision to withdraw, probably because it affected his quota. He tried to insist that I become a military police officer. I followed my gut, withdrew my enlistment in the military, and within two weeks was accepted into the St. Louis County Police Academy. As I prepared to start the police academy, enthusiasm rushed through my veins. I was about to tackle my goals and fulfill my dream. The anticipation of beginning the academy was exhilarating! Six months later, at the age of 22, I was a commissioned officer with the Pine Lawn Police Department, although the full meaning of this step hadn’t yet dawned on me. Not until citizens of that community began to call me “sir” did I realize that I was charged with the responsibility of saving someone else’s life. That I represented an institution entrusted to uphold and enforce the law. Trust me, I didn’t think of myself as a sir at that time. Bright eyed and bushy tailed, my dream of being that “person” for my community had become a reality.
Invisible Line
One month into my career I began to witness abuse of authority, corruption, and police brutality among officers who stood next to me. I was frustrated, confused, and often did not want to go to work. I quickly learned that other police officers did not share my desire to serve and protect. In fact, it appeared that their ambitions were the exact opposite – they desired to cause harm and instill fear. Officers used the fact that people had commited crime and/or had warrants as an excuse to abuse them, whether verbally or physically. There was a lack of respect for citizens in North County. Officers held a false sense of superiority over the communities they were hired to serve. One White sergeant in particular caused havoc and violated citizens’ constitutional rights on a regular basis. We (other officers and command staff ) knew what was going on because citizens of the majority Black community consistently complained about this sergeant. But their complaints yielded an unfounded response or no response at all. The City of Pine Lawn lacked an appropriate process to adequately investigate complaints. In fact, the city was corrupt from the Mayor on down. I witnessed these transgressions over the course of two short months. It was miserable working there and found myself merely existing. I knew I would be either forced to assimilate or leave. Most officers assimilate because they can’t gain employment anywhere else and simply need a job. One day, the White sergeant called all available officers on duty to the highway, Westbound I-70, as he was in pursuit of a vehicle that allegedly threw contraband out the window during the pursuit. I immediately questioned why the sergeant was in pursuit of a vehicle, and whether or not what he said happened, actually did happen. Prior to this, it was reported by citizens on multiple occasions that this Sergeant followed them from St. Louis City (outside of our jurisdiction) and herded them into Pine Lawn. Regardless, I arrived on the highway. The sergeant shut the entire highway down and ordered officers to canvas the area to locate the contraband he saw thrown out of the suspect vehicle’s window. None of the officers on scene, including myself, found any contraband. The sergeant did, however. He found drugs and a gun. The suspect was handcuffed in the back of the police car. He cried out, “That’s not mine, I swear.” I believed him. The sergeant used a taser on the handcuffed suspect to shut him up. The sergeant then ordered a rookie officer, who graduated with me, to taser the suspect as well. The sergeant marched up to me with his chest out and arms flexed.
5
“RUFFIN, you’re writing this!” “NO,” I said, and walked away. As I walked back to my police car, I knew my career was over. I knew the sergeant would retaliate against me because I’d disobeyed his order to write a report of the incident. For advice, I called a few of my mentor officers whom I respected very much. I wanted to know if I’d made the right decision. I needed to hear that someone else believed I did the right thing. Unfortunately, the first officer told me I should have written the report. I instantly lost respect for him because I realized he too was subject to the self-protective organizational environment – the us-against-them mentality to never “betray” a brother or sister in blue. There was a constant fraternal reminder that you’d be ousted the minute you disagreed with or went against another police officer, especially a superior. My other two mentor officers told me to apply to the Normandy Police Department in St. Louis County, Missouri, because they were hiring. I’d always admired Normandy police because they were professional and often referred to as the crème de la crème of police departments in the area. I completed the lengthy application, interview, background investigation, and psychological examination, and was hired within two weeks. I typed a resignation letter and sent it up the chain of command in Pine Lawn. The Mayor of Pine Lawn at that time was enraged by my resignation and attempted to blackball me from being hired by the Normandy Police Department. He contacted the Mayor of Normandy and said I owed the City of Pine Lawn several thousand dollars. This was not true. After his failed attempt to block my advance, the city administrator of Pine Lawn called and threatened to hold me civilly responsible. He insisted that I violated the terms of my contract with the city. Unbeknownst to him, I’d never signed a contract. I could not believe these two men were coming after me because I wanted to remove myself from the department’s toxicity. Something clicked and I came to realize why officers felt muzzled and forced to maintain the current status quo. Even if they do not know it yet.
Invisible Line
PA R T 2 SER VING IN NORMANDY
Moving forward, I would eventually serve in many capacities at Normandy Police Department: Corporal; School Resource Officer; D.A.R.E Officer; Counselor with Team Illinois Youth Police Camp; and many other unofficial capacities. For the first time in my career I felt a sense of belonging and purpose. My career was booming. I received awards for Officer of the Year, Civic Achievement, Community Engagement, and several accommodations for my original work and initiatives as a School Resource Officer. On August 9, 2014, Michael (Mike) Brown was shot and killed by Darren Wilson, a Ferguson police officer. This forever and completely changed my perspective on police. I started doing my own research into the order of police and why police departments exist. As a rookie officer, I had so many questions about the legality of Darren Wilson’s choices, and if such contact warranted a fatal response. I also put myself in Darren Wilson’s shoes to think about what I would have done. Regardless of whether Wilson’s actions were criminally justified under specific protections for police or not, what he did felt morally wrong. The very next day, I was off work and tuned into national news on the death of Mike Brown. The entire nation was in an uproar about the killing. I watched people protest and stand up against racism and police brutality and felt compelled to do the same. Shortly after my attempt to gather what was happening, I received a call from my captain to report to duty. He indicated that the Ferguson Police Department had requested additional officers from neighboring municipalities because a crowd of protesters in front of the police station was growing. My captain specifically mentioned the chants from protesters who inquired about the lack of Black officers present. Knowing this, I called another Black officer who was on my squad to see if she was also called in. She was. We both recognized that we were sent to Ferguson to represent our department, and police in general, to prove that Black police officers do exist and/or are equally represented. Which is not the case at all. Out of more than 30 officers, my agency only employed four Black officers at the time. The St. Louis County Police Department employed over 900 officers and fewer than 90 were Black at that time. We decided to ride together to Ferguson as a two-person unit. When we arrived, I observed a line of White male officers with St. Louis County Police. On the ground in front of them were egg shells, yolk, and rocks. I suppressed my initial thought as to
7
what I had got myself into. We exited our police vehicle. The energy was heavy. People were chanting, “NO JUSTICE, NO PEACE,” and I could feel the pain and hurt in their voices. The atmosphere was very tense. We were expected to “hold the line” and relieve officers who’d been standing there for some time. Oh, and not to mention, to be the token Black representatives for the entire institution of police. Thrown into the front line without the chance to collect my thoughts, I felt many emotions. Mostly I felt profoundly used. In that instant, I was on the side of the invisible line that maintained the status quo. It had never dawned on me what I truly represented in the eyes of the people. Although I held the line facing protesters, I was deeply aligned with their cause. This completely changed my point of view. Suddenly, my aspirations to be a righteous police officer shattered because I realized my uniform represented an institution that is systematically racist at its core, and that in itself outweighed what I wanted as an individual. Some protesters on the line yelled at me, called me names, and threw objects at me. I vividly remember a female protester on a bike yell, “Look, the house n-----s just showed up,” as my partner and I approached the line. After that, the yelling and name calling began. They called us uncle toms, murderers, and traitors. One protester said we deserved to die, have our spous-es raped, and children killed. I felt powerless. I knew those specific protesters were simply upset and wanted to aim their frustration in our direction. I told myself that the protesters did not know me personally and were yelling these things at me because they were displeased by the police in general, not me specifically. This type of positive self-talk was a coping mecha-nism I used to get by. In a way, I became numb and desensitized to the unrest. Despite the negative image of protesters being portrayed by the media, I had a different experience on the ground. I saw Black college students cleaning up the streets after a night of unrest. I saw the NAACP march in solidarity with Black Lives Matter. I saw peaceful individuals and organizations rally for criminal justice reform. And I heard many positive dialogues between individuals and police. One day on the line, a young Black male teenager asked me, “As a police officer and young Black man, how do you feel about Mike Brown’s death?” Before answering his questions, I remember being profoundly proud that he cared about how I felt. This was one of many positive dialogues that were not on the news.
PA R T 3 SER VING IN HAZELWOOD
After holding the line in Ferguson, I knew my inner resolution to be a good person and good police officer was simply not good enough. I needed to do more. I wanted the things I felt about being an honest public servant to be positively received on the outside. An opportunity presented itself to work as a D.A.R.E officer and I volunteered without hesitation. D.A.R.E (Drug, Abuse, Resistance, Education) is an educational program designed to help students combat drug use and help students make safe and responsible choices. Prior to becoming the D.A.R.E officer in Normandy, I’d worked as a camp counselor in a police capacity with the Team Illinois Youth Police Camp in Elsah, Illinois – a seven day camp away from home with no technology, television, or phones. Adolescents from the entire St. Louis and East St. Louis areas were sent to the camp for disciplinary reasons, structure, or simply because their parents wanted them to do something constructive. Some were ordered there by the juvenile courts. They learned financial literacy, facts about the criminal justice system, and even how to make a bed military-style, among other things. This experience proved a turning point in my legal interests. In law enforcement, police officers can choose a number of paths – detective, traffic officer, internal affairs agent, juvenile officer, crime scene investigator, and many other assignments. My time with the youth police camp helped me find my calling. As a camp counselor I served as a mentor for a group of teenage boys who looked like me and looked to me for guidance throughout the week. We shared stories about our upbringing, and talked about current events and anything else that affected us. The camp was about growth. For the first time in my life none of my worries mattered. I knew I was called to do something greater than myself. By 2015, I had worked the streets in Pine Lawn and Normandy, held the line in Ferguson, volunteered at a youth police camp, and volunteered to be the D.A.R.E officer for my agency. Still, that wasn’t enough. I wanted more and sought opportunities at other North County Police Departments. Even though I enjoyed serving the community where I grew up, at the time it was the norm for police officers in our area to “go West,” meaning west of North County, where pay and benefits were better. I’d heard that the Hazelwood Police Department offered very good benefits, a benevolent association, a lucrative starting salary, and was hiring. I was especially attracted to Hazelwood because they had a D.A.R.E summer camp. I applied and went through a rigorous application process: a written exam, a physical fitness test, a background
9
investigation, and a psychological exam. I successfully completed each category with flying colors and was hired. I was moving on up! During my first two months at Hazelwood I began to notice disparity. The population of Hazelwood was 30.5% Black. But out of nearly 70 officers, only three were Black–myself and another Black officer who was hired with me. I quickly learned that the other newly hired Black officer and I were held to a much higher standard than our mediocre, newly hired White counterpart. Other officers would periodically ask about my progress during my field training period and not the White officer’s progress – as if I were expected to fail. One time in particular, I had a report kicked back (not approved) by my sergeant because I forgot to leave two spaces after each sentence (which has not been a punctuation rule since typewriter days). Meanwhile, my White counterpart submitted a report without including a narrative; their report made it through all levels of approval. I could only imagine that this was racial discrimination. My Field Training Officer (FTO), was a White male. He and I often had uncomfortable conversations about race. These conversations arose because I observed that he treated drivers during traffic stops differently depending on what they looked like. He exhibited more compassion for White motorists than he did for Blacks. I called him out on it after he wanted to arrest a Black woman for minor traffic violations and, just a week prior, had shown professional courtesy to a White woman who’d committed the same minor offenses. He was shocked at my audacity to check him. Regardless, we showed the Black woman professional courtesy, too. One day, this same FTO told me he thought Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCUs) were racist because they were exclusive to Black-only enrollment – which is completely false. In that moment, I understood that his mindset came from living a privileged life without the presence of diversity. This provided him a false sense of superiority and reality. He told me, “Every day in the car with you is like a cultural diversity lesson.” At first I wore his remark as a badge of honor; I thought I was doing good by exposing a narrow-minded White guy to Black people. Eventually, however, I realized that I cannot assume the responsibility of diversifying an entire police department. Especially when the chief, whose judgement was often questioned, knew about the structural racism in his agency and refused to do anything about it. Overall, my time at Hazelwood Police Department was miserable. I was tired of hearing about racist encounters between citizens and officers – like how once a lieutenant slapped a Black woman in the face and called her a “n----- bitch” and officers thought it was funny. I was tired of working alongside officers whom I did not fit in with and did not want to fit in with. Most importantly, I was tired of being the Black spokesperson for all Black communities. After eight short months, I resigned from Hazelwood. I called my old Chief at Normandy and asked him for my job back. He presented me with an opportunity to work as the School Re-
Invisible Line
source Officer (SRO) in the Normandy Schools Collaborative. The department had just received a grant from the U.S. Department of Justice to support School Resource Officers. Perfect timing, I thought. I knew I loved working with youth in my community. Also, too, my schedule would be a predictable Monday through Friday while I finished my Bachelors degree at Webster University. I accepted the offer and was back working in Normandy.
Ralph Ruffin, center, with students in the Normandy 7th and 8th Grade Center.
11
PA R T 4 BECOMING A SCHOOL RESOURCE OFFICER
January 2016. I’m walking the halls of Normandy Middle School, the same middle school I attended growing up. I was so excited about my new adventure, and even more excited to meet my new colleagues and students. Unfortunately, I was not greeted with that same excitement. Teachers and staff members questioned why a fully uniformed police officer with a gun needed to be in a school, and rightfully so. Students were alarmed and reluctant to speak to me when I spoke to them. The existing security staff, who were overtly aggressive and under-trained, welcomed me with open arms as a member of their team and even created a space for me in their office. On the one hand, I was grateful for their warm welcome; on the other hand, I did not want to be viewed as an extension of the security team because the divisiveness between security, staff, and administration was quite evident. I made it very clear to the school principal that my position as the SRO was an entity within itself. Because Normandy Middle School had not hired an SRO in ten years, we were all learning together. I requested my own office and made it my objective to introduce myself to the staff and students, and to provide a description of my role. I wanted to be viewed as an advocate and resource to our school, not a disciplinarian. I often reiterated this to administrators. Things were still rocky but I was making progress as students started to confide in me. Near the end of the school year, students started to see me as an ally and a person beyond my uniform. After recognizing the need, I started The Brotherhood Club (TBC). This group comprised 7th and 8th grade boys most uncomfortable and unhappy in school, the students whom many teachers found most difficult to work with. One young man in particular had poor attendance and straight F’s, but I saw something in him and pushed him to do better. The purpose of TBC was to give our boys a sense of purpose and guidance, and to nurture their desire to come to school. I wanted to make school enjoyable for them. On Tuesdays we “dressed for success” and wore white button-up shirts with bow-ties, which they loved! We volunteered in the community, mentored younger boys in elementary school, and launched a step team. All the while, I held them responsible by making sure their grades and attendance were improving. Suddenly, the boys most challenging for classroom teachers became model scholars for everyone else. The program was a huge success and other boys wanted to join. I tackled other similar projects and started to truly understand the meaning of the phrase “bridg-
Invisible Line
ing the gap between the community and police.” One project in particular was in collaboration with Project Lab, one of our school’s enrichment classes. This was a Day of Dialogue held at the University of Missouri – St. Louis. The day consisted of deep conversations about experiences and assumptions between Normandy Middle Schoolers and local police officers within the 24:1 footprint (which refers to the 24 municipalities served by Normandy Schools). During the dialogue, officers and students had group discussions and broke out into smaller groups, responding individually and personally to prompts. The purpose of this project was to share experiences, change harmful stereotypes, and heal relationships. At first, the atmosphere was tense. Students and officers were all uncomfortable. By the end of the day, there was laughter, joking, and talk of meeting up again. After two and a half school years, the School Resource Officer program came to an end and my career took me to another level. Prior to leaving my role as SRO, I teamed up with the media department at the University of Missouri, St. Louis to document the everyday function of an SRO. I wanted our constituents to see the value in retaining this program and the bridge it created for the youth in our community. The documentary was a huge success and the DOJ gave us honorable mentions for having a successful program. They specifically indicated that out of all the community policing initiatives they have seen across the country, they felt the love in ours. As a result, the DOJ agreed to expand the grant for another school year. When those grant funds were exhausted, the Normandy Schools Collaborative decided to keep the program and added School Resource Officer salaries to the district payroll. Meanwhile, Normandy Police Department promoted me to Corporal and I moved on to serve the streets of Normandy. You may be thinking, why would you leave the school? Honestly, after being promoted, I knew it was the right thing to do for my career. I wanted to move through the ranks toward becoming a commander with the agency to affect real change. Since 1945, only two Black officers had ever been promoted to sergeant. I wanted to defy those odds and represent the community at the rank of sergeant or higher at some point of my career. In my mind, becoming corporal was a stepping stone to that. In law enforcement, it becomes the norm for officers to move around between different units or bureaus before being promoted to a ranking officer, and in some cases is required before being promoted. A word about today’s national conversation about removing police officers from schools. Those against SROs reason that police in schools contribute to the school-to-prison pipeline and that resource officers are part of the system that pushes students out of schools and into prisons. They argue that schools’ unnecessary zero-tolerance policies for minor offenses plus the presence of police officers in schools creates this pipeline. Other people look at the correlation between low literacy and incarceration and argue that it’s
13
the schools themselves, their failure to teach literacy effectively, that set up the pipeline. According to The Literacy Project Foundation, 85% of juveniles who come in contact with the criminal justice system are functionally illiterate, and three out of five people in jail cannot read. Based on my experience, SRO programs are essential to creating positive officer-student interactions for young people. SRO programs can bridge the unnecessary gap between the community, police departments, and schools. That said, the SRO program cannot just be where police departments place at-risk officers who are not deemed fit for road duty (which is what I have seen) or for officers who just want a 9 to 5 job. Furthermore, police departments should think carefully about which officers are qualified to serve in schools among children, families, teachers, and administrators. School Resource Officers need to be: •
Able to work independently
•
Trained by the National Association of School Resource Officers
•
Clear on juvenile law
•
Able to represent “the law” and law enforcement generally
•
Carry that responsibility every single day
•
Caring, compassionate advocates for the well-being of every student in the school and the school community as a whole
For example, when I was asked to search a student’s locker or backpack, I had to say no. Why? Because there was no probable cause for me to do so. The school principal, on the other hand, is legally permitted to search a school locker or backpack. Or let’s say a student was being extremely disruptive in class and I was asked to come in and remove the student from the classroom. I said no to that, too. I can’t just snatch a kid up out of a class. What I can do is talk to that student and persuade them to do the right thing.
Invisible Line
PA R T 5 RESIGNING FR OM LAW ENFOR CEMENT
When I returned to the road as a corporal I felt accomplished, although something was missing. I was unfulfilled and burned out. I viewed policing as an endless cat-and-mouse chase where you are “damned if you do and damned if you don’t.” I drove around in circles and answered calls of service with no enthusiasm. I watched the clock my entire 12-hour shifts, desperately ready to leave. Seven years ago, all I wanted was a seat at the table and a glance as a ranking officer. But when I did, that seat at the table was uncomfortable for me. My interests changed and suddenly I didn’t want that anymore. I feared quitting my job because I was afraid of the unknown. But I knew my community deserved an officer who was all in. With that said, I took a leap of faith and resigned from my police officer position with Normandy to pursue a career in teaching. I’ve always viewed education as a true source of liberation and my first thought was to equip young people with the power and knowledge to change the world. Specifically, I wanted to be the person for them who I needed growing up. I chose a very distinct time to change careers, a moment when we’re combating racism caught on camera and police brutality, a moment of protests and unrest all over the world. On February 23, 2020, I vividly recall watching the video of Ahmaud Arbery of Glynn County, Georgia being hunted down, attacked, and killed by two White men, one of whom identified himself as a retired police officer. I was infuriated by this! Then, on March 13, 2020 in Louisville, Kentucky, Breonna Taylor was shot and killed in her apartment while sleeping because officers had a “no-knock” search warrant that turned out to be the wrong address due to a clerical error. And on May 25, 2020 in Minneapolis, Minnesota, George Floyd was killed by a police officer whose knee was on Floyd’s neck while Floyd was completely subdued. These events have deeply affected me and called me to protest alongside all of the fearless people who are tired of injustice. As a protester, I felt the pain in the atmosphere from hundreds of protesters (many of whom were White) as we marched through Bridgeton and St. Charles, Missouri. Organizers yelled “SAY HER NAME…SAY HIS NAME!” Followed by protesters chanting, “BREONNA TAYLOR… GEORGE FLOYD...THIS IS WHAT DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE!” We were met by police officers who wanted to dictate which route we took but we quickly reminded them that our protest was
15
the people’s protest. Specifically, I recall observing police officers who stood idle and blocked off highway entrances to prevent us from shutting it down. At that moment, I thought about when I was a police officer on the line in Ferguson and didn’t understand why people were so hostile towards me. In my mind, we all (police officers holding the line in Ferguson) had a job to do, but for me it was much more than that. I truly cared about the community I served and served with the utmost integrity. But I felt muzzled. Even though I wasn’t explicitly told not to share my opinion about Mike Brown being killed by a police officer, the police organization as a whole made me feel like I had to represent a “side,” to somehow prove that racism and police brutality didn’t exist. Nearly six years later, as we marched past those officers standing idle and disengaged in Bridgeton and St. Charles in the early summer of 2020, I began to understand why I’d felt the way I felt in 2014. It seemed as if an invisible line existed. Protesters were on one side, police officers on the other. A fragile line. A scrimmage line where, if you stand on one side, you must be racist or represent racism, and if you stand on the other side, you must be standing up against injustices and police brutality. Something else became obvious to me. The main goal of our 2020 protest was to push back against the “system of police” as a whole rather than focusing on individual officers. Our purpose was to advocate for new policies, spread awareness, and influence police agencies and federal government agencies to create oversight and hold officers and their departments responsible.
Invisible Line
PA R T 6 THE FUTURE OF COMMUNIT Y SAFE T Y
As a former law enforcement officer, I want people to know that I stand against racism and police brutality. I therefore march the streets of St. Louis to protest with the organizations Expect Us and Black Lives Matter to spread awareness and shed light on these issues. I also use my social media platform to voice my opinion about injustices, gaps in our criminal justice systems, and the lack of accountability within police departments. Most importantly, I want to discuss why police reform is necessary. And so I began to research, reading articles and books to educate myself about American institutions and how they fueled racism. I read The Color of Law, by Richard Rothstein and Stamped From The Beginning - The Defini-tive History of Racist Ideas in America, by Ibram X. Kendi. I learned about current observable consequences of racial disparities and injustices in America – segregated communities, systematically underfunded schools, the Black-White homeownership gap, falsely created images of Black people that still haunt us today, and others. These consequences were created and facilitated by governmental agencies which promoted White Americans as beneficiaries. I learned about socially constructed Black inferiority and its role in the way the world views Blacks, and the way we view ourselves. And how all of this leaves the responsibility to cure racism on the backs of Black Americans, not on Whites, nor on the government. I read articles like "A Presumption of Guilt" by Bryan Stevenson, who explained, The criminal justice system remains the institution in American life least affected by the civil rights movement. Mass incarceration in America today stands as a continuation of past abuses, still limiting opportunities for our nation’s most vulnerable citizens. What resonated with me most is that, regardless of the efforts surrounding the Civil Rights Act of 1964, the criminal justice system (police, courts, punishment, and corrections) remained and we have yet to see reform. Is policing in America reformable despite being deeply rooted in racism? Interlocking systems contribute to the presumption of guilt, to harmful stereotypes, and to racial segregation. These systems include education, government housing, the criminal justice system (which includes prosecution and policing), and the correctional systems. Racist policing evolved inside a tangle of racist systems. Research suggests that police departments are inherently corrupt and originally founded
17
in the South as “Slave Patrols” to hunt down runaway slaves, thus deeply rooted in racism. According to the Federal Bureau of Prisons, the percentage of Black people incarcerated was 38.2% in June 2020, this despite representing less than 13.4% of America’s population, according to the United States Census Bureau. In 2019 in New York, 59% of people stopped by police during the city’s “stop and frisk” procedures were Black, according to the New York American Civil Liberties Union. During the War on Drugs in the late 1980s and early 1990s, the racially biased “Three-Strike Law” disproportionately incarcerated more Black men than any other group of people. Such examples of systemic racism creates harmful stereotypes that affect all of us. Community safety systems need to be rebuilt. In order to establish and maintain community safety with input from the community, defunding and reforming policing needs to be at the core. What are the areas of opportunity for reform? Consider the types of calls I received as a police officer that did not necessarily require a police officer. For example: •
Barking dog(s) or any other non-emergency animal calls
•
Noise disturbances (music, parties, etc.)
•
Medical calls (ambulance calls with requested police support)
•
Perceived suspicious person or activity
•
Subjective forms of trespassing
•
Road conditions
•
Power outages
•
Civil complaints/disputes
•
Illegal dumping
•
Children refusing to obey parents
These are just a few examples of calls I would receive as a police officer that could potentially be solved by community leaders or the municipal departments of city hall. For instance, if a caller dials 9-1-1 for a non-criminal civil complaint (non-payment, contract-term, dispute, etc.) that caller should be rerouted to non-emergency, and then given the appropriate direction to proceed without dispatching police. It is imperative that police departments educate their communities on the difference between emergency, non-emergency, and not-police-related calls; and then appropriately screen calls to limit avoidable contacts with police. Defunding police requires thinking about ways to allocate funds to essential agencies or civilian personnel who could restore peace in communities, or who could provide adequate resources. Consider these possibilities: •
Create mobile teams of social workers, juvenile personnel, clinical psychiatrists, and trained community mediators to be dispatched for non-emergency calls. This would create liaisons among police departments and medical facilities, juvenile
Invisible Line
courts, and social service programs. Emergency calls that do require police should still dispatch the appropriate clinical group to help make restorative decisions. •
Hire clinical dispatchers who are trained to screen calls and contact the appropriate expert for types of community problems. Differentiating between emergency, non-emergency, and not-police-related calls.
•
Instruct police departments to facilitate neighborhood watch programs that hire members of the community to handle community issues like barking dogs, loud noise, suspicious persons/vehicles (unless the neighborhood leader has reasons to contact police for emergency purposes).
•
Develop small neighborhood-officer squads who are permanently assigned to specific neighborhoods for the purpose of building rapport and getting to know community members and vice versa. Neighborhood squads could also create other initiatives to build rapport and combat crime, similar to some of the initiatives I spearheaded as a School Resource Officer.
•
Install cameras at major intersections or where deemed necessary. This could prevent the need for officers to pursue vehicles in dangerous high-speed chases. This technology would allow agencies to follow/monitor vehicles through pictures taken of license plates.
•
Establish federal oversight and mandated guidelines consistent throughout the country to hold police departments accountable through semi-annual audits. This includes documenting or terminating problem/at-risk officers.
•
Mandate community engagement positions in police departments, reserved for community members, to conduct outreach and engagement efforts to build trust.
•
Hold monthly meetings between community leaders including church leaders, school leaders, medical leaders, and business leaders to discuss on-going issues and brainstorm ideas TOGETHER to address problems.
•
Require more education in police academy training. This training should be extended to include a bachelor’s degree in specific fields and specific courses: psychology, communication, ethics, diversity, inclusivity, racial profiling, racism and law, community belonging, etc.
•
Mandate national/international accreditation for all law enforcement agencies to meet and uphold very specific guidelines.
With these possibilities in mind, in what other ways can we redirect funds in police department budgets to restorative efforts? In order to reform policing, we need leaders who are not afraid of change and will challenge the status quo. We also need different people from different places with different ideas to come together because when this happens, change is inevitable. President Barack Obama once said, “If we want to bring about change, the choice isn’t between protest and politics – we have to do both. We have to mobilize to raise awareness, and have to organize and cast our
19
ballots to make sure that we elect candidates who will act on reform.” Educating myself on racism and its foundation provided me with a sense of enlightenment, the ability to think about reform, and the courage to combat racism and police brutality. I write this with the lives of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, Mike Brown and so many others in mind. Thinking about the times I’ve encountered similar situations as a police officer and being blessed to have never used lethal force – I always kept the community at the forefront of my mind, service and tactics. I deeply wish I could have been the officer who responded to those calls, to mentor Mike Brown or to provide a voice of reason, or to intervene and prevent George Floyd’s untimely death, or to protect Breonna Taylor from a home invasion deemed legitimate by a judicial warrant. I realize our systems have a long way to go and I will continue to use my voice as long as God gives me the ability to. I realize that it will truly take a village of people brave enough to challenge these systems. I also realize that supporting righteous policing and Black Lives Matter are not mutually exclusive, as I experienced both, first hand, on both sides of the invisible line.
Ralph Ruffin is a former police corporal from St. Louis, Missouri. He currently resides in Dallas, Texas and is a high school humanities teacher at Uplift Education. Ralph is passionate about public service and has devoted his career to advocacy, mentorship, and community engagement.
Invisible Line