Is the Price of Priceless Lives Just 99 Cents?

Children are very observant. They can notice subtleties in the atmosphere. They can pick up on the emotions of others. But, they can also have a very blurry line between right and wrong when they are especially young, say, the age of four. ‘I like that Barbie. I want it. It’s mine.’ With a rationale this simple, who would’ve thought that it would have disastrous consequences? 

In Phoenix, Arizona, Dravon Ames and Iesha Harper’s four-year-old daughter picked up a Barbie doll inside a dollar store, put it in her bag, and left with her aunt. No weapons. No threatening behavior. No extensive loss. Just a four-year-old who wanted a Barbie and took one unbeknownst to her parents and aunt.

The police were called, and the first responder was an overzealous and extremely aggressive White male officer, whose name is Christopher Meyer. Although there are more than a few bad apples in the police force as a whole, Harper believed that there were enough good apples to encourage her daughters to depend on the police in dangerous situations. 

Then the two toddlers sat with their mother in the backseat as this officer is screaming and profaning left and right, a locked and loaded gun in his hands. This four-year-old, this one-year-old, sat there and observed the very reason why many Americans of color today cannot bring themselves to trust and depend on the police.

This young Black family was leaving the dollar store to drop the young children off at their babysitter’s apartment. Before the car was even in park, they had to fear for their lives because the officer was surely going to “f—ing put a cap in [their]  f—ing head[s]!”

If you watch the videos on this, you’ll see that these young Black people were unarmed, non-threatening, but most of all, compliant. The Young Turks, a popular talk show and podcast, did a segment on this. They posited that the reason the officers handled this family the way they did is because they weren’t providing the invigorating response of ‘resisting arrest’, therefore they tried to provoke it as seen when the officer kicks Ames’ legs apart. Trevor Noah, host of The Daily Show, thinks it could also be that they were talking to the family this way because they thought the family, or rather Black people, talked like that. 

The only thing worse than these traumatic events is the aftermath. I say this because, in situations like Black bodies versus White badges, it is almost certain that these instances will be swept under the proverbial rug, buried under hollow apologies, like what the Mayor of Phoenix Kate Gallego had to say on the matter.

“It was completely inappropriate and clearly unprofessional. There is no situation in which this behavior is ever close to acceptable,” said Gallego and quoted by Eric Levenson, et al in an article on CNN.

The people of Arizona, of the United States, don’t want to hear from an echo chamber that this is inexcusable, unacceptable, or whatever other “antiseptic” word, as Cedric L. Alexander, a writer from CNN, mentioned in his article. These half-hearted apologies tell the brutalized family and the rest of beautiful, colored America that nothing will be done. 

Phoenix Police Chief Jeri Williams addressed this in a video, stating that she will personally spearhead this investigation of the department with the Professional Standards Bureau. For the officers in question, that just means desk duty. Desk duty is not a punishment. It isn’t even a slap on the wrist. It’s a ‘people are raging right now so let’s keep these officers safely employed until the people calm down enough for them to go back out on patrol.’

The family sustained not only physical injuries but also emotional trauma, especially those young children who observed it all but do not have yet the tools to comprehensively express their feelings. The one-year-old got her shoulder injured when the officer yanked her by her arm in an attempt to remove her from her mother. 

To gain some sort of justice, the family is suing the city of Phoenix for $10 million dollars. I pray that justice is served. For me and maybe for you, justice looks like those two officers being fired, arrested, and imprisoned for aggravated assault, as well as counseling for the family.

The money is a bonus that can be used towards keeping the family on their feet as Ames recovers from his injuries that inhibit his ability to work. As seen in the videos, the officers are seen slinging him to the ground and the squad car, kicking his legs apart, and punching him unnecessarily in his back.

Something’s got to give. How many more incidents like this need to happen before change? Ames and his family were lucky to have survived because they, as well as the many bystanders, believed, that they would die right there on the spot for the sake of a 99 cent Barbie doll that the dollar store wasn’t even going to press charges for.

This family, and all the other families who’ve experienced this same brutality in Arizona and across the United States, demand more than an apology. I hope that at least in this case, this family receives more than a mere apology. 

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A MAN WAS LYNCHED YESTERDAY

This weekend I experienced overt racism in Arizona.

400 years after the first African human beings arrived in shackles to the shores of the then English colony, Virginia.

162 years after a Chief Supreme Court Justice informed the plaintiff, a free Black man, that he could not try his case as he was not considered a person in the eyes of the American legal system.

72 years to the day after Major League Baseball allowed the first human with Black skin to play a professional sport in Brooklyn.

51 years after a reverend with a peaceful dream was gunned down on a balcony in Memphis.

2 years after sixty-three million Americans got dressed, left their homes, and cast a vote for the sitting President.

1 year after a Lynching Memorial, The National Memorial for Peace and Justice, opened in Alabama.

I, a Black American, experienced overt racism in an upscale Arizona restaurant in the year of our Lord 2019.

I’d love to tell you the full story but I refuse. Short of being referred to outside of my given name, the story unfolds in just the way you’d imagine it would.

I shared the story with my Black friends and they responded with a Bran Stark level of surprise.

I shared the story with my White friends and they responded with a Jaime Lannister level of shock.

It’s a tale as old as time. One that Black folks are all too familiar with and one that White folks are all too unfamiliar with.

As if I had forgotten, I was reminded that my blackness is still not welcome in American dining establishments. As the incident was unravelling, I quickly assessed what was happening and it felt like time began to slow down. The moment Black folks fear on a daily basis was actually happening.

This was not a drill. Man your battle stations. We are under attack.

I remained calm, composed, and graceful in navigating our group out of the situation. Not because of anything that I actively train for but because my DNA is hardwired for survival in these moments.

I always walk away from these incidents feeling like I cheated death. Like a victorious warrior in the Roman Colosseum, you almost want to let out a primal roar. However, I moved on clutching to my dignity, my pride, and knowing that my ancestors are always guiding me.

Then minutes go by, then hours, and then days and you struggle to breathe because you still smell that foul odor all around you.

It’s like stepping in a massive pile of dog shit. You look to wipe your shoes in the nearest puddle of water. You find a stick to pick out the particles of shit that are in the grooves of your shoes. You slide your shoes back and forth on the pavement hoping to remove any last bits that remain. You ask people around you if they smell anything funny. But everywhere you go all you can smell is that lingering smell of shit following you everywhere.

Major League Baseball celebrates Jackie Robinson Day on every April 15. Every team and player that plays on Jackie Robinson Day has to wear my favorite number, 42. I always try to attend a baseball game to see all the jerseys adorned in that beautiful number and honor Jackie’s lasting impact on my life.

It’s not lost on me that today is Jackie Robinson Day.

22 years after the inaugural Jackie Robinson Day and I am still yearning for the day that Langston Hughes once wrote about in his classic poem I, Too in 1926. The day that, “They’ll see how beautiful I am and be ashamed.”

Because, honestly, I’m tired of this shit.

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