Ensuring the Waco Police Officers are Peace Officers

This post was written in the immediate days after the loss of Sandra Bland’s life. It was originally written for and shared on NotMyTaboo.com (originally published on 06 Aug 2015).

I haven’t had much interaction with the Waco Police Department during my years here. We crossed paths during my time at the Family Abuse Center when they came to assist with incidents, and I have approached them to seek assistance or call 911 when I’ve observed trouble. I pay attention to the Department’s Facebook page and I greatly appreciate the active presence that they maintain online – providing information to the community, warning us when they are out with radar guns on I-35, and even making fun of police-donut stereotypes.

Due to unjust, tragic circumstances, I have posted several Facebook statuses showing my support and deep belief that Black Lives Matter and Black Rights Matter. I have found myself enraged far too many times after watching dashcam and cell phone footage depicting police officers profiling, struggling to assert their “authority,” and making dangerous decisions that fall outside of the law and their training, often resulting in the loss of lives that had the right of innocence until proven guilty, the right of due process, and the right to be spared of excessive force. With the recent conversation focused on Sandra Bland, my hurt for people – black people, brown people, fellow human people – has swelled even more and is hanging heavy over every passing day.

With instances of police brutality surfacing regularly, I have been experiencing this nagging feeling to have a conversation with the Waco Police Department. In my experience, in my white experience, the Waco Police Department seems to be quite a solid organization. The tragic Twin Peaks biker shootout did cause some questions though; pictures started popping up on social media comparing how Waco PD handled the arrest of 170 biker gang members who had just had a public shoot out resulting in 9 dead and 18 wounded, to other police departments exerting excessive force over black individuals and black crowds protesting.

I do not believe that these are exact parallels that we can draw and project onto the Waco PD (but there is a greater cultural, racial conversation to be had). I would first have to see how Waco PD handles the arrest of 170 black bikers first, how Waco PD handles primarily black protestors, or how Waco PD handles a black male running from a traffic stop. When it comes to the Waco Police Department, I want to have a conversation. I want to ask what the Department is doing right now to prevent a Sandra Bland style arrest here. I want to know what training is occurring to ensure that a child like Tamir Rice is not gunned down. Can we please have an open, community conversation before the opportunity presents for a black man to say, “I can’t breathe?” We do have a race issue in the United States and it will never improve if we do not get in front of it. We need to have open conversations before tragedies happen. These conversations need to include white privilege as it pertains to encounters with the law, the black community’s experience with police, and community perceptions of police. We need to educate the public about our rights for when we are stopped by police and we need to ensure that our police officers remember that they are to be peace officers.

Wacotown, I love you. This is a town with many strengths and many opportunities for growth; I want to celebrate where Waco succeeds and I want to dig in where Waco needs a boost. As a white woman, I have a positive perception of the Waco Police Department and I perceive the department as a community strength. I want to make sure that is the perception of those who are not white, and I want to be sure that our Police Department is remaining proactive so that we do not have to become reactive when it comes to racial inequality and community policing.

Sex: Female (i.e. Sexual Distraction)

This post was originally written for and shared on NotMyTaboo.com (originally published on 02 Jul 2015).

Somewhere along the way, the relationship that girls have with our bodies shifts– through puberty, naturally, but also our emotional and psychological understanding of our bodies and its meaning. I vividly remember the embarrassment and dread that I experienced when my parents (well, probably my mother) decided it was time for a bra in 5th grade. Despite having received the sex talk in 2nd grade and having survived my first sex-ed class in 5th grade, I did not have a sexualized understanding between bodies, breasts, and bras; instead I was mortified that I had to wear this thing (let’s be real- at this age, this “Gap Kids Basic Bra” is like an elastic camisole with the bottom chopped off). My little sister, a 1st grader at the time, found my embarrassment amusing. So amusing that one evening in Target, she found the LARGEST, most obnoxious, white bra available (dare I say most un-sexiest bra) and chased me all over the store yelling something to the effect of, “I found your bra Venée! I found your bra!!” I remember running to get away from her, and I was horrified.

I am certain my sister is in this photograph dragging this monster by a strap, headed after me with pure joy.

Flash-forward to middle school – I have a whole different understanding of bodies, breasts, and bras now. I must have been at least a B-cup by now, which is pretty substantial at that age, and in need of more than a “training bra.” I definitely did not have great self-esteem: I had been made aware of the big gap in my front teeth and the crookedness of one of those teeth by a friend; I had a group of guys publically discuss how bad it was that they could see my panty lines through my velour track pants (shout out to the early ‘00s!); all of my girl friends have these “boyfriends” but none of the guys “liked me, liked me.” Regardless of these then-perceived blows, somehow I had been made aware by now that I had nice breasts (I would bet money that sexual harassment was at the root of that flattery).

Despite the general low self-esteem, I had these two outfits that I loved – outfits that never received negative peer criticism (or do we just call that bullying?). I would wear a pair of jeans (of the snug, stretchy, low cut variety – again, hello ‘00s), a black camisole, and I had these two Banana Republic button downs (one deep red, one black), I would wear one open over the camisole. I thought I was cute – at least when I smiled with my mouth closed.

In 7th grade, both of my parents were working full-time, so I often would watch my sister after school. Lemon Avenue Elementary School had an afterschool program that went until 6:00 PM; we lived on the same street less than a quarter mile down the road. I would leave at about 5:50 each day and walk down the street to pick my sister up from the school. On one particular day, I wore my favorite outfit to school. However when it came time to get the sister, I made an outfit modification: I ditched the blouse. Honestly, I cannot remember why I made this decision; I might have been warm (it was a sunny San Diego day after all), or I might have thought I was even cuter/cooler with just the jeans and camisole. Let’s chalk it up to both, because it very well could be fact.

So I am walking down the block when I notice a white Ford F-150 truck begin to slowdown as it passes me. I noticed the middle-aged Hispanic male driver turning himself all the way around in his seat to keep watching me as he drove by. I felt fear, anxiety, and alarm wash over me. I kept my eyes on this truck as it rolled past—I knew that the Episcopal Church down the street had a turn-around driveway and it made me nervous. Sure enough, the white truck turned around at the church and came barreling up the hill towards me. With his truck turned around, we are now on opposite sides of the road. He was the only vehicle on the road; I was the only pedestrian on the block. I remember whipping around and sprinting for my life. I looked back once and saw that he had moved his truck into what-would-be oncoming traffic’s lane, nearing his approach. I moved up that hill at a pace that my body has since not experienced; I punched our gate code into the call box and slid into the apartment complex gate to safety. I got away.

Here comes the most heartbreaking shift that has already crept into the relationship between young girls and our own bodies: self-blame and self-shame (also a healthy heaping of blame and shame by everyone else). Do you know why that man came after me that day? Because I didn’t wear a blouse over my camisole; because my shoulders were showing, part of my back was exposed, and my adolescent breasts weren’t concealed. If I had worn that red blouse over my camisole, surely I never would have caught his eye. Surely that new truck would not have made a beeline towards me. Surely.

A portion of me knows that this way of thinking is absurd and self-destructive. A portion of me believes it to be fact. In the end, I am saddened that the burden lies on me – the girl who may have been too warm that day or who may sought to be “middle school cool” amidst the imperfections highlighted by peers. Is this why we have dress codes and parents who tell girls to cover up? Is this why I spend so much time now, as an adult, debating what constitutes too much cleavage, too much accentuation, too much bust? I do not know first hand what we are teaching boys and men in regards to how to treat women. For all the times that I have had authority figures define what is not allowed in order to not be a sexual distraction, are my male counterparts receiving just as many hours of instruction regarding how to view women, respect them, not stare at their breasts? I honestly do not know, but I feel confident placing a large bet on “No.”

Back in elementary school, I felt embarrassed for the girls whose bra straps subtly showed under the backs of their t-shirts; by middle school it is a race for who can show the most bra strap without suspension. What was it between late elementary school and early middle school that shifted bodies, breasts, and bras from embarrassing to sexual distraction? The answer to that question requires a slew of blog posts, but in the meantime I know this: I am female and I have the power and burden of sexual distraction.

Note: I have no idea why that man acted in the way that he did that day; I am unaware of his motives. I experienced a sense of alarm that I associate with a fear for kidnapping or sexual assault. I am thankful that I was able to get away from this individual and did not have to learn his objective. Unfortunately, the truck did not yet have license plates issued (only dealer tags with no identifying numbers) so there was little that my family was able to report on.