Home Not So Sweet Home
I spent most of the month of October 2014 rallying my friends to vote for Wilmington, NC, in an online competition for “America’s Best Riverfront.” I take no individual credit for the victory but was very pleased that our collective effort paid off.
I left Wilmington over thirty years ago to attend college in Chapel Hill, but I have maintained a deep affection for my hometown. Although I have lived in New York City, northern California, and now Philadelphia, Wilmington remains “home” for me. Much like a one-sided relationship, however, that affection has not always felt mutual.
On a bright, sunny Sunday morning, November 9, weeks after the “riverfront” competition, I was in Wilmington attending a board meeting for Working Films, a non-profit organization that facilitates the use of documentaries to advance social justice. It is a happy coincidence that Working Films, a national organization, happens to be headquartered in my hometown. Board meetings provided me the opportunity to see and visit family and friends and, when possible, to engage in one of my most cherished pastimes: spending time at the beach.
After having served as chair of the board of directors for 4 years, I communicated to my colleagues that I was ready to step down in favor of new leadership. The fellow board member many of us had in mind as my successor was unable to attend the meeting because of Parents’ Weekend at her son’s college. Just after 10:00 a.m., I stepped outside to call her and answer questions about the responsibilities of being board chair and, hopefully, to persuade her to allow herself to be nominated as my successor.
I am a pacer while talking on the phone. I paced throughout the call with my colleague and found myself across the street from where the meeting was taking place — at the home of a former board member, in an upper middle class, predominately white neighborhood, not far from where I attended New Hanover High for my first year and a half of high school. Within a matter of minutes, I saw a police car drive up. The officer got out of the car and approached me, without saying anything. Feeling a bit apprehensive, based upon previous encounters with the police, I said: “May I help you, officer?” He replied: “We received a few calls about a suspicious man being in the neighborhood.” I was annoyed and agitated: “This is a public street, and I am not doing anything wrong.” The officer, later identified as R.A. Benton, suggested that I calm down, saying there was no need to have an attitude. Despite the aggressive tone of his own voice, I realized that it was indeed in my best interest to keep calm. We’ve all seen how police encounters involving black men can go sideways quickly. So, I said, “O.k. Let’s do this again.This is a public street. I have every right to be here. I am doing nothing wrong. I am at a meeting across the street and am speaking with a colleague.” Officer Benton responded,”How do I know that? I don’t know who you are.” I repeated that I had every right to be on a public street and asserted that it was my right not to identify myself. “However,” I said, in the interest of deescalating the situation, “if you tell me that I do have to identify myself, I will. But I don’t think I have to.” As someone who has spent a good portion of my career as a lawyer fighting racial profiling, I was pretty certain of my rights.
I excused myself and continued my call, finding it hard to concentrate. The colleague with whom I was speaking asked if everything was o.k. I responded it was, although I wasn’t so sure and could sense the situation was not over. When I turned around, I noticed that Officer Benton was still there, standing not far from me. Coincidentally, the colleague on the phone was a co-producer of the movie, “Fruitvale Station,” which was based on a true story and chronicled the final day in the life of Oscar Grant, a young black man who was shot to death by a white BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) police officer. It was clear to me that Officer Benton hovered over me in an attempt to intimidate me into ending the call and being on my merry way.
When the call did end, I texted a Working Films colleague at the meeting, sensing that my interaction with Officer Benton was not over. When she did not respond, I ran across the street into the house where the meeting was taking place and summoned my fellow board members and Working Films staff to follow me outdoors.
What happened next was perhaps a slight twist on the notion of community policing: my colleagues and I confronted Officer Benton about the various ways his behavior was wrong - from stopping and questioning me for no apparent reason, for escalating rather than deescalating the situation (contrary to presumed best practices), for wasting taxpayers’ money monitoring me rather than pursuing legitimate crime, and by standing his ground unnecessarily, in the absence of criminal behavior. A white female colleague told the officer this never would have happened had it been her on the call. An African-American colleague made it clear she believed his behavior was racist.
In the overall scheme of things and considering the deaths of so many black men and women at the hands of the police across the United States, this incident was fairly minor. But it is just one example of a long and troubled history of the overpolicing of the black community in Wilmington. Friends and family members have complained for years about being targeted and brutalized at the hands of the Wilmington Police Department. It is also a reminder of how bias underlies so much of policing and relegates people of color to perpetual objects of suspicion, differential treatment and second-class citizenship. While I am lucky that this incident ended without my arrest, injury or worse, the cumulative effect of a lifetime of these encounters is impossible to measure.
Racist behavior is certainly not limited to Wilmington or the south. I’ve also experienced it in the north and even internationally, by law enforcement and private citizens alike. (My articles, “What Would Martin Say? Reflections on Race at Home and Abroad” and “My Graduation from a Segregation Academy,” detail some of those experiences.) But when that behavior is coupled with the power of the state — or a weapon — and occurs in your hometown, it can have a profound, sometimes life-altering impact.
Recently, I was honored to deliver the keynote address at the New Hanover County NAACP’s 2018 MLK JR Breakfast (“Freedom Still Needs Fighters”). The audience included relatives, lifelong friends, Mayor Bill Saffo, County Commissioner (and my former high school classmate) Jonathan Barfield, N.C. Representative Deb Butler, other elected officials and candidates and a few uniformed police officers. During my speech, I recalled my experience with Officer Benton and the experiences of my family and friends with WPD. When it was over, I was approached by Mitch Cunningham, Deputy Chief of Police, who introduced himself and told me he thinks things have changed. He said he believes I would be impressed by some of WPD’s current programs and invited me for a ride-along. I admit that I am skeptical, at a time when the nation’s top law enforcement officer, Attorney General Jeff Sessions, has committed to returning to the failed “tough on crime” policies of the past. We know who is most impacted by those policies. And I wonder whether my relatives and friends feel the same about WPD’s purported new approach. I might, however, take Deputy Chief Cunningham up on his offer the next time I am home. Despite my skepticism, it would be nice to know that things have, in fact, changed at least a little in my beloved hometown.
