April 14, 2002 // 3:20 a.m. // Discrimination

I had an entry planned out for later today. It was supposed to be about how B and G fought with me over double standards, and musicians (mainly R. Kelly) and his problem with getting involved with underage women. This was the entry I meant to write. This entry was supposed to be angry.

The entry can't wait until morning.

The entry I'm about to write makes me more angry.

I'm shaking. As we speak. Because I live every day of my life with it. Wondering what'll happen the next time I get pulled over.

As I've recounted numerous times, the three of us always drive up to the east side of town, the more elite area, because the union building, restaurants and other fast food places are up there. We always park in one of two parking lots. The East High School lot or the union building lot. We get our dinner, drive here, and park and chat and eat.

The west side of Salt Lake has the reputation. Likely due to lower incomes and whether we like to admit it, more minorities. The three of us are all bright college students, all law abiding citizens, and all minorities.

Which is what makes this story all the more difficult to tell.

A few weeks ago, a whole group of us parked in a church parking lot in one of the richest areas of Salt Lake. A cop pulled up, asked us what we were doing, then asked us to leave.

A very common response. We are where we aren't supposed to be, we haven't done anything wrong, so the cops have every right to ask us to leave. Definitely the right decision.

Tonight, we parked in the parking lot of a church across the street from the East High parking lot we usually sit in. The reason: we were all reading a magazine and the light was sufficient in the church parking lot.

We noticed a cop pull into the school lot later, and then leave. Later we saw at least three more cops drive down the street. It's rare to see a cop in this area of town.

Which makes the situation we experienced all the more suspicious.

As we were discussing cars, we see a cop slow down, stop, then pull into the parking lot where we were. Another cop followed less than seconds later. The three of us just gave sighs. We expected to be told to leave. We expected a verbal barrage.

We didn't expect this.

The two cops came to the car (one on each side) and asked us to put our hands in the air where they could see them. They asked for B's ID, registration, and insurance. Their flashlights shined deep into our eyes.

As B searched for his registration, our hands remained up. Finally, the cop relented, and allowed me to, "place my hands on the headrest as long as he could see them."

While B searched for his registration, the cops began to ask us questions.

"What are you guys doing up here?"

"Just eating." The bag of Cheetos sat on his dash as did his Taco Bell bag, and 7-11 cup.

"Is this your litter?" A plastic bag sat on the pavement outside twenty feet from the car. It obviously wasn't a bag from a fast food restaurant. More like a CD sized bag from any store.

"No, our litter is all right here." G opened the glove box a little to reveal the trash from what he ordered.

"Is this your parents car?" B responded with a courteous "yes." His name wasn't on the registration but was on the insurance.

"What are you doing way up here?"

None of us knew how to respond to that. Way up where? The east side of the city? The predominantly white side of the city? The last time I checked, people could drive anywhere in the city they wanted.

Our response: We always come up here. We eat up here, chat up here, hang out with friends up here, and we've never had a problem in the two years plus that we've been doing this. We told them that we went to high school there, while pointing at East High just a few hundred feet away.

The cops then left, and returned a few minutes later. In their absence, we discussed the bullshit that was going on. We're sitting in a car doing absolutely nothing, and you want us to put our hands up? You ask us why we're so far from "home?" Did she just assume that three minorities lived on the west side of town?

When she returned, she asked us to leave. The bold B asked her why we were stopped. "This is private property," the female cop said, "You're trespassing."

"And no other reason?" B quipped carefully.

"No, you just be careful." The cops walked away. We were finally able to put our hands down.

Now, I'm not much for swearing, but there are some seriously fucked up things wrong with this conversation. The whole process could have easily been avoided had they told us we were trespassing on private property. We would have left, and that would have been it. We don't need two cop cars, two cops, asking us if common everyday litter is ours, especially when some of it came from a 7-11 just mere feet away. It could have been (and likely was) there for days.

We spent (at least) ten minutes with our hands up. Feeling like criminals. When our biggest crime was being suspicious, born who we are and living on the wrong side of the city.

I was just as careful accusing officers of profiling. Now I've experienced it. Racism of some form after speaking of this in sociology on Friday. Boy, do I have a story to tell for class on Monday. And for once, I'll be confident to hold the floor when class resumes on Monday.

Jason

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