MOTIVATE Highlights…Brandon Parks
In February, Brandon Parks “23 from University School, competed and won the 118 Annual Sherman Prize Speaking Contest. Check out his award-winning speech below!
Congratulations, Brandon for being brave enough to share your story with your peers and teachers.
A Cold Reality
It was a Wednesday afternoon, just three days before Christmas. The white blanket from the previous snowfall was beginning to melt from the ground. Even with the warming temperature, stepping outside would be met with a bone-chilling wind that would send shivers down one's spine - enough to put on a hoodie for any degree of protection from the cold.
My friend and I sat there for a few minutes, waiting for the car to heat up. We were doing what every human does, simply eating and talking. Then, we were bombarded by five police units. I just froze; I was unable to move my body. I felt like I was in a movie scene, doing nothing in my car one moment and the next, having my whole world turned upside down. All I could do was ask myself these questions:
What are they here for? What did we do? Is this real? Is this the end? There was only one feeling rushing through my mind, fear.
“Put your hands on the steering wheel, and don’t move!”
“We got a call saying there was a suspicious young man with a hood who was following customers around with a concealed firearm.”
My eyes locked onto their hands which were fixed to their holsters.
All I could think was, “If they see me move, those guns will leave their holsters, and the scene will end.”
“I need you to open the door slowly and step out of the vehicle,” the lieutenant demanded. The police had us step outside so they could frisk us.
Leaving the car was like rejecting the warm embrace of a parent and stepping out into a snowstorm with speeding daggers of ice that sunk deep into my soul. The police quickly pulled us away from the car and began searching for this fictitious weapon.
I wanted nothing more than to return to that warm, sheltered reality that I had been in for so long, but that seemed to be permanently lost in the storm behind me.
After what seemed to be an eternity, the police finally finished their routine protocol and told us we were free to go.
Standing in the spot where they left me, I was trying to process what just happened but with no success. Stirring in my mind, my thoughts ran into a wall and piled up behind it. The pressure built up behind that wall until they burst through and overtook my mind. All my fear turned into a sudden wave of overwhelming anger that remained swelling inside me.
I waited to start the car because my body was finally catching up with my mind. I tried to continue on with my day, but I was too distracted dealing with the countless phone calls from people trying to get the story out of me. I was forced to recount the incident which, I, myself, still could not understand.
I wanted to know for sure why this happened, so later that night, I went back to that gas station that destroyed my naive sense of this world. I stepped back out into that now empty parking lot. I scanned the area, paranoid that I might find another cop standing there waiting for me. As my eyes locked onto the spot where I’d stood earlier, I began to recount the previous events.
After spending the day with a school friend, we decided to get snacks from a nearby gas station. I found a parking spot closest to the store so we wouldn’t be in the cold long. After sitting in the car for a few minutes, we worked up the nerve to step outside and sprinted towards the store. I threw on my hoodie to shield myself from the wind.
We had no specific snacks in mind, so we spent a few minutes browsing the aisles narrowing our options.
Customers filtered in and out of the store, but I paid no attention to them and continued my search. Once we decided, we headed to the cashier who was already ringing out a man. He'd been talking with her for a while, but as I approached, he glared at me and quickly left the store. I thought nothing of it, so I checked out, and my friend and I headed back to my car where we were met with that looming, reality-shaking incident.
I regained focus and headed inside the gas station to speak with the cashier that was working while I was there. She told me that the person who called 911 told her that I was following him around and that I looked like I had a weapon on me. She told the man that she saw nothing wrong with what we were doing, but he insisted that he saw me engaging in “shady activity.” After dismissing his accusations, she said he then left the store and made the call. The cashier described the man as a young, average height white male. Just then, it immediately clicked; it was the man who glared at me before that made the call! I finally understood the judging look he'd given me earlier.
I thanked the woman for her help and headed back to my car.
As I walked, my thoughts began to race. My previous anger began to well up again.
“What could have possibly led him to believe that I had a weapon on me?”
“I was never anywhere near him; I was just minding my own business!”
Just then, the cold night air brought on yet another chilling wind, and I covered my head with my hoodie. Shocked by my stunning revelation, I stopped just before my car door and saw the silhouette of my hood in the car window. My eyes widened as I began to connect the dots.
“I get it now.”
It was because of my hood because I walked into the store with my hood on and my hands in my pockets.
I recalled the words of the lieutenant, “We got a call saying there was a suspicious young man with a hood who was following customers around.”
Is that really what brought him to this conclusion? Because I had a hood on, I was a dangerous criminal with a weapon? It was cold outside – everyone wore sweatshirts and coats. I can only imagine what his reaction would have been if I was wearing the durag sitting in my backseat.
I remember the story of the tragic murder of Trayvon Martin, a young, teenage Black man who was walking home from a convenience store with Skittles in his hands when he was gunned down by a local vigilantly. The shooter referred to him as “a real suspicious guy” who was “up to no good.” There was nothing he did that rightfully aroused suspicion. His life ended because he was deemed a threat for simply walking home and wearing a hood.
I also remember the murder of George Floyd. He purchased cigarettes from a grocery store but was then suspected of paying with a counterfeit bill. The police response was to suffocate him to death. Without regard for his countless pleas for help or his inability to breathe, a knee was held on his neck for nine minutes and twenty-nine seconds. Though George was unarmed and unable to resist, the police callously killed him.
I am relieved that neither was the outcome in my case.
My parents told me it was good that I gained this experience. They said that as a Black man in American suburbs, I will be treated as if I don't belong and that encounters with the police won't always play out like this one. They told me that this is the world I live in, and I’m going to have to learn how to navigate through it and that I couldn’t do things that make others think a certain way about me, like wear a hooded sweatshirt in public.
But their words didn’t sit right with me. Why should I have to cater to the world's feelings just to stay safe? It’s not my fault that others don’t know how to deal with their preconceptions of me.
The racial profiling that Black Americans face not only from police officers, but regular citizens is a large problem that is dangerous to us. Assigning stereotypical characteristics based solely on race and ethnicity has created a deep chasm in American society. African Americans face scrutiny for simply taking walks, shopping, and even applying for jobs. The racism that is so ingrained in our society has fathered harmful stereotypes that are weaponized against Black people every day.
There are too many instances when false statements are filed against Black Americans where they are racially profiled. There are too many instances when harmful stereotypes put Black lives at risk. There was no real reason for that man to have called the police on me, and there were no real reasons for the murders of George Floyd and Trayvon Martin; the explanation is simply racism.
Seeing Black people walking home from the store or gathering together is not suspicious. A Black man sitting in a park birdwatching does not make him dangerous. The hold that these stereotypes have on our society makes it difficult to simply exist while Black.
The effects of stereotypes not only reach Black people but all minorities as well. The illogical bias and hatred of others based on the color of their skin and physical identity creates a divide among humans that is not easily broken. My parents said that is the reality of the world that I would have to deal with, but I don’t believe in this reality.
At the core of it all, we are humans. Differences in race, religion, sex, and creed are what create individuality, but they are also what should bring us together.
Audre Lorde, a lesbian, Black American poet once said, “It is not our differences that divide us. It is our inability to recognize, accept, and celebrate those differences.”
We, as a society, need to realize that underneath our skin and outward appearances are human souls. Only then, can we begin to take the necessary steps to change this cold, bitter reality and fight for the wellbeing of all.
Thank You.
