The Texas Police
I lived for several years in a multicultural neighborhood in Plano, just north of Dallas, east of I-75. At that time I’d estimate that it was about half Latino, a quarter Black, and a quarter White.
One of the scariest moments of my life happened while I lived there.
I had left early in the morning to drive to my parent’s house when a car suddenly appeared behind me, high beams on. We were the only two cars on the road. He tailgated me through several stop signs, never more than a few inches behind me.
I was scared. I was nearing the on-ramp to the interstate, and I considered just flooring it through the red light to get away from whatever the man behind me was planning. I was moments away from doing so when my stalker unexpectedly backed up and went around me.
It was a police car.
A few weeks later I read in the paper that this had become a common police tactic. If I had run, they would have arrested me for evading arrest– even though I had no idea they were the police. They had done it many times before. People had paid huge fines and even served jail time, and I was only seconds away from becoming one of them.
When I lived there in the early 90s, computers were still enormously expensive and it wasn’t unusual for companies to work in two shifts so employees could share a computer. I worked the second shift at MCI, 3:30 to midnight.
There were seven us on that shift, one of whom was Black. He quit after less than a month.
The police were stopping him on his way home about three times per week, every week. They told him they were “checking for proof of insurance.” He never got a ticket, but being detained so often was so stressful he gave up a good-paying job.
The others in our group were never detained. Not even once.