I can't stop thinking about it.
Last month I wrote about the damning Department of Justice report on the use of excessive force by members of the Seattle Police Department.
The DOJ found that at least once a week, someone has his or her constitutional rights violated by an SPD officer.
The DOJ also looked at whether SPD practices discriminatory policing.
From their report: "Although we do not reach a finding of discriminatory policing, our investigation raises serious concerns about practices that could have a disparate impact on minority communities?...?while not conclusive, some data and citizen input suggest that inappropriate pedestrian encounters may disproportionately involve youth of color."
But the DOJ couldn't justify a finding of discriminatory policing; incomplete data from SPD prevented them from doing so.
The report found SPD officers routinely escalate incidents into physical altercations when they had no business stopping people on the street in the first place.
Police Chief John Diaz disagreed with the findings of the DOJ, as did Mayor Mike McGinn, before he capitulated and directed Diaz to make the recommended changes issued by the DOJ.
I haven't been able to get the DOJ report, or the subsequent political tap dancing, out of my mind. I can't help wondering about the unseen impact that stems from such systemic abuses.
Imagine this scenario: You're walking down the street and pass by two police officers. They call out to you to stop -- they want to talk to you. Knowing you haven't done anything wrong, you keep on down the street. The next thing you know, those officers are in your face. One has grabbed you. Instinctively, you resist the confrontation. The next thing you know, you're on the ground and you can hear officers call for backup. More officers appear. They've piled on top of you, bending your limbs in directions they weren't meant to go and smacking you with their night sticks. Stop resisting, you hear over and over.
In the end, you're sitting handcuffed in the back of a police car, and you're now under arrest for a list of offenses that likely include obstruction of justice, resisting arrest, and assault against a police officer. In the black community (and amongst criminal defense attorneys), these three charges combined are known as "the trifecta."
It's your word against members of the police force who write in their reports and swear under oath that you "fit the description" of someone who just robbed a store nearby. So naturally, they had no choice by to stop and question you even though the suspect was reported wearing an XXL white T-shirt and black baggy pants and you're in a dark blue dress shirt with matching tie. But I digress.
In all likelihood, you've just taken the first few steps down the one-way street to a prison sentence. Even if you get lucky and plea to lesser charges, you now have a criminal record where none existed before, or where perhaps you had a petty misdemeanor or two.
You come out the other end of this scenario a felon. You have thousands of dollars in fees and restitution to pay off, and your prospects at gainful employment have been significantly reduced for the rest of your life. You've been institutionalized.
When I flip through the DOJ report, or see Mayor McGinn squirm in defiance at the findings and the Chief of Police all but flip the bird at the entire affair, I think of this. I wonder how many people of color have been on the receiving end of police brutality and have been institutionalized as a result. I wonder how many lives have been irreversibly damaged because police officers feel entitled to inflict violence against innocent people.
That is the unseen toll of excessive force, and an injustice none of us should allow to continue.