Blog #8: “But You’re Raza! Why Are You Taking My Car?”

“Discussion is an exchange of knowledge; argument is an exchange of ignorance.”
-Robert Quillen

The outdated marquis at my middle school reads: “Beautiful Berendo”...but to the lesser non-aristocratic commoners, a better known name was “Berendo Burritos.” It was a condescending school moniker, yet it’s pupils (including myself) were strangely supercilious to it’s connotation. Maybe it was the burritos-in-a-bag we doused with salsa packets atleast once a week. Maybe it was the ESL classes we were all forced to attend. Or maybe it was the correlation of a “burrito” with a student body made up of mostly Latino immigrants. **Shoulder Shrug** What I DO know is those burritos tasted quite scrumptiously delicious and oh so Heavenly!!! : )

The school sat on a downward sloping street called Berendo. It’s front entrance crossed 12th St where a picture perfect staircase lead to the campus’ blue front doors. Above the doors was a medium sized marquis gallantly bearing our school motto. Stepping behind those doors was like entering a portal into the pubescent realm of adolescent existence. A world filled with life altering rumors, never ending peer pressure, countless moments of “first times” and traumatic homeroom crushes. Unwitting boys chasing girls with their eyes in a perplexed state of catatonic transfixion on the opposite sex. Zombie-like in their gait coupled with a bizarre smirk that could only equate to one thing: Pre-Teens playing the game of Growing Up, high from the hormones-on-acid coursing through their veins while they ran amok!

That was life in middle school during the early 90’s. We’d stop at Dino’s on Pico Blvd for dollar fries in a brown paper bag, translucent from the grease. We confronted the usual obstacles in Da Hood on our walks home, then we would return early the next morning to do whatever it was we did all over again. However, even with all the memories I shared with my closest friends during my tenure at Berendo Middle School, there was something that just didn’t fit. Even with the congruency in our upbringing and culture, there was always one factor in my life that made me different from most of my peers: RACE.

Everywhere around me were pressures to fill in the bubbles describing my race "accurately and completely". It was a normal question on various official forms and documents. The smudges of lead from erasing, filling and re-erasing those bubbles on my Scantrons proved my ethnocentricity. I was a bit sheltered in my home. Well, in BOTH my homes. I lived in a one bedroom apartment with my mother and my two elder brothers. We were a family of four who spoke Spanglish, ate Guatemalan food and went to a Catholic Church. All fine and dandy. On the weekends my older brothers and I would go to my fathers house, which included my younger brother and step-mother. My dad would speak to us in a quasi Thai/English language, we took our shoes off when we entered the house, we ate mainly Thai food and went to a Buddhist Temple. The juxtaposition of cultures was normal to me. It was the best of both worlds! It was great!

As I entered middle school, the idea of “identity” became all too clear to me, or should I say UN clear. I was Latino (or Hispanic, whichever makes you comfortable) in a school made up of mostly Latinos but for some reason it was important for my Latino friends and acquaintances to make it clear to me that I was “only half”. I was also Asian, but apparently my facial features were not Oriental enough for me be accepted on that part of the school yard. The normal question of my life was “What are you?” There was always a big bright asterisk floating just above my head like a huge, annoying, pulsating, class-5 zit!

I always wondered why the people around me didn’t let me be both races. I did not understand why I had to choose one or the other. I was always “only half”. Eventually that confusion metamorphosized into a strong acceptance of who I was. Today, all the applications and empty bubbles in the world could never make me question my identity. It’s pretty simple actually, I merely fill in the race bubble that reads “other”. I decided I would let others get caught up on labeling me, while I moved ahead.

(Side Note: My personal experience with identity is my own, I do not wish to take away YOUR personal identity. I do believe identity is an important part of culture and society. More importantly I respect whatever identity you choose for yourself.)

These personal experiences have molded me into a person who believes strongly in the acceptance of others no matter what. When I joined the police department, I incorporated this part of who I was into my work ethic in policing. It has been one of many successful mental tools I have used to make sense of all the senselessness around me.

Three years into my career. I was partnered up with one of my best friends. Life in my career field was all hunky-dory. I knew it all. Confident beyond belief. Young and loyal to the cause of justice. Then the day came when I realized the importance of my power and authority to conduct traffic stops and confiscate peoples cars and THAT is where our story begins:

It was a quiet and still chilly November night. The long johns under my uniform were no competition for the frigid wind that whipped through the cockpit of our police cruiser. On this particular night, I sat on the passenger seat. The right side of my face was icy cold to the touch. Keeping the windows rolled up while on patrol is a tactical no-no for various reasons. It’s a luxury we don’t have the benefit to enjoy. A tactical nuance that holds importance in more ways than one. We had just entered our police car after playing teacher/lecturer/psychologist/parent at a radio call of a family dispute. I immediately pressed my hands up to the heater vents and began defrosting my fingers. The feeling in my ears, nose and face slowly crept back from numbness. As we drove off into the brumal streets of Koreatown, I saw two cars up ahead with their hazard lights on and a person waving his arms attempting to catch our attention. An apparent traffic collision. Easy enough.

Our investigation of the traffic collision revealed that one of the parties did not have a license, registration or insurance. He had two small children who were appropriately bundled up. His car’s bumper was dented and scratched. The driver of the other car had a license. He drove by himself. His car a bit banged up as well. Thankfully, nobody was injured. My partner began the collision report as I began on the vehicle impound report. The unlicensed man was in his late 30’s. He was a family man. The paint chips on his clothing, callouses on his fingers and painting tools in his trunk where more than enough for me to understand that this was a hardworking man. Another unlicensed driver on the streets of Los Angeles. Like many other unlicensed Latino drivers, he was unable to get issued a driver’s license because he was undocumented. As I began my report, the unlicensed driver noticed me taking notes on his vehicle. I asked him if he needed anything from the car before I impounded it. He looked at me with a disgusted look. Then he said: “But You’re Raza! Why Are You Taking My Car?” (Raza=Race, referring to our assumed shared race) Apparently the angle of the street light upon my profile made me look more Latino than Asian on this particular evening. He then gestured over to his two children as if looking for pity.

A flurry of emotions ran through me when he said that. I felt anger. Angry at him for blaming me for HIS actions. I felt guilt. Guilty that my police authority was the reason for these kids walking home in the cold. I felt content. Content that justice was served for the other legally licensed driver. I felt sad. Saddened by all of the other issues concerning immigration that affect everyone in our community. I felt confusion. Confused on my intentions of being a police officer. I wanted to help people, but now I was taking away someone’s car at the scene of a fender -bender on one of the coldest days in the city’s history!

I eventually convinced myself that taking away his vehicle was not only mandated by law and my department, but also that it was the correct action to take. Allow me to take you on a walk through the mind of Me:

1. California State Law and my department policy state that I SHALL impound the vehicle of an unlicensed driver with a 30-day hold penalty. I have enough career survival sense to know that allowing these unlicensed drivers to continue driving opens myself and my department up for major liability. If I allow an unlicensed driver to drive and he/she becomes involved in an unfortunate accident, that accident will be my fault. Neglect-of-Duty issues arise and now I can lose my job. Especially if the accident is a serious one!

2. Getting a driver’s license requires a written exam and a driver’s test. The dangers and responsibilities behind a wheel are serious enough to make driving a vehicle a privilege not a right. Even a citizen or legal resident cannot have a driver’s license without passing these exams. It’s a right that gets taken away with the irresponsibility of driving as well.

3. Think about the fairness to other drivers on the road. Most of us pay our registration and insurance costs. Most of us would not want a person driving a vehicle who did not take the appropriate schooling and exams to drive safely. Especially when we are out there with our children in the car, right?

If nothing else helps to make you see the ugly side of unlicensed drivers, think about this before continuing all the hullabaloo about me impounding an unlicensed Latino’s car. I recently went to civil court as a witness for my girlfriend who was involved in a traffic collision with an unlicensed driver where he was at fault. Somehow, she still lost the civil lawsuit against a person who should have not been on the road to begin with. She is currently paying his medical expenses and his salary for days he lost at work due to the accident. It was a minor fender-bender. Believe it. We are all vulnerable to this. All of us.

The “But You’re Raza! Why Are You Taking My Car?” inquiry did bother me a bit. Someone asking me to give them leeway for the simple fact that we possibly share a common ethnic background equates to a form of racism. It’s an offensive gesture that challenged my integrity and my identity, but I stood strong in my beliefs of who I am. An officer impounding an unlicensed Latino driver’s car has nothing to do with race, or unfair immigration rights, or me being Raza. It has everything to do with protecting the community from injury, civil suits, costly vehicle repairs and hiked insurance prices.

I believe the issue of immigration is an extremely serious topic in our country today. It is especially significant in Los Angeles where the Latino community consists of almost half the population (48% county-wide and 46.5% city-wide, according to the latest census). It’s the second largest ethnic group in the city. The debate over immigrant rights is not what I wish to tackle on this blog. We can go back and forth on countless issues and remedies. Sure we can begin legislation to allow undocumented immigrants to apply for drivers licenses, but until then it would be a disservice and unsafe for the police to allow unlicensed driver’s to simply drive off without repercussion. The reasons I mentioned above cannot be ignored.

I also want to challenge you with this: The next time you see an officer impounding a person’s vehicle, remember first and foremost that you cannot judge that officer merely on the face value of what you see. There are many other factors in an investigation that you do not know. Those factors can range from drug charges to child abuse charges, from DUI’s to stolen vehicle charges. You simply do not know. Judging my police actions of impounding vehicles without knowing the full story is simply not fair. So the next time you see a police officer impounding a vehicle on the side of the street, I hope this blog will influence you to think about the big picture before shaking your head in disappointment.

This message has been brought to you by a proud “Berendo Burrito” alumni...until my next blog, dawg!

PIECE LOVE & WHISKEY

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Fallen Officer Since Last Blog: 2 Souls
Total Line-of-Duty Deaths for 2011: 69 Souls

Border Patrol Agent Eduardo Rojas Jr.
United States Department of Homeland Security, DC
End of Watch: Thursday, May 12, 2011
Age: 35
Tour of Duty: 11 years
Cause of Death: Vehicle struck by train
Survived by: Wife & 2 children

Border Patrol Agent Hector Clark
United States Department of Homeland Security, DC
End of Watch: Thursday, May 12, 2011
Age: 39
Tour of Duty: 10 years
Cause of Death: Vehicle struck by train
Survived by: Wife & 2 children

Blog #7: My World of Donuts and Violence

The following video is a deep and emotional confession to the candid truisms of donuts & violence:

http://www.youtube.com/user/watchitbend7?blend=3&ob=5#p/a/u/1/GNn6Yy3aAtY

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Fallen Officer Since Last Blog: 2 Souls

Sergeant Brian Dulle
Warren County Sheriff's Office, OH
End of Watch: Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Age: 36
Tour of Duty: 12 years
Cause of Death: Vehicular assault
Survived by: Wife, three children, parents, and two siblings.

Trooper Andy Wall
Tennessee Highway Patrol, TN
End of Watch: Saturday, May 7, 2011
Age: 36
Tour of Duty: 7 years
Cause of Death: Motorcycle accident
Survived by: Parents, sister and girlfriend

Blog #6: Are Mandatory Verbal Warnings Before Utilizing Deadly Force Necessary?

“A good battle plan that you act on today can be better than a perfect one tomorrow.”
    - Gen George S. Patton

I had a debate with my Brother/Blog Editor, Dennis J. We debated about the pro’s and con’s of mandatory verbal warnings before utilizing deadly force as a police officer. At the end of the debate I realized I was unable to convey the importance of my point. Maybe it was my lack of debating skills. Maybe it was the Jack Daniels in my system. I’m not sure, but the debate was heated! I struggled all this week on a method to make the non-police mentality understand that mandatory verbal warnings equal deadly consequences for innocent victims and show too much fairness for murderers. Finally I decided to keep it simple. No need for statistics. No need for long descriptive scenes of tense stand-offs. It’s a simple game of What-If’s:

What would you do?

You see a gangster thug low life pointing a handgun at a cowering senior citizen’s head. (Sadly, a common occurrence and an actual scenario I observed from nearby surveillance cameras.) Mr. Lowlife yells at the victim, “Give me all of your money!!! I’ll fucking kill you!” His finger dangerously flirting with death as it hovered over the sensitive trigger. The senior citizen’s eyes are huge, filled with terror and panic. Mr. Lowlife doesn’t notice you there. You have a gun of your own.

What would you do?

1.Shoot him on the arm? What if you miss? What if you miss and then he kills the senior citizen? What if you DO hit him on the arm but it does not immobilize him and he kills the victim anyway? Then what?
2.Would you WARN Mr. Lowlife to drop the gun? What if he turns and shoots you before you can finish the statement? What if he gets startled and shoots the senior citizen?
3.Would you wait and hope he doesn’t shoot. Maybe he’ll just rob the senior citizen and leave. Or maybe not. What if? Are you willing to knock on his family’s door and tell them that they have to make funeral arrangements because you wanted to be fair and warn a criminal who had a gun pointed to their family member’s head?

I can What-If this scenario a thousand ways. This particular surveillance video showed Mr. Lowlife pistol whip the senior citizen into unconsciousness. He then went into his pockets and removed an unknown amount of money and a gold crucifix that hung from his neck. I want you to put yourself in the senior citizen’s place. This time it’s me who spots Mr. Lowlife pointing his gun at YOUR head. I’m watching it unfold as I draw my firearm from it’s holster. All the while my sharpshooter medal gleams proudly on my uniform chest. Would you want me to yell out a warning? Would you want me to attempt to shoot his arm? Would you want me to wait and see what happens in hopes of him not shooting you? Remember, his gun is pointing at your head. What actions are fair to you? Should I balance Mr. Lowlife’s rights with yours at that moment in time?

Think about somebody you care for deeply and endlessly. A grandparent, a son or dauhter, a parent, your husband or wife. Picture his/her eyes being huge, filled with terror and panic as that gangster thug low life points his gun to their head. As you helplessly watch this unfold, you see me in uniform with my gun. What would you want me to do? If you could yell at me to save your loved one, what instructions would you yell? Honestly. If it were my loved one in that situation I would want that cop to do what he is paid to do and shoot that lowlife! End his life and make it a quick death! Not because I like death. Not because I am some kind of trigger happy police officer, but because a sure quick death is the only way I can assure my loved one doesn’t get shot! The fair chance at life in this situation SHOULD be given to my loved one.

If we look at the other side of the coin, many more What-If situations can occur as well. What if the scenario is not so black and white. Maybe what you see is actually an off-duty police officer pointing a gun at a robber. Maybe a victim was able to wrestle the gun out of the suspect’s hands and has him at gunpoint while waiting for police to arrive. The ultimate decision to shoot falls on the trained officer’s determination of the totality of the circumstances. Given all the scenarios mentioned above, yes a verbal warning could prevent tragedy in certain situations. It’s an unfathomably difficult situation to be placed in. As a police officer, it is my duty to utilize my training and experience to make the right decisions on a case by case basis. By developing my training, constantly going over the countless What-If scenarios and learning from actual police occurrences around the world I continue to build and improve on my expertise. Thus, there is justification to trust that I, or any other officer, will make the best decision given the situation at hand.

No police officer wants to shoot an innocent person. No police officer will shoot at a person who they think is off duty officer or citizen protecting himself. If I were forced to give a mandatory verbal warning before shooting my firearm in every single situation imaginable, it would equate to neglect-of-duty on the police officer’s part when that innocent victim is shot. In my opinion the negatives of mandatory police warnings far outweigh the positives. Either way it proves once again that police work is no picnic!

Death and violence runs rampant in Los Angeles. We are used to the bad guy causing death and violence. But somehow when a police officer uses death and violence to protect life, the officer is scrutinized as a brutalizer rather than regaled as a hero. I’m not suggesting we have a parade for every officer involved in a shooting. But in scenarios like the first one mentioned above, the actions from a police officer that cause death and violence actually saves lives! If you cannot agree with that then stop reading here.

Applying to the police department was never an agreement to get shot. I don’t get paid to die. My profession does not have me sign a waiver saying I agree to be paralyzed by a bullet shattering my spinal chord. I signed up to protect life and property of citizens in my community. While I know the inherent dangers of police work, there is no stipulation of my own potential murder written in the job description. I am not aware of any one of my duties requiring me to give a criminal a fair chance to kill you or me first. There is no job in the world with these requirements. Think about our troops on the battlefields protecting our freedom. I want every single one of them to come home safe and healthy to their families. I assume that is a goal we all wish for. Because their duties include defending our shores through war, should we allow the enemy to shoot .50-caliber rounds at them BEFORE they defend themselves? That sounds silly and absurd. The battles on our own nations streets and neighborhoods are no different.

I gave an “extreme” example of the negative consequences a mandatory verbal warnings can have. The scary truth is that a scenario like Mr. Lowlife vs the senior citizen is actually not that “extreme.” This type of criminal violence is a sad and realistic truth. Having a mandatory verbal warning rule before utilizing deadly force will cause an officer’s hands to be tied behind his back when one of these tragic scenarios unfolds. Scenarios of life and death. Scenarios that have no room for compromise.

It is understandably hard to comprehend the fact that a person actually has the ability to shoot a gun at the face of complete innocence at point blank range. Even as a police officer who is constantly exposed to violence, I sometimes find myself shaking my head in disbelief when I am investigating certain crimes. Some situations may call for a verbal warning before the use of deadly force. However, binding an officer into giving a mandatory verbal warning before pressing the trigger does not account for all cases where innocent victims or police officers themselves would be placed in a greater chance of dying by doing so. Think about whose rights a police officer has the duty to protect at one of these situations. The possible outcomes from all the What-Ifs in the world will NEVER balance out on the criminal’s side.

If you don’t agree with my values on this matter, I hope I atleast gave you a different perspective. If, God forbid, you are ever in the grim situation of having a gun pointed at YOUR head, I hope I can be there for you with my sharpshooter medal, my gun and of course, my values on this matter...until my next blog, dawg!

PIECE LOVE & WHISKEY

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Fallen Officers Since Last Blog: 2 Souls
Total Line-of-Duty Deaths for 2011: 65 Souls

Police Officer Rolando Tirado

Buckeye Police Department, AZ

End of Watch: Sunday, May 1, 2011
Age: Not available

Tour of Duty: 11 years

Cause of Death: Gunfire

Survived by: Wife and two children.

Captain Ralph Braden

Wartburg Police Department, TN

End of Watch: Monday, May 2, 2011

Age: 58

Tour of Duty: 22 years

Cause of Death: Assault
Survived by: Mother, step-father & brother

Blog #5: April 29th 1992

Inspired by my cousin, Melissa Waller.

An orange glow blazed brightly from the 12-year old's bemused face. He stood silent and transfixed on the scene before him. Like in a dream his ears were temporarily muffled by the shock and the fear. All sound was blocked out for a sliver of time as he looked on with hypnotized eyes. Black plumes of smoke cast off of his innocent eyes like a projection on an old silent movie screen. A fiery backdrop of hellish fire roared in silence behind him, evoking curious amazement in the 12-year olds expression. The horizon of haze ascending into the skies told a muted story of anarchy and chaos from the streets below. As this 12-year old stood on the roof of his apartment building four stories up, gazing into the orange glow, the sudden shatter of business windows snapped him back into reality.

Down below, the streets he was used to playing jovial games of 3-Flys-Up and Pickle with other neighborhood kids had transformed into one of disorder and disarray. Familiar families pushed Jons Market shopping carts filled with TV’s, stereos, Nintendos, shoes and clothing. They scurried down the street with smiles on their faces as if they had just won the Publisher’s Clearinghouse Sweepstakes, only to return up the street a short time later with now empty shopping carts, ready for a second, third and even a fourth freeloading frenzy. Nothing was out of the question. A family somehow managed to fit a sofa, three tires and a cash register into one of those shopping carts! I remember the register’s power chord getting stuck on a fence and tipping over. They laughed uncontrollably as they mounted their new “belongings” back into the shopping cart then continued on with their precious family time. Back and forth the laps continued. It was a highway of thievery at the peak of rush hour traffic!


The 12-year old wondered why his friends, neighbors and acquaintances would participate in such destruction. He continued to watch...

The friendly Jons Market manager walked down the street with a bloody face, a beating from the very customers he smiled to on a daily basis. The 99-cent store owner who always smiled and greeted you in Spanish with a thick Korean accent stood in front of her store. She had her hands on her head and tears in her eyes. She was powerless while the same customers she was happy to serve everyday shattered her windows, stole her belongings and ruined her life.

The sharp clash of shattering windows from one of the many appliance stores on 8th St. drew in a mindless mob who ran from business to business, emptying the stores of everything that wasn’t nailed to the floor. The 12-year old could see the other rooftops from where he stood. Korean business owners held AK-47’s in one hand and water hoses in the other in an attempt to protect their businesses and their families. A Korean mother hunkered over her two children, genuflected and put both hands up towards the sky as if asking for answers. But there were no answers. There were no miracles. There were no police. Only lawlessness, violence and complete devastation.

April 29th 2011. It has been 19-years since the infamous Los Angeles Riots of 1992. I found myself looking back at my 12-year old self on that rooftop. As I drove around those very same streets, now proudly donning a police uniform and badge, I couldn’t help but have a moment. My mind flashed back to the eerie absence of police sirens. I remembered the surreal presence of military tanks rumbling down my neighborhood and the images of innocent bystanders being beaten on live television without repercussion. As I drove this past Friday in my black-and-white I decided to turn onto my old street and stop my police car in front of the 840 S. Ardmore apartment of my childhood. I couldn’t help but to look out onto the streets and picture all the ignorant violence that took place there 19-years ago. It was a moment in my childhood that filled me with dejection, confusion and heartache. It was THE defining moment in my life that awoke my fervor for duty and justice...

...and the rest, is history...