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The outdated marquis at my middle school reads: “Beautiful Berendo”...but to the lesser non-aristocratic commoners, a better known name was “Berendo Burritos.”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