"They're announcing the verdict at 4." The lady telling me this over the phone was canceling our meeting downtown. Chaos was expected to break out regardless of the verdict.
The case started before we got to Oakland. Late the previous New Years Eve, a not-so-cooperative kid was shot in the back and killed by a BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) cop. The cop claims he thought he was holding his taser. The video someone recorded on their phone from the train shows pretty clearly that it wasn't a taser. The kid was black, the cop was white. Riots ensued.
Aside from a coworker who briefly mentioned the story after we first moved in last year, I didn't know a thing about it. The week before the 4th of July I noticed some storefronts around the city boarding their windows up. There were rent-a-cops everywhere. I asked someone in the grocery store checkout line what was up. The verdict on the (former) BART cop's trial had been anticipated that week, but it was delayed, supposedly because a juror had a vacation planned. The stores were prepping for the worst.
It was 3pm, and I was on my way home for a late lunch before my meeting, so I told the lady I would skip lunch and come right over. Two blocks from the building she called again. "They're sending everyone home. We have to reschedule." I called the office to see what they wanted me to do. "Go home." I was just a few blocks from our neighborhood, so I turned around and inched along in traffic for 25 minutes.
That night we lay awake in bed listening to sirens and helicopters over on Broadway, and the occasional loud popping noise, which we hoped was just someone lighting off their leftover fireworks.
I woke up refreshed, packed my uniform, and headed to work.
My uniform is pretty spiffy for a naturalist. It's got epaulettes on the shoulders that make me look important, a patch on the left shoulder, a brass name badge with my title, "Supervising Naturalist" under my name, and a cute badge depicting some kind of non-distinct wading bird in a marsh.
For the most part, people visiting the parks recognize me for what I am. If a group of kids I'm teaching is from a rough area though, I'll ocassionally get asked "are you the po-leece?" I ask them to read my badge, which leads them to ask "what's a na-.. na-- naaaturalist?"
Based on recent events, Oakland is not a good place to be confused as a cop.
Last week the Oakland PD had to lay off 80 cops. Their union wouldn't go for increasing their personal contribution to the pension system. The next day they announced all of the crimes they would no longer respond to due to the reduction. In short, unless you're in a life-threatening situation, don't expect a cop to be showing up any time soon.
That afternoon there were even more rent-a-cops at the grocery store. The parking lot seemed a little more thuggish.
I'm starting to feel like I'm in the thick of it.
Last week our neighbor, Ruben saw a lady getting mugged on the street below our apartment. It was noon. She didn't give her purse to the guy. He struggled and then ran. She was lucky.
Sunday night a random guy was shot-down near Chinatown. He was here from the DC area for an interview at Google. The two guys who robbed him and his friend weren't caught.
On Saturday night, on my way home from a movie, a few police cars flew past me, and one started swerving to slow the traffic. They sometimes do this because of accidents. The cop who was slowing us eventually stopped. I was just slightly behind him when his partner hopped out, gun in hand, yelling "I don't know where the suspect is! I don't know where the suspect is!"
WTF!?!!!
I called out to him to ask what he wanted me to do. We were on an overpass and all I could think is that whoever they were looking for was hiding in the bushes or under the overpass. He wanted all the cars to back up and exit at the overpass!!! Another cop had stopped traffic and was directing us back to the exit ramp. I knew the area and was able to follow the back streets to the house. On my way over the highway a little further up, people were stopped on the bridge watching whatever was going on. 20 police cars had surrounded a truck on the side of the highway. The cops were behind their open car doors, and gunshots blazed. I decided to get home and hunker down.
The next morning the story was out. The guy was from some podunk town near Yosemite. He had shot at a Highway Patrol officer who'd pulled him over for erratic driving. I think I saw the two cars that must have pulled him over; I slowed when I passed them a ways back down the road. The gun battle that followed took ten cops to put the guy down. He had a bunch of guns in his front seat, and (WTF?!) was wearing body armor. The reporters tracked down his license plate. The truck was his mom's (he took it without her knowing it). When interviewed, she said that he was upset at lefty politics and that he couldn't get a job. Go figure! He has a criminal record with two previous felony convictions. The unemployment rate is only 9%. How could he possibly have trouble finding a job?!
Since he was smart enough to be wearing a bullet-proof vest (WTF??!), the 91% of us who do have jobs are now paying his hospital bills and room and board.
This morning I walked over to the gym. It was dark when I left the house at 5:30. I try not to go walking in the 'hood in the dark, but for the gym I'm making an exception.
I'm on my way home. I see this older dude walking in my direction (I mean "dude" in the biker sense... longer white hair, stocky, worn in the face). I'm debating on crossing the street, but decide he's really not a threat. It's a nice morning, probably out to get a cup of coffee. Apparently I misjudged. Mr. Dude says "Hey buddy!" as he pushes, I mean pushes, at the front of my shoulder. It was as if he was trying to start a fight.
I look directly at him. "Please don't touch me." "What do you need?"
"Where do you work?" he asks me.
"Why do you want to know that?" I ask.
"I'm looking for a job. Where do you work?"
I tell him where I work and that I'm sure they're not hiring.
He apparently doesn't understand me, and asks "Are you the po-leece?"
WTF?!?!! I'm in my GYM CLOTHES. It must be my charming face that gives me away...
I say no, I'm not a policeman, and that I need to be on my way. I cross the street as he directs some pretty profanities my way. I can still hear him muttering when I'm a good 200 feet away. Obviously this man has larger issues than just needing a job. Had he not been borderline insane I may have directed him to the Workforce Development organization downtown. Instead, I should really call the police. Oh wait... I can't. He didn't have a knife or a gun.
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