Crossing the Thin Blue Line

Perhaps Police ARE the Answer

It pains me as I drag this pen across paper and speak about a subject as divisive as this. After all, I’m an ally of the less fortunate. I’m an ally of the marginalized and those on the fringes of society. I recognize their struggle; there is no doubt about that. Just ask anyone who knows me. I care about their struggle. I care.

Nevertheless, there are certain boundaries that should not be breached: lines that shan’t be crossed. Humble reader, please allow me a few moments of your time to explore some of my more conflicted feelings. Do not take this vulnerability as a weakness, though. It takes a strong man to admit fault, and although the following lines that I write may seem contradictory to the values that I have publicly professed throughout the years, I assure you all that I am still the righteous ally that all you people know me to be.

I have contemplated various methods to approach this subject in text. There’s the question of first person, third person, essay, or poem: plain, pedantic, past or present tense. There are a plethora of possibilities with expressing such a nuanced transformation in my higher mind. After much deliberation, I have decided, for the sake of capturing every single detail in order to paint the clearest picture possible, that I will express my revelations by way of narrative structure.

It was a modest summer evening just a few weeks back. Autumn had not yet reared its face, but it was evident that the weather was inching ever closer towards spooky season. Gosh, I love spooky season. Still, due to the lingering heat and humidity, the current temperature did not necessitate anything beyond a t-shirt. And so there I was, in my weather appropriate t-shirt, walking back from my recent night class (only 3 credits shy of my poly-sci major).

My mother and father always pushed me to carry some sort of pepper spray or mace while I traveled back to the dorms. They warned me of stray dogs, and other potential threats and believed it could benefit me in the event of a violent encounter. I always shrugged their suggestions off as paranoia. After all, I am a pacifist; I believe violence to be an unbecoming trait, and those who engage in it are animals at best. I don’t like to say anything is beneath me, but violence certainly is. Additionally, my parents are weak, privileged individuals who live in fear of their own shadows: A doctor and the CFO of a large cookie distribution company — privileged individuals if ever there were some.

Despite my many brave traverses back to my dorm room, something felt different about this night. Sure, spooky season was fast approaching, but that wasn’t what I was feeling. There was more activity than usual around the areas that I was traveling — I thought. Against my better judgement, I snagged a handful of rocks in an attempt to ease my rising anxiety. I may be a pacifist, but I am no coward. In the face of danger I am sure that I will react as lion. And later that night, this lion’s courage was put to the test.

A warm breeze swept by, and for a moment I was startled by the rustling in the bushes. “It’s nothing” I said to myself. But what if it wasn’t “nothing”? No, I was acting like my parents: weak and paranoid — or so I believed. Another gentle gust and another rustle ignited an involuntary reaction from my dominant hand that was holding the rocks. I threw one, no two, no six rocks at the shadowy figure behind me. “I should try out out for the baseball team after a few throws like that,” I thought to myself.

To my surprise, the shadowy figure I just pelted was my own shadow victim to a mistake anyone could have made on a night like this. Still, there was something inappropriate in the air: Intolerable vibrations surrounded by a faint skunk-type odor. Something didn’t feel right. I had to get back to the dorms fast and not just because I was eager to finish the final season of Grey’s Anatomy. There was something else in the air. There was something sinister lurking around a place that I once believed to be safe.

At last, I turned the final corner and began my walk to the front of my dorm building. That smell still lingered in the air, though. And even worse, the odor became stronger the more steps I took towards my temporary domicile. Luckily, my innate vigilance took over for a moment, not a moment too soon, and I spotted a shifty looking figure just a little bit over one hundred meters away. That’s close to one hundred yards for the uneducated. I barely escaped a very dangerous situation, that much was certain. Still, how was I suppose to handle what my eyes spotted just one hundred meters in front of me?

A man around a foot taller than I, wearing a hooded sweater along with other, similar looking males stood just a few meters shy of the entrance to my dormitory. Why would they be wearing clothing such as that in this weather? Obviously something was out of order here. And I had to take action.

Now, a lot of you will want to call me a hero due to the forthcoming events in this story. And, while that is true, that is not the point I am trying to make. Sinister and malevolent forces were afoot and someone had to do something to eliminate the threat as soon as possible. It was clear that these gentlemen were up to no good. What if they were waiting to sexually assault one of the young women who occupy a space in my building. I’m certain that was there intent. Why else would they be hanging around in the shadows at that time of night? It was already 2130, that’s 9:30 p.m. for those less educated, and there was no reason why anyone would be out at that time — well, except for me. But that’s because I had one of my poly-sci classes, and I knew these “thugs” were not a part of that class. There’s no way possible that they could have made it back here before me: I plotted the most effective, safest, and fastest route from the classroom to the dorms.

If I weren’t a pacifist, I would have handled the situation myself. We can’t have young women fearing for their safety on this campus! But my morality had gotten the better of me once again. “Damn!” I thought to myself. “I cannot allow these scum sucks to hurt any of the women who enter or exit this building. Something must be done!” There was only one option left. There was only one way to protect the women of my dorm from these bastards. There was only one route left for justice: I had to call the police.

Now, I hate the police. I wish they didn’t exist at all. There would be much less violence in the world if we could just get rid of them. Nevertheless, my hand was forced. In order to protect the women, I had to take desperate measures. I could see my own hand tremor as I dialed the numbers 9-1-1 into my phone: just another testament to the gravity of the situation. “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“Yes ma’am, there are group of young men of a darker complexion just outside of my dorm room. Usually I wouldn’t use such a description, but I want to be as precise as possible so as to avoid any injuries to innocent bystanders. It is clear that they’re about to hurt some young women. We need the police here as soon as possible!” I gave her all of necessary info regarding the location of my dormitory. The quivering in my voice let her know how severe things had gotten on my end.

It wasn’t long until the police showed up. Without hesitation, they sprang into action. “Get down on the ground, mother fucker!” the first officer shouted with his gun drawn at the high-ready. The men didn’t comply. They just stood there with their feet spread apart as if they were ready to flee the scene. They weren’t even behaving as if they were about to sexually assault some poor, unsuspecting woman — deceptive little scumbags. It wasn’t long until the stand-off turned to violence. Although the cop showed near super-human constraint by holstering his gun, the thugs were no match for he and his buddies’ batons.

The sound of those objects hitting those men irks me to this day. Animals, every single one of them. I could tell from the hundred meter standoff that I had maintained that the police were enjoying the violence. The stupid pigs never learned any higher thinking, obviously. If they had been educated, as they should be, then they wouldn’t have been enjoying themselves as much as the were. Nevertheless, there was bit of elation making its way through my body. I knew that the threat to those young women was soon to be neutralized. I knew that the girls in my dorm would be safe for another night, and I knew it was because of my swift actions in the face of danger.

Now, I have been conflicted about this encounter ever since it occurred. I wouldn’t say that I feel guilty about it because I have nothing to feel guilty about. Justice was obviously served, and those scum sucks will think twice before endangering another woman. No, the confliction in my emotions is that it was the police who solved the problem. We all know that the police are the problem, so it didn’t make sense that they helped me save the day.

However, it has donned on me recently that perhaps the police do have a use in our modern day society. When that resource is directed accurately towards evil, by individuals such as myself, there is the possibility of them doing some good. They can be useful when they are on my side. And this is where my revelation begins to take place. The police haven’t been bad this whole time. No, the people who call the police have been the evil ones. And so long as, in the future, the people who call the police are people like me, then men, children, and women everywhere can sleep soundly at night. That evening, those scumbags crossed the line. And I showed them exactly where the line was. I showed them what line they should never cross in the future: that thin blue line.