The High Tech Lynching Of Philando Castile

The driver slows his car, seeing a squad car pull up behind him. His hands on the steering wheel, the young man swallows down a fierce sense of anger and betrayal. This has happened countless times before, over 50 to be exact. Looking to his lover by his side, he sees the fear in her eyes, a zenith of terror in her darting glances.

"I have a lil weed on me.....," she gasps.

 The young man smiles nervously, trying his best to show resolve and strength. " Its the damn tail light. I had forgot. Have to get that damn thing fixed.
"Be easy. This will be all over soon. Sit back and relax," the young man says with a cocky grin.
"I got this..."

Watching as a cop walks up, short and squat,the young man smiles inwardly. "He doesn't look too damn dangerous," he thinks, gripping his steering wheel.
Both man and woman watch as the officer makes his way around to the driver's window.
"Yes sir.....what's the problem...?" the young man asks, rolling his eyes at the waste of his time.

The officer is scared. Blacks faces with beady eyes, what is he to do? Watching every motion the driver makes, the young policeman feels a zeal of fight or flight. But he has to control his need to be afraid. These people have done nothing.
"License and registration......," the officer says curtly.

The driver smiles. Best way to tame the deep seated fear he sees.

'I'm just like you - I'm not going to hurt you,' the driver seems to smile.

Reaching back, digging deep into his back pocket, the driver wants to get on with his life. No need to fear.
"Let me get it for you - its in my back pocket -- in my wallet," he mumbles.


Suddenly an explosion can be heard, four pops, loud and resolute.

 The driver looks to his white tee shirt as the crimson of life oozes from him, red and warm with dread and dark death. "It's in my back --- oh my god," the man tries to say, but can not.

Feeling the effects of shock, the driver eases back in his seat as hellfire seems to roar through his body, bullets holes seeping, his arm shattered. Feeling the pain, yet dizzy, the driver looks over.
 Wondering why he has not panicked, his eyes crowing curiously heavy, the driver watches his girlfriend pull out a well hidden cell phone. Bleeding, feeling his lower legs grow numb, the young man looks to the officer, seeing the look of a crazed animal, shock and regret already furrowed into the law man's brow.

The world grows soft as excruciating pain starts to numb, the curious sensation of death creeping up the man's legs. The driver scoots further down into his seat, hearing a little girl in the back. The child is strong, breathing heard, terrified, not understanding what she is seeing.  
Looking back, his eyes growing heavy, the driver tries to smile, to reassure the child like he has always done.

"I' m fine baby girl........," he tries to say, but can not. Death has flowed up into his mouth, down his throat, making everything numb and cold.

Closing his eyes, the young driver looks back to his girlfriend, trying to reassure with the same cocky smile that won her heart.

He can not, his face does not feel like his own, dead and rubbery.

The driver is sleepy. 'The pain aint  that bad,' he tries to say with his eyes as his lover looks on in complete terror.

All is dark. No last good byes, no last kisses or hugs.

'Damn.....so this is what it is like....," the young man thinks as his heart beats its last.
Trying to open his eyes, both eyelids feeling as if they belong to another; foreign and thick, like lifting lead weights, the man resolves himself to just breathing.
He will relax.

" No need to be afraid...," he thinks as his whole body seems to melt away.


Philando Castile is dead.

Millions will witness his lynching.



America -
We have a problem.

I could rant incoherently till blue in the face about bad cops, people that are barely trained to deal with the different communities they are paid to keep safe.

But I will not. Many already know this.

I could talk about how cops here in the Bronx often throw their weight around when it comes to people of color and immigrants. I have seen this too many times to count.

But I will not. It has already been talked about.

I can stand on a soap box in the middle of Time Square and scream to the top of my lungs about policing human beings, how being a cop was once an honorable profession to help people, now just an organized terrorist group in which the worst of society join.

I can not say that because it's is not completely true, ofcourse not.
Another reason not to say it, I might get shot myself.   


We live in a world in which little boys in grown men's bodies are given deadly weapons. These childish, petty individuals are then expected to do the honorable job of protecting the public from criminals, given the ultimate power of life and death, without even understanding the complexities of their jobs.

I have a niece who is a police officer in the 40 precinct here in the Bronx. As a black woman, I have watched this job change her into a mighty warrior for right and wrong. I use to pray for her all the time so that she would be safe, she has children at home waiting for her, a family that adores her.
I don't pray any more. My little niece is powerful, as if the Archangel Michael himself, I know she is the best of the best. Often in conversation, especially when she started her new career, she would tell me the racism she faces from her own colleagues. The off color jokes about black female prowess, the constant referring to male perps as 'animals' and or 'savages'.  It was hard for her at first.

Through meditation and spiritual guidance, my niece shined above it all. Now she is just 'one of the boys' - but so much better.

I won't go into the horrible biases we have discussed through the years, aimed at her as well as those behind bars that look like her, but I will say this.

" If cops do not respect their own because of skin color, what chance do we as civilians have?"

But, as we all know, this problem is deeper than police officers. These are just human beings given authority over other human being's lives and free wills. These people, even before donning that uniform meant to protect and serve, like God's human angels here on earth, they are just that.

People.

America, I just watched a black man being lynched. The year is not 1922, and I was not in a horrified powerless crowd of onlookers, gnashing our teeth, seething with fear and terror. I watched this young man die in the comfort of my own home, on my computer.

I guess somethings have changed.