Black Cop

Multiple cities. That's a big protest.

And probably be a tad bit larger when the jury comes to a decision tomorrow night.

And while some will be starting fires, and others safe in front of their TVs,

I'll be right here taking your calls on the Roost.

Get at your girl.

...you may be placed under arrest.

United we stand!

Divided we fall!

Are you kidding me?

Are you fucking kidding me?

Do you see yourself? Look at you!

This is us. These are our brothers. Our Sisters.

And they're killing us. You're worse than them.

How much are they paying you, huh?

How much are they fucking paying you to act like a god damn clown, huh?

Huh?

Your silence, is our violence.

Move back!

I can give you 20 reasons why I wanted to be cop.

Yeah. That's right.

20 reasons.

You've heard them all before. They're clichés.

Each and every one of them.

Drawn to the job.

It's what I was born to do, as long as I can remember.

I look good in a uniform.

Love them donuts.

All that good shit. There's other shit too.

Shit I wouldn't announce that I like.

But I love.

Them bonuses.

Surprises.

Advantages.

The coffee.

- - Fuck! Ah, shit, man!

To contribute to something much larger than you.

Being part of... a community.

An ability to make even the tiniest difference in a person's life.

The respect you earn from each and every life that you touch.

And even if they think they don't respect you.

They do.

They just don't know it yet.

There are days I feel like I only get paid

to point out when you're wrong,

and exercise my state permission to correct you.

Other days I just listen to when you tell me how the system failed you.

And I promise you; every day, every single day,

someone tells me how to do my job. Which is fine.

We all have our ways we see things.

But, I'll tell you... My red isn't your red.

Your blue isn't my blue. My white's not your white.

And my black sure as hell isn't your black.

Who's talking to me?

Hi there.

I just want to say, when the rate of black on white murders

is nine times as high as white on black murders...

- Nine? - Something like that.

Yeah, because that's a high number.

Well maybe, but still if the ratio of white murders

is even say, six to one, tell me who the victim is and who the victim isn't?

You waiting for me to answer?

No. I...

Would you like to answer?

And they hung up. Surprise surprise.

We're hearing from "you", not because we want to, but because we like to.

Get at your girl.

Okay, so it's a red bike. It's a vintage red bike.

And, uh, on the handle bars there are black grips.

It's a vintage red bike.

You going to write this down?

- No, I got it. - You got it?

- Mm-hm. - Okay so what happens if you get it mixed?

I got it. Red bike, left bar tape missing, leather seat.

Road X model D.

No, no, no. There's no bar tape missing.

On the handle bars there are black grips.

And you had it here on the step?

Yes. I left it right here. Came up and they hacked it off.

Took it with the chain and everything.

Okay, did anyone else see it?

No. No one saw it. Otherwise, you know, I would have it, right?

Are you sure you just didn't leave it somewhere?

I mean maybe that's exactly what happened.

Look, can you... can you please just do your job for me?

What does it look like I'm doing?

Killing kids.

Ah, come again?

Yo, it's-

See, why would someone go ahead and say some shit like that?

I don't know, okay?

Some...some people are assholes, I guess.

I guess. And assholes know everything, right?

Does anybody else want to talk to me? Hm?

The bike?

The bike.

Here, write it down.

Write it down, in case my hand slips.

And I make a mistake.

We haven't officially met.

You can call me Black Cop. Negro officer.

African American law enforcement agent.

Minority Po-po. Upstanding POC.

That's not how I left the pencil.

Sellout 5-0. Traitor. House nigger. Black Cop.

I heard it all. I'm a guy doing a job.

I am not perfect at it, but I do it well.

Thank you.

I like my job.

You know some people, they don't like my job.

They don't like me in my job.

"Our people," well, they don't like me period.

Probably because the last 14 people I put in handcuffs

were black men and women under the age of 25.

Harsh? Yeah, of course.

But, hey, I didn't get the nickname Boogeyman for being soft.

Stop talking to me.

And it's that reason that people tell me all the time

that I have lost touch with my blackness.

On the contrary. I am very black.

I'm an expert.

But, like I said, my black isn't your black.

But, you don't always see my black.

You probably never see it.

But you ain't color blind, are you?

I never told my father I was going to be a cop.

He died before I got my badge.

I knew he wouldn't be happy about it.

He never liked them.

He didn't trust them.

He would say to me,

"You only need to know one thing about it, boy.

If a cop ever stops you, for any reason at all,

even if it's for the time...

You freeze, put your hands in the air,

and hope to hell you live to see the next day."

But I was never one to listen to my father.

Excuse me, sir. Sir, hold on a minute.

Stop, please.

Stop where you are. Hold it!

Ah. I wouldn't do that if I were you.

I can't hear you. My music's on.

I'm going to remove my earphones now.

What can I do for you?

You don't need to be talking right now you need to be listening.

Excuse me, man I just went to go ge--

I need to ask you a couple of questions--

For what?

Sir, don't make this hard for yourself.

What's hard? What are you..?

Just a minute. Can, I help you?

- Hey, let me just tell-- - Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.

No. I just wanted--

Calm down! What do you want?

Nothing.

I mean, I'm not with him or anything, I just--

Get outta here.

Hold on, are you fucking kidding me?

Don't worry about him, pal.

What do you mean don't worr-- Don't call me pal.

You, uh, you live around here?

What are you up to tonight? Wanna tell us your name?

I'm buying water, man.

Do you wanna have a conversation now?

Sure.

Your name.

I don't have to tell you my name. And back this guy off me, man.

There's been a disturbance in the neighborhood.

That's great.

I want to talk to you. I want to identify you.

- For what? - I asked you to identify yourself.

I didn't tell you. And now you're being hostile.

Yo, back you're man off of me. Yo, step back from me, man.