In 2005, I did something I never thought I'd do. I got on the internet to look for what was my "dream car" - a classic Saab 900. I ended up purchasing a 1994 Saab 900 Turbo Convertible Commemorative Edition - one of only 500 made of the very last year model for the car, and a collector's item to boot, though you wouldn't know it looking at the less-than-mint-condition fixer-upper.
I flew to Rhode Island and drove it cross-country back to Texas. I had an interesting drive home. I drove through New York City and drove it to see the Statue of Liberty. I stopped in St. Louis to see the big arch. I stopped in Kansas City to see my sister Miranda and go to church with her there. And I drove almost the whole way with the top down.
Then, on 9/11/2005, Sunday evening, I was going through Oklahoma City and I thought it might be nice to see the memorial honoring victims of the federal building tragedy. I followed signs in downtown directing me to the memorial, but for some reason, I got lost. And then something broke on the car -- the catalytic converter started dragging on the pavement -- not a big deal; simple inexpensive $30 repair but I needed to figure out a way to wire it to the exhaust pipe until I got to Lubbock. I was in a plain white t-shirt and jeans, rigging something on the bottom of the car. Not 5 minutes later, who do you suppose pulls up? Two police cars.
They asked me for identification. They frisked me for weapons or illegal items. They locked me in the back of their squad car. They ran all kinds of background checks on me. They checked the VIN number of the car and get a history of it. They pulled me out of the squad car, HANDCUFFed me, and asked me to sit on the side of the road. They repeated strange questions like, "You say you are from Lubbock, but why do you need to go to Rhode Island again?" They asked me about all the suitcases filled with clothes that relatives in Ohio gave me to donate to the church to give to poor people in third-world Egypt. "Why would your church need clothes from Ohio?" They opened the suitcases, the trunk, the glove compartment.
It was then that I remembered what my dad had told me years prior. "You're not white enough to dress badly. You have to dress nicely." It was clear to me that I was being detained because of the way I looked. I am ashamed to admit that at one point, I remember trying to show them photos of my white wife, as if to say, "See? Although I'm not white, my wife is." I wanted to wash the dark off of my skin so they wouldn't think I was a terrorist.
I remember that towards the end of the ordeal, the female officer told me they weren't able to access all the computer records from Rhode Island since it was Sunday. She said they would hold me in jail overnight but that I needn't worry since they weren't going to book me and nothing would be on my record unless something came up and that I since I had probably been in jail before, I knew that it wasn't a big deal and my car would be fine in the impound lot. She was surprised when I told her I had never been handcuffed before and had never been in jail before.
My wife was pregnant with our second son and there was no way I was going to call her from jail to tell her not to worry. I explained, rather firmly, that if they didn't have any reason to hold me, I needed to get back to her so she wouldn't worry and perhaps harm the baby in her distress.
Finally after around an hour and 15 minutes, they uncuffed me. They couldn't tell me how to get to the memorial. I said, "please just show me how to get back onto I-40," and I got out of that city as fast as I could. On the one hand it was very humiliating to feel helpless in the face of racial stereotyping and it made me sad that we live in times that perhaps the officers have to be like that. It could have been much worse and they were as civil as they could be. On the other hand, it makes a funny story once a little time and distance have been sprinkled on it.
Well, I got home. Except for some anticipated repair, the car is just fine. When I told the story to friends and colleagues, and while many were shocked and saddened and even angered, I was surprised to hear some laugh and say, "well what did you expect?" as though dark-skinned people ought to know not to travel in Oklahoma on September 11th.
It is an experience I am grateful for. Everyone should know what it feels like to wish you could take off your skin and your race when threatened with loss of freedom or danger to your family.
