Could I be hashtag like #GeorgeFloyd? Black people live this reality, even in Tacoma

I remember the first time. It was around Christmas 2014, on the drive home from a friend’s house in Wichita, Kansas, my hometown.

Less than a few miles from home, the sirens hit and the flicker of red and blue lights meshed with the late-night darkness. Though not the first time I’d been pulled over by police, this was different.

It was the first time I was scared for my life. The world audience, myself included, had seen what happened to young black men like Mike Brown and Trayvon Martin.

Two officers approached the car, flashlights scanning. I pressed my hands against the wheel in plain view like my parents taught me.

One officer, who was white, asked if I knew why I’d been stopped, I responded with a simple: “Officer, I don’t know. Sorry.” He told me I’d blown through a stop sign.

While he went back to his vehicle to run my information, his partner, a black man, shined his flashlight in my eyes, blinding me.

Questions raced through my mind. What would happen next? Would I have to step out of the car? Did I do something wrong in addition to missing a stop sign?

The white officer returned to my car and issued a ticket. I slowly drove off and went home.

My second time feeling like this came days later, when I was returning from the gym, close to my apartment. It was late afternoon, so traces of daylight remained.

I was being followed by a police car. I thought about turning onto a side street, but that might be seen as evading police. Nervously, I drove past my normal turnoff. After four or five blocks, I heard the siren and saw the lights.

The officer got out of her squad car and asked for my license and registration, which I provided.

For about five minutes I was afraid what could happen. Even if I’d done everything properly and followed directions, there was still a chance something could go wrong.

It turns out my car and description had matched someone they were looking for. I had no connection, so they let me go.

I was familiar with the phrase “you matched the description,” but never until that day did I think it would be applied to me.

It turns out I was lucky. I could’ve been another hashtag on Twitter. Instead of #EricGarner, #PhilandoCastile, #AltonSterling or now #GeorgeFloyd, it could’ve been #AndrewHammond.

Part of what’s so painful about watching events unfold in Minneapolis over the last week is the lens of personal experience that I view them through.

Floyd’s killing at the hands (and knees) of those who took an oath to serve and protect — a public execution carried out in response to a fake $20 bill — has been seen all over the world. And for some of us, it opened a wound that may never heal.

Although I’ve been a Tacoma resident for almost two years, I still have scars from those two encounters in Wichita.

Any time I see a police car behind me, I tense up. I have no real reason, other than a bad feeling in the back of my mind.

When I’m at the store, I place my receipt on top of a bag in plain view on the slightest chance the security alarm goes off by accident. It’s happened before, and that half minute of surprise and unmerited shame feels like minutes. Then I just put my head down and go.

I’m writing this because what’s happened in Minneapolis, New York City, and Louisville with Breona Taylor could just as easily happen here in the Puget Sound area. Black men and women are no less a target, even in the most liberal of regions.

A few days ago, a now-former Bethel High School wrestling coach mocked the death of George Floyd in a Facebook post. Some of you may support that coach. Some may be ready to hop into the comments section of this column and pull out the tired “All Lives Matter” card.

To that instinct, I respond: If all lives really matter, then how come so many people still don’t give a damn about the black ones?

America has been on a roller coaster ride of racial tensions the last few years. Black men and women are dying untimely, outrageous deaths due to a dangerous mix of adrenaline, racism and inadequate police training. Here in Tacoma, we’ve been lucky so far.

I ask my white counterparts to listen to black people when they talk about their struggles. You don’t need to have all the answers; just sit back and take in what they’re saying.

Minneapolis now joins cities including Baltimore, Chicago, and Ferguson, Missouri, as places where violent backlashes occurred after unthinkable acts were carried out against black individuals — places where fighting the system in a fair manner only seems to pile up losses.

It seems that most of the country only really started to care when matches were lit, windows were busted and stores were looted.

Don’t let Tacoma be next.

Andrew Hammond is a News Tribune sports writer. Reach him at andrew.hammond@thenewstribune.com.

This story was originally published June 1, 2020 at 7:30 AM.