Screenshot of police body cam footage of NFL star Tyreek Hill’s Sept. 8 arrest (Credit: Miami Dade Police Department).
The barrel of that New York City Police officer’s revolver probably wasn’t cold.
But it felt icy when he pressed it against my head and yelled, “I’m going to blow your f–king brains out!”
That was thirty-three and a half years ago, in February 1991, close to midnight on a Brooklyn street corner. A 16-year-old me and a White co-worker were done with our shifts at an ice cream parlor and headed to a taxi stand to get our rides home.
That’s when a police car pulled up, and two officers jumped out. As one charged at me, I stopped cold in my boots, threw my hands up, and answered the officer’s questions like a private addressing a general.
But none of that mattered. The cop shoved me to the ground and made me get on my knees while his partner held my co-worker.
After all those years, the one thing I remember most, along with the coldness of that revolver, was that following the officer’s orders didn’t matter.
Compliance wasn’t enough to save my life.
The Specter of Death
To this day, that incident reinforced an uncomfortable truth I hold about interactions between Black males and police officers: that the specter of death can hover over these encounters like flies to ripe fruit, no matter your station or standing.
A traffic stop or a chance encounter with a cop could turn an ordinary Black day into a gruesome one marked by our utter demise, or, if we’re lucky, we get to keep our lives and the lingering trauma from that incident.
Tyreek Hill: A Recent Example
What happened to NFL star Tyreek Hill was the latest example to hit mainstream media.
On Sept. 8, hours before the season’s first game, Miami-Dade police officers pulled over Hill for speeding in his tinted-out luxury sports car. He was slow to comply with officers when they ordered him to roll down his driver’s side window. At one point, footage showed Hill rolling it back up, seemingly defying those orders.
That’s when an officer pulled open the driver’s side door and yanked Hill out before shoving him to the ground. At one point, the officer had Hill pinned face down on the pavement, pressing a knee to his lower back, a striking image that parallels how ex-officer Derek Chauvin subdued George Floyd with a knee to the neck. Floyd, of course, died under Chauvin’s knee.
Compliance Doesn’t Guarantee Protection
After being cuffed and pulled up off the ground, Hill could be heard pleading with officers that he had surgery on his knee before they forced him down on the curb near his car.
The fact that Hill was recently voted the best player in the NFL by his peers and has one of the sport’s most popular jerseys didn’t matter. He got the same treatment many less famous Black men have been subjected to.
Like Mike Brown in Ferguson, Missouri, critics called Hill’s character and actions during that stop into question.
“Zero accountability. Tyreek’s attitude set the tone. You are lacking any empathy for law enforcement. Yes, the cop overreacted. But Tyreek’s arrogance was first. Order of operation is important in every conflict,” posted an X user in response to the footage.
Another wrote, “Roll down the window. Problem solved.”
Hill even admitted a few days later that his response to those officers was out of line.
Admittedly, if I were in Hill’s shoes, I would follow every officer’s instructions to the letter, no matter how unjust the situation felt—a survival tactic that probably won’t work anyway.
My Own Encounter with Police
Based on my own experience, compliance is not enough to protect Black men.
Being stopped on that corner at 16 made me dizzy with fright.
There I was on my knees with that officer, threatening to pull the trigger all because he said I looked like a suspect in a robbery that occurred around 8 p.m. that evening.
The officer told me the suspect was “a Black male with glasses”—a description I undoubtedly fit along with 750,000 others in the New York metropolitan area at that time.
Then, a familiar voice echoed from down the street.
Someone was yelling “Hey” repeatedly.
A figure rushed over to where we were. It was my manager from the ice cream shop.
The cops told him we were detained for a suspected robbery, but our manager responded that we were working our shifts at the time.
“I can show you their time cards if you need proof,” he blurted out, almost out of breath.
The officers eventually let us go and drove off.
My manager dropped each of us off at our buildings. No word was spoken on that car ride to either home, just our goodbyes.
The Failure of the System
Compliance wasn’t enough to save my life.
In the case of Tyreek Hill and me, no amount of compliance proved to be a shield against the unpredictability of police response.
So, for those who are quick to blame Hill, I would ask what those officers could have done to de-escalate the situation.
I would also ask why one was allowed to work after reportedly having six suspensions, four written reprimands and complaints alleging the use of force. This underscores the need for police accountability, better training, and stricter consequences for disciplinary issues.
Humanity Over Character Judgments
Most importantly, why won’t more critics consider our humanity before questioning our character and intent?
I would also remind them of the July 2016 incident involving Philando Castile, who got pulled over for driving with a cracked taillight. This stop resulted in a Minneapolis-area police officer shooting him five times at close range despite his compliance.
Then, I would ask the officers, blamers, and even the people reading this column why this keeps happening to us.
Whether we are school cafeteria workers or multimillionaire athletes, 16 like me or 43 like Eric Garner, why is our demise or diminishment often the end result?
Why does that specter still linger?
When will our humanity be enough?