Policing while black

Not all of Brian Whitmore’s friends wanted him to become a cop. It wasn’t that they feared for his safety. It was because they saw him as a traitor.

“All you’re gonna do is lock up more brothers,” friends told Whitmore, who is black. “You’re just going to oppress more of us because that’s the system you’re going to work for.”

“It was a hard thing to deal with,” admits the 34-year-old Whitmore, who nevertheless shrugged off the disapproval to became a UW police officer in 2010.

While those friends saw Whitmore supporting a racist criminal justice system, he saw it as a chance to help. “They didn’t get it,” he says. “I want to be a role model for other young black men.”

Race-based backlash — whether from family, friends or someone encountered on the job — is not a frequent occurrence for black police officers. But it’s something they all face in their careers, several local black officers say.

Deon Johnson, a Madison police officer, was confronted with the stigma a couple of years ago while arresting a drug dealer on the city’s south side. “There was this young kid with his phone camera out referring to me as ‘Uncle Tom,’” he says. “He wasn’t happy we were there, and he took to me as a way to channel his anger.”

Johnson gets the sentiment. “Being a black man, I can understand some of the frustration that comes from the black community [toward police],” says Johnson, who has been with the Madison Police Department since 2007. “It’s a them-versus-us mentality.”

Being a cop is a tough job for anybody, but for black officers, it comes with the extra challenge of navigating the historically fraught relationship between black residents and the police — including police abuse of its powers and the resulting hostility of the black community toward the profession. A spate of police killings nationally of young, unarmed black people — including the killing of 19-year-old Tony Robinson a year ago — has only inflamed the hostility. Of the 986 unarmed people killed last year by police officers around the country, almost 40% were black men, according to The Washington Post. Yet black men make up only about 6% of the U.S. population.

In most of these cases, officers were cleared of wrongdoing. Madison police officer Matt Kenny, who killed Robinson, was cleared by both the Dane County district attorney and the police department.

“Every time we see an event that seems to be a miscarriage of justice or an unfair application of police methodology, most [black] people say, ‘Here we go again,’” says Greg Jones, president of the Dane County chapter of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People.

Whitmore understands the anger, but resents having to pick sides.

“People have an expectation that I should feel a certain way about current events because of my race or profession — that I should be on one team or another,” Whitmore says. Instead, he feels for both sides. “I’m not here to dictate what was right and wrong because I wasn’t there when those things happened. We have some families in mourning and we have families of officers who are going through a really bad stretch in their life right now.”

Michael Penn II knows a lot of cops. His grandfather was a police officer, and his father and uncle are both on the force back in his home state of Maryland. Nevertheless, Penn, a recent UW graduate, steers clear of cops.

“I just don’t interact with police. I ignore them,” says Penn, a black musician who performs as CRASHprez. “I try to stay away from them.”

“Even with my dad, who I love to death, sometimes there’s a little bit of a disconnect there because we obviously think differently about it,” he adds. “He’s not oblivious to [recent events], but he’s been [a cop] for 20 years, so he’s going to have a different opinion than me.”

Penn’s wariness is typical of many in the black community, says the NAACP’s Jones. These feelings have long simmered, in part because of the large racial disparity in arrest rates between blacks and whites, Jones says, but they’ve been exacerbated by incidents like the Robinson killing.

Jones, who is involved with a task force on law enforcement issues, thinks increasing community policing programs would help. “What you’re seeing where the police departments are engaging with the community is they begin to build a level of knowledge, understanding, respect and trust,” he says.

M Adams, co-founder of the Young, Gifted and Black Coalition, believes the law enforcement system needs an overhaul. “We don’t have any power over the police,” she says. “We don’t have any power over the issue of security and safety in our community. This system is fundamentally flawed, and it has to be dismantled as it stands.”

For Adams, police represent the system of slavery. Police departments in the antebellum South were formed to protect the property of rich white people. “Their property was black people,” she says. “We see [the police] continue to serve the interests of a ruling elite and continue to suppress and oppress the black community.”

YGB advocates for policing that focuses on helping people instead of locking them up, she says. The community needs complete control of the police, she adds. “People who are police need to live in the communities which they serve, and there would also be control over the priorities, practices and policies of the police,” she says.

There’s one thing she doesn’t think helps: “If black people want to fundamentally change what is happening to our community as it relates to police violence, being a police officer does not do that.”

Harrison Zanders is on the lookout for a 16-year-old African American kid who lives in the south-side precinct where Zanders has worked as part of the gang unit for two years.

“I’ve heard some things about him driving dangerously, [that he’s] possibly involved in selling narcotics,” explains Zanders, who is showing a reporter around the precinct. “I want to make sure he knows I’m aware of what he’s doing. I want to tell him to slow down, tell him to be cautious, know your worth. Whether or not he takes the advice, we’ll see.”

Moments later, a call comes across the police scanner about the kid Zanders wants to talk to. The 16-year-old’s mother has called police, worried that her son might become violent.

As Zanders pulls up to the home on Taft Street, a couple of police cars are already there. Zanders enters the home, and after 15 minutes, he and two white officers come out along with the 16-year-old and his mother. Everyone is calm, and no one is in handcuffs. After some remarks between the residents and police, some handshakes are exchanged. Everyone’s smiling.

“He was requesting me,” says the 36-year-old Zanders. “We had the conversation, and he knew exactly what I was talking about. I told him how I was worried that he was gonna be rolled over in a ditch somewhere or he may hurt someone else accidentally and get locked up for a very long time.”

In situations like these, it can be an advantage being black, some officers say. Zanders can relate to what the 16-year-old is going through. He grew up in the Quad Cities area during the crack epidemic of the 1980s. “I had some family members that were plagued by that drug, so I’ve seen some crime,” he says. “Even at the age of 5, witnessing some criminal activity, it kind of started me off to wanting to be a police officer.”

“I wanted to become a police officer to help change the perception of the police by communities of color,” Zanders adds.

The MPD’s Johnson, who is 43, worked in the mortgage industry before becoming a cop. He has also seen the advantages to being black in his job. “Whether or not folks know what my background is, they may assume that ‘this officer knows where I’m coming from. He can relate to what I’m going through, and he’s probably seen it or lived it, so I may feel a little more comfortable talking to him.’”

Sometimes black officers are expected to give special treatment. “I have individuals who believe that because I am black that I should afford them opportunities because of that bond we have in race,” says Whitmore, adding that he’s been told, “You’re black, I’m black, so we have issues that you can help me with.”

“No. I’m a black man, yes, but I work for a police department that has a goal and ideal that I strive to live up to every day in respect, integrity and honor,” he responds. “It doesn’t matter what color I am.”

Howard Payne, who has been an officer with the Madison Police Department for almost 20 years, has heard a variety of comments based on race. “You’re making this decision because I’m black. Or, you’re making this decision because you’re black,” says the 44-year-old. “Or, you’re making this decision because you’re working for the white man. You’re making this decision because, deep down, you’re racist. You’re one of them.”

“I’ve gotten it from both sides,” he says. “I’ve gotten it from white men who tell me I’ve got a racial agenda against them because I’m black.”

Payne says those who bring up race are usually trying to push an officer’s buttons. “Race is always an easy thing to grasp onto,” he says. “And I think people use it for different reasons. I believe race is sometimes used to make people uncomfortable, and it’s deliberate, especially if you’re a police officer.”

Race and policing are so contentious, Payne often doesn’t tell people what he does for a living. But when they find out, he gets questioned sharply. “‘I can’t believe you’re black and a cop’ — almost as though it’s a disgrace. ‘Why are you part of the problem?’” they continue.

Nevertheless, Payne understands why people of color view the criminal justice system as being inherently racist. “I do not think anyone would deny that African Americans historically have been forced to live within a legal system with seemingly unequal applications of justice,” he says.

Zanders also understands the resentment: “I know black officers as well as Latino officers face [being called a] traitor because historically, this has been looked at as being a white profession, specifically a white male profession.”

Many assume that the problems between police and the black community are rooted in the War on Drugs that began in the 1970s, which concentrated an extraordinary amount of police power in African American neighborhoods.

While the War on Drugs — which led to profiling and stop-and-frisk tactics — exacerbated tensions, the conflict dates back to the country’s early history, says Simon Balto, an assistant professor of history at Ball State University.

“There are a lot of people who locate early policing efforts within the context of slave patrols. And police were in part charged with upholding Jim Crow statutes in places where they were in place,” says Balto, who studied relations between the police department and the black community in Chicago for his graduate degree from the UW and is writing a book on the topic. “So, in that sense, there’s nothing new.”

In many black neighborhoods, police are seen as out to harm, not help. “Say you’re young, black, and live in a majority black neighborhood. One of the central challenges you face in terms of navigating daily life is that you can’t walk anywhere without being constantly worried that you’re going to be stopped, frisked and possibly picked up by the police,” he says. “It is a constant possibility that you’ll be stopped — some might say harassed — despite not having done anything demonstrably wrong to justify the stop. This is a state of being overpoliced.”

But in many black neighborhoods, people also feel underprotected. “Every time you step out your door, you also experience a form of extreme unsafety,” Balto says. “Your neighborhoods are dangerous. Whatever policing strategies have been undertaken in your neighborhood —  for your entire lifetime —  haven’t done much to better the situation. You live in fear. You’re on edge. This is a state of being underprotected.”

This puts black police officers in a precarious situation.

“It’s a challenge. And the most intense challenge eventually becomes how [black officers] walk the line between being someone who represents their racial community and their best interests while at the same time operating as an agent of an organization that most people in that community see as repressive,” says Balto. “People look at a cop and they don’t so much see a black face as they see a blue uniform.”

Despite these tensions, black people have worked as police officers for a long time, Balto says, with the first hired around the turn of the 20th century.

One of the most well-known early black officers was Samuel Battle, who joined the New York City Police Department in 1911 as a patrolman. He would later become New York’s first black police sergeant and lieutenant and, finally, the first black parole commissioner. 

Here in Madison, the first black police officer was Johnny Winston Sr., who was hired in 1969 and reached the rank of lieutenant before retiring in 1998. The city’s first black female police officer was Pia Kinney-James, who was hired in 1975. She retired in 2004 after reaching the rank of special investigator. The city’s first black police chief was Richard Williams, who held the position from 1993 until 2004. His successor, Noble Wray, was Madison’s second black police chief. He retired in 2013.

Many see having black officers on the force as a way to help combat racism, says Balto. “Black citizens and black reform activists seeking police reform — whether you’re talking about 1919 or 1965 or in 2015 — they’re all talking about one of the core problems being not having enough black officers.”

There is another reason people want more black officers on the force, adds Balto. “They’re good middle-class jobs for black people.”

Hiring minorities with the goal of having a police force as close to racially representative to the population it serves has been a longstanding goal of the Madison Police Department, says Sgt. Tim Patton.

“Diversity is part of our core values,” he says. “By comparison across the country, [the Madison Police Department] does a fabulous job reflecting the diversity of the community it serves.”

According to the U.S. Census Bureau in 2010, Madison’s black population was just over 7% that year. About 10% of the city police employees with arresting authority are black. That figure has held steady since 2010, and at the beginning of this year, the percentage of black officers on the force climbed above 10%.

Patton, who manages the department’s recruitment and training, adds that the city’s police force is about 30% female, which exceeds the national average of about 10%. “The only group that we’re behind with, in regard to race, is the Asian population,” he says.

The UW Police Department also exceeds representation, with between three and four black officers serving on its force of 66 over the past five years. That’s a higher percentage than the number of black undergraduate students, which is just over 2% of the almost 32,000 undergraduate students.

To increase their chances for a diverse pool of applicants, MPD casts a wide recruiting net, including doing national searches. “Our process is geared toward getting as many candidates as far along in the process as possible and getting to know them as people instead of just how they look on paper,” he says. “Everyone who applies is getting invited in for testing. We have set our standards at a level that keeps more people in the [hiring] process.”

The department makes a concerted effort to reach out to nontraditional applicants who work in other professions, says Patton. Most are recruited via word of mouth from officers and other MPD staff to individuals.

About 30% of the academy’s current class of 23 come from nontraditional professions and backgrounds. The starting salary for a Madison police officer is just under $50,000 a year, with a $5,000 bump after six months.

Patton admits that the recent string of police-involved killings nationally has made recruitment difficult. The number of applications the department received has dipped from 900 applicants in 2014 to 700 in 2015.

“One theory is that people in law enforcement cease to recommend the field to their own kids, and [another theory is that] the nontraditional applicant, who might be thinking about testing the waters with a career change, might be negatively affected by the climate of the most recent two years,” Patton says. “Fewer people may be considering this as a viable career in light of the national attention on the criminal justice system.”

Patton has yet to look in-depth at the applicants from last year to gauge their experience levels and work history. But he says if the city is getting fewer nontraditional applicants, “that would be of concern to me because that really does speak to our diversity.”

Despite the drop in applications, Madison is faring better than other departments. “I’ve heard numbers of applications being down between 30% and 60% elsewhere,” he says.

It’s also possible that the recent events are attracting applicants who previously hadn’t considered a job in law enforcement, says Patton.

“It’s a small group, but I have had conversations with people who have said, ‘Right now, more than ever, it’s important to have our police forces reflect the diversity of the community, to have people in the ranks who strongly agree with the necessity for criminal justice reform,” he says. “It’s a small percentage but we have had those phone calls as well.”

The Tony Robinson killing a year ago spurred massive protests against the Madison police, including a vigil in front of the Williamson Street home where the 19-year-old was killed, and demonstrations on East Washington Avenue, in front of the Dane County Courthouse and at the state Capitol.

Zanders worked security for some of these protests, helping to keep order as scores of protesters chanted at him “Fuck the police” and “Arrest, convict, send those killer cops to jail, the whole damn system is guilty as hell.”

The hostility was impossible for Zanders to ignore. “I tried not to focus on the discontent and the things that were being said. I tried to not let the negative things that were said get to me,” he says. “We were there to do our job.”

While he didn’t work any of the protests following Robinson’s death, Johnson still caught flak about it while doing his job. He remembers detaining a 17-year-old black male for trespassing and taking him home to his mother. “As I was explaining to his mother why we had contact with her son, she stated [to her son], ‘Oh, you know how Madison police are — you don’t want you to get Tony Robinson’d,’” Johnson says. “I think it was just an emotion that the mother had about police being in her home.”

Needing to get back out on patrol, Johnson let the statement slide. “You don’t really want to address it [because] it’s emotional,” he says. “It didn’t have anything to do with why we were there.”

Zanders says that the protests did not make him reconsider his career, but they did reinforce his value of community. “I learned that we need to stick together as an entire community — police and community members.”

No matter their skin color, police everywhere share in the heavy scrutiny brought on by recent events. But when race is used as another reason for criticism, Zanders says, it’s apparent.

“White officers get a lot kickback from the [black] community, and black officers get some of that same kickback,” he says. “It hurts when a person tries to degrade you and they come from a similar background as you.”