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The following account is a true story written by Kahshanna Evans (Law&Order: SVU, Whipped) — that is the inspiration for a movie, (AMANI). Amani is about the exploration of the ultimate empowerment confronting crimes against children and the corruption of uniformed officials we look to for protection and freedom…..
I was pulled over for running a yellow light last Sunday in Santa Monica, dark yellow or red light, as the officer insisted. The officer asked for my license and info and I asked him why I was pulled over and I was told to sit tight and wait, a queasy feeling approaching; as he approached my car I could hear my name over the police equipment from a dispatcher! Am I a thug? What did I do? Was my license expired or something, I could have sworn I took care of that.
So, I sat contemplating they why…and where the ‘fear factor’ comes from for something as teency as being pulled over by an officer for a yellow vs red light citation. We disagreed on what the practical and safe choice was for moving through that light at that intersection. The flashing lights on his car were still on, and my heart was pumping, a combination of his ‘cop’ demeanor, the lights and my name over a speaker was alarming. How did my morning go from an 8am Sunday yoga class to this?? The officer diligently and with assertive, cold authority gathered my info. Well, I thought, I can either sit here and get intimidated or I can actually use my voice to speak my mind and draw awareness to something that dispatcher could not have told that officer and something that probably doesn’t come up when my license is pulled.
I insisted gently yet directly my impression was that the light was yellow and to suddenly break would not have given me time to completely exit the intersection. More time to contemplate, to think or not think, while he gathered his information. More time to wait. He proceeded to his vehicle returning with a slip with some information and a tidy box for me to sign. He explained it was not an admission of guilt but rather the special document stated I agreed to show up to a court date, (on my personal time, in the middle of my summer, the only August 2009 I will have, yeah). My incredibly valuable time; I cherish that right next to water and love. So as he spoke his tone seemed to say he would express his piece and be on his way to have this dutiful protocol elsewhere.
But wait, what about what I have to say or about what wasn’t on that dispatch that is incredibly important? So, deciding to either sit on how I felt and pay a shrink a lot of money to analyze it for the next few years, I decided to cut out that middle man, save some money and use my voice. For whatever it was worth, liberating something that was in my heart that needed to be heard was worth much more. I knew there was somewhat of a risk with speaking out of turn with an officer equipped with ticketing documents and an itchy ink pen…and how unheard of it is for any positive results to come of speaking your truth to a police officer, especially in Los Angeles.
So, I told him a truth I never thought I would say out loud, especially to a stranger I had never met before, especially someone in a police uniform…but I just couldn’t hold water another minute, I had to speak out. I told him the dirty truth. I have had the shit kicked out of me when I was in in fourth grade by a Chief of Police and my family and I have taken enough hits from the ‘Boys in Blue’ and that something like being pulled over for running a yellow light is a source of frustration that I thought the officer needed to address or acknowledge. He tried to speak to me repeating the protocol language to me. Sign the form. I notified him I will sign it but that this was upsetting and a source of frustration, I too, repeated and also wrote his badge number down. He asked for the form back and I sat again in my car waiting. That is always somewhat of a ‘second strike’ sort of move. Then in my rear view I saw another police car!
Wow, I am 120lbs and fresh from yoga, and because I tell my truth a second car pulls up. Back up? Another officer arrived to the other side of my car. Hmm, in my Hybrid and in my post yoga class gear I have two police cars and lights on the original car? Adrenalin, now, and more uncertainty dance as I began to wonder if the officer was in fact fairly using the authority. As the second officer arrived I asked for his name noting his badge number and he immediately said for me to just speak to the first officer. Ok. So I did. I asked him to spell out that officers name; he also said all of the information would be on the ticket. I wrote down the name of the other officer, at this point with my own jaw tight and protocol commitment. My heart was just jumping out of my chest. As I wrote down the badge numbers I was informed a superior officer was being called and I was told if I had more to say I could say it to him. Ooookkkaaayyyyyyy. Now I was really feeling anxiety and intimidation.
All of this for a yellow light and my saying I have taken enough hits from the ‘Boys in Blue’ and had dutifully kept the dirty secret all my life, so a yellow light dispute was really not making rational sense to me to cause all of this back up from other officers. I sat waiting for the third superior officer. And I remembered, as I always secretly do, why the feeling of the unemotional authority was so incredibly overpowering and upsetting…a part of the reason I do healing work, free of charge healing sessions when I can and research wellness and healing is that I lived with a Chief of Police when I was in 3rd/4th grade who was overcome with violent, abusive tendencies of which my mother and my sister and myself suffered a great deal; fractures, welts from a black police belt which left the leather print on my tender fourth grade skin and black and blue bruises were of the measurable wounds, the worst being my school field trip to the beach and having to wear long sleeves for that very special day because I was black and blue from my neck to my back all the way down to my ankles from being assaulted in my sleep because this fake, vicious hero thought I lied about homework. This is a time in my life where I used my every effort to keeping the abuse a secret from relatives and school as I was threatened to do. So, it seems, we have child soldiers right here in America and I was one of them.
I do know now I did not come here to this earth for this toxic secret and I will not keep it ‘tidy’ for anyone anymore, that is the commitment I have to myself; this truth isn’t tidy. This is not why our children come here, to keep the nasty and dangerous, vulgar secrets of lost, angry, soulless adults who are themselves a lot of the time survivors of such assaults who lack the character to break the dangerous patterns.
The superior officer arrived. With a teary recount of the information I felt that radio dispatch system lacked, I shared with him candidly and with honest emotion about how I’ve kept my secret for the ‘Boys in Blue’ and from time to time it is overwhelming for ‘civilians like me who have been through similar circumstances’ to not feel affected by being pulled over for a yellow light, when I have done a lifetime of duty that goes on unrecognized. I also shared that to be pulled over for a yellow light and having held so much in for so long and to keep that out of the public eye to save that officers ranking and job status, including having to wear long sleeves to my beach field trip due to black and blue bruises from my neck all the way down my back. The officer seemed to take me somewhat seriously, although when I asked him to take off his glasses and step into the shade, the glasses didn’t come off but we did step in the shade. I felt I was being somewhat taken seriously and somewhat humored and also that is was a ‘tidy’ sweep just to ‘keep it moving. The truth was all that was important to me, this is a part of the job, I thought, they do theirs and I do mine. They didn’t have all of the information, which is why I felt so provoked to clear the air, but I didn’t say that. My job called me to share a perspective I felt these officers needed. I was angry, although I stated I realized the difference of good and bad officers and that despite my tears I was quite rational and a good person at that. In my book, it’s not right that in these structures, the military, the police, they are awarded for taking severe blows, boot camp and combat training and risking their lives for ‘the people’, but a voice inside of me was outraged I have never been recognized for my duty, ever awarded with decorated honors or a purple heart.
Thank God I know how to be my own hero and that I am a woman now, not a child. I know now that if you cry in front of others it’s authentic and compassionate, it no longer has to signify weakness or powerless the way women’s emotions have been labeled for so long. Actually I was strong enough to be my true self. So I stood there with my frustration and anger at having never been recognized for my duty and I shared my views. I asked the superior officer if he was interested in having the name of the officer who assaulted and threatened my family after I mentioned the precinct and he said it would not be necessary. I highlighted how important it is for police to be able to just consider what I was sharing with the people they pull over and that from ‘time to time’ they would get a civilian like me who hadn’t received any awards or recognition for their duty.
We are in a country sewing back together so much and redefining ourselves as a nation, and sometimes humanity needs to be mixed in with the protocol. I am aware of the risks of an officer and what type of alertness they have to use in every situation. I shared that I appreciated the difference between good and bad police officers and that the officer is just doing his duty, that was pretty plain to see, although I am still not sure why I needed three police officers. The superior officer told me it was just a paper and they’d like me to have a great rest of the day, please and thank you and is there anything else. I went to the original officer after I felt finished, and after focusing through my tears, I signed my name in big block letters. I told the officer through my hot cheeks and angry tears I knew he was doing his job and I much appreciated that.
He did something, that somewhat shifted the exchange. He took off his glasses and looked me in the eye. He saw me. I felt respected and seen, I saw he was not a robot. As I tried to suck in my threatening sob, I offered my hand for him to shake, and he shook it. I really needed that, to see he was a man, human. His demeanor had somewhat softened. He offered to hold traffic until I was able to pull away safely. I drove until I was out of sight and felt far enough away from them, and had a panic attack. I know as we are healing, at times, old crud surfaces from our unconscious, to our conscious…when we are able to see that…we can heal old wounds, old remnants we didn’t even know were still lurking, and understand what we need to in order to make peace where there was once perhaps a bruise or a welt or a bloody betrayal of trust.
As some sacred feedback from me to Police: Many of you are heroes but an important part of being a hero is that combination of protocol and a bit of humanity…and as for any and all officers of the law who assisted to cover crimes especially against children to protect violent offending officers, shame on you. You failed to do your duty and when your buddy needed ‘clean up’ did you know he was making death threats to a woman and two children and delivering blows that caused damage such as physical fractures, mental breakdowns, welts and bruises? Rather than being real friends you were ‘quick’ friends and took the easy way out. When a fellow officer has a violence issue I feel the Police structure needs better rehabilitation of officers that show signs of rage and violence issues. When you aid to cover up illegal cruelty, abuse and assault you break the laws of our society but you break the universal laws of spirit. To address or begin to ‘fix’ that, please take a special interest to research more about the topic of abuse, violence from the survivors perspective. There is still time to be a hero, to shift your negligence and poor and dangerous choices and do something to really help.
We all feel uncomfortable or strange when we discover domestic violence and cruelty towards children…and nobody wants to turn an outcast out of someone like this Chief of Police that was supposed to protect me when I was a young child who was lost enough to punch children as if they are adults. The agreement you make to wear a uniform and to receive special benefits and consideration covers protecting everyone and should receive special priority over protecting someone who is likely to offend, assault and injure again and again behind closed doors. Your ‘clean up’ is not nearly done. That violent person went on to adopt, I wonder if that little boy was a tolerant or as good at keeping secrets, and if he’s been awarded or rewarded for that tolerance and commitment to secrecy.
My wisdom tells me that when we travel beyond guilt, there is left the inspiration to make a difference…this is what separates the uniformed boys from the men. Imagine how many youths you impact with your presence, that have gone through something similar…now imagine they don’t have as high a tolerance as I do to hold this ugly secret in…hence violent reactions to feeling cornered and profiled when they may have also been reacting to what isn’t on that dispatch about their personal history. I understand that vilifying all police because of a certain few who abuse their authority and power won’t create awareness and positive changes. This is the feedback and perspective I think can help as someone who survived this type of trauma and domestic assault at a precious and early age.
So, I will absolutely be in attendance to this court date; it symbolizes my ability to confront the truth with authenticity, rationality and flexibility, power and the wisdom of just being me. Too many women and children have kept this secret… Where are our kudos for our duties to this nation, our awards and respectful acknowledgment for getting kicked around and treated like we were at war, like we were the enemy? Long after those bruises and welts healed on my physical body, I am wondering where is my purple heart…after someone like me ‘stuffs it in’ for everyone else to feel safe, secure and enjoy a false sense that everything is ok…and as long as nobody has to hear the eerie, upsetting details of what is really going on behind closed doors.
My mission and my message in this life is for people to find their way to hope, clarity, safety and deep healing and joy. I have and still I find cherished enlightenment in each day. The shamanic healing work is incredibly invaluable for me. When you have ceremony in your life, and loved one’s committed to your highest wellness, you feel a sense of support on a deeper level, a connection to something greater than our man made equipment, definitions and structures…that very much helped me maintain perspective during my post-yoga-yellow-light dispute with the three officers. As I am sitting here writing, I smile and remember the awards, the kind we most cherish, come from our own achievements and milestones, one’s only we can establish and measure. I happily just added the discoveries I made today, the choices, to my list of things in my life that make me proud to be me. A baby smiled at me today, I ate the best raw food at farmer’s market, I talked to a dear friend from the fourth grade about her daughter’s dance recital, and I got a personal silk screening lesson from an awesome designer. This is me saying yes to the good schtuff.
This account was written by Kahshanna Evans, producer of Amani. For more information about Amani, please watch the video below or visit http://www.indiegogo.com/Amani
Amani, A Short Film Written by Kahshanna Evans from Kahshanna Evans on Vimeo.