The Rearview Mirror: Driving While Black
For as long as I can remember driving to Sag Harbor to my friend’s Kathryn’s house has been a reprieve. In this space, although my Blackness was ever present, it seemed that the white people there could tell that “we belonged”.
During the summer holidays, Memorial Day and July 4th, the open air, the manicured hedges, and the crisp air all recharged my soul, giving me the energy to return to the daily hustle in Brooklyn. Maybe this was because Sag Harbor has historically been a black enclave where people of color could roam freely without white people glaring. Or maybe because it was an escape from the tight quarters of East New York. But that all changed on June 12, 2020.
Our trip had started off as any other trip to Sag Harbor. I made the left turn off of Bridgehampton Sag Harbor Turnpike onto Scuttle Hole Road and then in my rear view mirror, I saw him.
At first, I thought nothing of it: just a police officer driving through the back roads with me. However, I felt that feeling in the pit of my stomach, that sets in whenever a police officer drives behind, in front or next to me. My hands clenched up and my legs got tense; my heart started to beat faster and faster. Nevertheless, I tried my best to ignore these feelings and to give the situation the benefit of the doubt.
But after a few minutes, the situation felt different. After every left turn, every second right off a roundabout, every right turn, I saw the same police car following my every move. I saw his bald white head through my rear view mirror and I wondered, ‘how much longer was he going to follow me?’
I started to think: what had I done wrong?
Was I speeding before this?
Did I run a red light?
What had I done?
Did he not see my Alpha Phi Alpha plates? Surely he could realize that I was in a fraternity and I had gone to college.
I was safe...you don’t need to follow me, Sir.
I belong here!
I earned this right!
I had worked hard and had done what I was supposed to do to allow me to be in this space. Now, I felt stripped of the armor that had allowed me to navigate these white spaces in the past. I thought, ‘How could this be happening to me? I had done everything right...They said to get a good education, get a good job, obey the law and you’re good.’
Or was it my 2007 Honda Accord, where the ‘H” had fallen off? I started to beat myself up. Lamarr, why did you still have this car? Maybe if you had a fancier car he wouldn't be following you. Maybe with a fancier car, I’d be able to show that I belonged. “Hey officer, Black man in Sag Harbor in a BMW, I’m good, no need to follow.”
Another 10 minutes elapsed and he continued to follow me. I was terrified and began to tightly grasp the wheel. At every stop sign, I came to a complete stop and tried not to make a wrong move because I didn't want to give him a reason to pull me over. It even felt like bystanders were following this scenario in their heads, thinking it might not end well.
Then, I started to play out scenarios in my head of what could happen. Each scenario made me feel like I was screwed, anyway. Should I pull over or make the next right turn so he would go past me? But then, if he saw that I was lost, would he further question where I was going? Who did I know out here? What business did my boyfriend Michael and our corgi have out there in Sag? Sure he might just question me and give me a ticket; but after seeing countless black men killed by police for just existing, it could end with me being arrested, injured or dead.
We arrived in the town of Sag Harbor and I made the right on Jermaine Ave. I drove by what looked like a bicycle accident and I slowed down. An officer acknowledged me and motioned for me to go around the cars. I stuck my hand outside the car to wave to the officer, thanking him as he ushered me past the scene.
It felt good to stick my arm out the window in full view of the officer behind me, to see me being acknowledged by his white colleague. Then I thought, ‘Lamarr you idiot he was following you to get to this crash scene...all this nonsense you were thinking was just in your head!’
But no. He drove around the scene and continued to follow me.
My heart sank.
Fear set in as I knew that I’d eventually have to stop and get out of the car. I told my boyfriend to call Kathryn and tell her to meet us outside her house. The officer would see I was meeting someone and drive off. But Kathryn didn’t pick up her phone.
I told Michael to call again, because this was serious. Sadly the weight of what was happening and why I was frantically asking him to get a hold of Kathryn went over his head, as a non black POC.
Again, I started replaying scenarios in my head of what could happen:
1. I stop and he drives right past us.
2. I stop and he gets out of the car and questions what business I have here? Then, I play the good Negro...Yes, Sir; No, Sir...Anything you request Sir, in my work voice.
3. I stop and he gets out of the car and questions what business I have there? I rebuff his questioning and ask what reason does he have to stop me? I would say, ‘Do you know where I work, Sir? Do you know who you’re talking to?’
At the next stop sign, I go left and he goes straight.
