(thread)
One of the thorniest parts of anti-police brutality work is remembering that our work is at its most powerful when we're able to recognize the humanity of cops even as we (accurately) say stuff like ACAB and fuck the police.
One of the thorniest parts of anti-police brutality work is remembering that our work is at its most powerful when we're able to recognize the humanity of cops even as we (accurately) say stuff like ACAB and fuck the police.
I've been thinking on this a lot after Monday, having watched police shoot someone I love, shoot at me (and miss, thankfully), teargas peaceful protesters, and effectively torture me and women around me while we were in custody.
About this officer in particular, who was clearly distraught watching women in panic and screaming in pain as the effects of extended time in zip cuffs became unbearable.
I was in a great deal of pain and anger myself, and at the same time I felt like my heart was breaking watching this cop who was maybe like 3 years into not being a kid anymore just breaking against wanting to do the right thing in a system that would punish him for doing it.
I've read Holocaust survivor accounts that choose to include a moment a Nazi guard broke and showed a flash of human kindness for a brief second, and I always used to wonder why anyone would include that.
Why bother sharing it and giving someone an excuse to humanize them?
Why bother sharing it and giving someone an excuse to humanize them?
I've found myself questioning my feelings in a similar way in the rare moments I've seen a cop show humanity in a situation of unhuman cruelty by police.
Like, why does it become so meaningful when I know they're part of something evil.
Is it privilege? Stockholm syndrome?
Like, why does it become so meaningful when I know they're part of something evil.
Is it privilege? Stockholm syndrome?
I know how privilege whispers in my ear at those moments, though.
Those whispers are always selfish. They're always about entitlement and exceptionalism, not shared humanity.
I don't think this appreciation of humanity is about privilege.
I don't think privilege sees humanity.
Those whispers are always selfish. They're always about entitlement and exceptionalism, not shared humanity.
I don't think this appreciation of humanity is about privilege.
I don't think privilege sees humanity.
As for Stockholm syndrome, I think I'm self-aware enough to recognize that temptation, too, because I know what it is to make patriarchal bargains and feel thankful to the patriarchal men offering them.
That's Stockholm syndrome, essentially.
This is different.
That's Stockholm syndrome, essentially.
This is different.
I think part of the reason negotiating these feelings is so hard is that neoliberals and civility fetishists will seize on every exception to the rule of police cruelty and argue that it "proves" that Cops Are Just Like Us and that the problem is a few bad apples.
The problem isn't a few bad apples.
The problem is that the entire system of neoliberal policing is premised on cruel racist violence, protection of status quo oppressions of all sorts, and the protection of capital at the cost of human life.
All cops are complicit in that.
The problem is that the entire system of neoliberal policing is premised on cruel racist violence, protection of status quo oppressions of all sorts, and the protection of capital at the cost of human life.
All cops are complicit in that.
I think the reason these revelations of humanity are so heartbreaking is that they always end in that humanity coming up against a system that human has volunteered themselves to uphold, & in the most high stakes moments we watch how an individual's humanity shatters against it.
In those extremely rare moments where a cop (or a Nazi guard) breaks the rules in service of an impulse that comes from a place of humanity, I don't think the gratitude or solace that moment gives us has anything to do with thinking that we've found a "good" cop.
The gratitude we as anti-brutality activists can find ourselves feeling in moments where a cop's humanity overcomes him/her/them to the point of breaking protocol isn't a gratitude to the cop.
It's a gratitude for the staying, subversive power of humanity.
It's a gratitude for the staying, subversive power of humanity.
And, from a strategic point of view, I'm realizing that in telling these stories of an experience of a police officer's moment of humanity, we aren't excusing that person from the choice they made to be a cop.
We are naming a vulnerability in a racist and violent system.
We are naming a vulnerability in a racist and violent system.
I think this is a particularly hard line for white anti-racists to walk and understand.
Whem we look at cops, what we see is an avatar of what we hate about & want to purge from ourselves.
Ironically, we are often the least able to see humanity in cops.
Whem we look at cops, what we see is an avatar of what we hate about & want to purge from ourselves.
Ironically, we are often the least able to see humanity in cops.
This is something I actually found myself struggling with the first day I went out to join the #phillyprotests.
I was on a white insulating line blocking bike cops and Black people would come up into the space between us and the cops, often crying, talking about seeing humanity in police and asking the police to recognize the humanity in them.
I caught a part of me cynically being like, they volunteered for a system of racist murder, how can you be so naive as to think their humanity is accessible here, that they might listen, that they're capable of seeing your humanity.
A Black protester did say that to another Black protester, a woman who had been crying and asking for police recognition of her humanity.
She said, I know they won't hear it now.
But when they're home, out of their uniform, trying to get to sleep, they will hear my voice then.
She said, I know they won't hear it now.
But when they're home, out of their uniform, trying to get to sleep, they will hear my voice then.
What i first read as naivete wasn't that at all.
It was strategic, and it was wisdom-rooted.
It didn't land immediately that day, but the next day, as police brutalized people in Black West Philly neighborhoods, I saw it land.
I watched cops hear it in spite of themselves.
It was strategic, and it was wisdom-rooted.
It didn't land immediately that day, but the next day, as police brutalized people in Black West Philly neighborhoods, I saw it land.
I watched cops hear it in spite of themselves.
That's why there's still power to Black folks asking cops to kneel, even though some police are clearly engaging in kneeling as a disingenuous photo op tactic.
It's still fundamentally a demand that police recognize the reality of Black humanity, and remember their own.
It's still fundamentally a demand that police recognize the reality of Black humanity, and remember their own.
There's a reason physical ritual is so important in nearly all faiths.
There's a reason it is so often recommended to adherents when faith is lost.
The ritual act can spark something long-dormant in us, even when we aren't intentionally inviting it.
Ritual has that power.
There's a reason it is so often recommended to adherents when faith is lost.
The ritual act can spark something long-dormant in us, even when we aren't intentionally inviting it.
Ritual has that power.
Neoliberals like to talk about nonviolent protest as though the nonviolence is ideological, but that's rarely the case in successful movement.
It's not ideological, it's strategic.
It's not ideological, it's strategic.
Nonviolent protest is an extremely powerful strategy in a historical moment of mass media and the military-industrial complex because it effectively addresses situations where militarization and weapons technology render popular movements overwhelmingly outgunned.
Nonviolent movement leverages mass (and now social) media to turn the system against itself, like a martial arts practitioner using his attacker's strength and size to her advantage.
It appeals to collective humanity by getting the system to brutally show its true colors.
It appeals to collective humanity by getting the system to brutally show its true colors.
Regimes of death politics (capitalist and fascist) depend on public belief that any meaningful resistance will be met with violently cruel and brutal repression.
It can't not violently and brutally repress meaningful nonviolent resistance, because that would shake that belief.
It can't not violently and brutally repress meaningful nonviolent resistance, because that would shake that belief.
Nonviolent resistance is bait for a trap that death politics regimes can't afford not to walk into, because ignoring meaningful resistance would undermine public fear of the regime.
When we think about nonviolent resistance as a strategy rather than a civility ideology, we can begin to grapple with how recognizing our opponents' humanity can be a powerful strategy instead of getting pulled into the sucker's game of debating what's "appropriate" protest.
We can recognize that yes, many police officers were attracted to the force because they wanted to be able to dominate, bully, and engage in authoritarian violence.
We can also recognize that some joined for economic reasons or even in a misguided attempt to serve community.
We can also recognize that some joined for economic reasons or even in a misguided attempt to serve community.
There are no good cops in a racist system, but we can also recognize that there are still cops whose humanity is close to the surface & can be reached.
We can recognize that the possibility of reaching that humanity and getting them to honor it by leaving absolutely exists.
We can recognize that the possibility of reaching that humanity and getting them to honor it by leaving absolutely exists.
Again, from what I've seen at these protests of police murder, this seems like a lesson that white anti-racists most need to absorb.
It is so much easier to fight people when we hate them & refuse to acknowledge their humanity, but in movement & human terms, it's the wrong call.
It is so much easier to fight people when we hate them & refuse to acknowledge their humanity, but in movement & human terms, it's the wrong call.
All cops are bastards, but they always have the choice to stop being bastards.
When we recognize their humanity, we're better able to see the windows of opportunity, the moments where a spark of compassion shines through and alerts us to the possibility of moral fire.
When we recognize their humanity, we're better able to see the windows of opportunity, the moments where a spark of compassion shines through and alerts us to the possibility of moral fire.
I've seen an enormous amount of inhuman police cruelty and violence in the past few days.
I've watched a cop aim a rifle at me and pull a trigger as casually as though he were at the range doing target practice.
I've watched a cop laugh at a woman in dangerous, agonizing pain.
I've watched a cop aim a rifle at me and pull a trigger as casually as though he were at the range doing target practice.
I've watched a cop laugh at a woman in dangerous, agonizing pain.
I have no illusions about the militarized, violent, cruel, and unsalvageable United States policing system.
The more attrocities I see, however, the more I find myself putting my hopes in our ability to use that horror to spark and animate humanity in even our enemies.
The more attrocities I see, however, the more I find myself putting my hopes in our ability to use that horror to spark and animate humanity in even our enemies.
I don't see police abandoning their office en masse, but every time even a single officer declares that he/she/they cannot morally remain on the force is a moment that sends shock waves in the directions they are most needed.
In moments of great inhumanity, movement's overwhelming need is to rekindle collective fires of empathy and compassion.
They're moments when sparks and embers of individual humanity matter more than ever.
Without them, there's simply no chance of reigniting the flame.
They're moments when sparks and embers of individual humanity matter more than ever.
Without them, there's simply no chance of reigniting the flame.
(the end)
