Life
Racial profiling a troubling ‘rite of passage’ for many black males and sometimes females
Last summer, three of my cycling buddies and I headed out for one of our regular, “let’s-see-who-can-suffer-the-most” bike rides in the rolling hills of Caledon, northwest of Toronto. The four of us, along with our bikes, loaded into a rickety old van for a short drive along serene country roads to our starting point for the ride. It should be noted that once the bikes are in, there is only room for the driver and one passenger. On this day, however, one of us rode in back with the bikes, and in front were the driver and two passengers, one of whom straddled the centre console. I was one of the passengers in the front.
No one wore seatbelts.
I should also point out that my three riding buddies are white men. I am black.
As we turned onto a paved main road from a dirt concession, a marked police cruiser headed toward us going in the opposite direction. I noticed that the lone officer took a good long look at our vehicle and the driver. I am certain it was hard not to notice that three men were sitting up front where legally there ought to be only two.
No one else in the van seemed to notice the cruiser. I glanced back a few times expecting to see the cop turn around and pull us over for what would be a host of highway traffic violations. He did not.
I said to my buddy on the centre console, “Did you see that cop car?”
“What cop car?” he asked.
“The one that just passed us going the other way,” I replied.
“Nope,” he said.
“What do you think would have happened if we were four black men in this van?” I asked the group. “Here we are, four passengers in a beat-up old van, one in the back sitting on the floor, one sitting on the center console, and no one wearing seatbelts.”
There was silence for a moment, then nervous giggles.