White Privelege explained by a White Guy

Back in my time clock punching, daily commuting days, waking up a couple hours before the rest of the working world was my normal. If the job clock started at 7am, I would wake up at 3am and go spend about an hour and a half exercising before work.

2015 - Winter time in Southern California so approximately February and It’s early, too, 4:30’ish in the morning. I must have still been half asleep because I didn’t realize the vehicle in front of me was stopped with their left turn signal flashing bright yellow until I was practically on top of them. I reacted by yanking the steering wheel to the right, swerved around the car into the next lane, narrowly avoiding a collision. Just as that maneuver was coming to an end, a set of blue and red sirens are flashing in my rear view mirror and I hear: “Driver, stop the vehicle” echoing from a PA system. ‘Danget!’ I definitely wasn’t awake yet because I didn’t see that cop either! I’m awake now! I just cut off a cop to avoid hitting the car in front of me, the cop slammed on his brakes to avoid hitting me and now there’s sirens flashing behind me - I pulled into the next available parking lot:

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White Privilege explained by a White Guy

My driver side window is rolled down, I turned the vehicle off and I have both of my hands on the steering wheel in plain view. Those three steps are worth noting actually, regardless what color your flesh is, execute these three steps if you’re stopped by police anywhere in the United States:

1. Roll down the window.
2. Turn the vehicle off.
3. Place both hands on the steering wheel.

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In the reflection my side mirror I watched him exit his police car and walk toward the driver side of my vehicle. The sirens are no longer flashing. His headlights along with every spotlight he has on his squad car are glowing inside my vehicle. His silhouette is making its way toward me and I can see his right hand on the grip of his pistol as he reaches my window, “You almost hit me back there! I had to slam on the brakes just so I wouldn’t hit you” he said. “Man I didn’t even see you. As soon as I swerved around that car, you were just there, sorry about that.” It’s 4:30 in the morning, looking back on it now, it’s quite possible he had me profiled as a drunk driver. But that isn’t the case, I’m not drunk, I’m just starting my day. He relaxed as soon as we engaged in conversation and asked me “license and registration?” I keep my registration and insurance information in the door of my car precisely for this situation. I handed him my identification, registration and proof of insurance. “I’ll be right back, hang tight,” he walked back to his squad car.

A few minutes later he walked back to my car with his citation book and a pen in his hand and said “are you aware that you have an active warrant from 2007?” (It’s 2015 now) 8 years ago. “No of course I’m not, how is that even possible?! I’ve had my license suspended twice since then, I had to have it physically reinstated both times, and nobody ever told me about a warrant, does it say what for?” He said “the citation was written in downtown Los Angeles at 2:30am in 2007, do you frequent locations known for prostitution?” I said “no, hell no, 2007? That isn’t right though, I wasn’t even here in ‘07, I was in DC .” He showed me the County Clerks toll free number on the reverse side of my ‘failure to signal through a lane change’ violation and said “call this number, they’ll be able to assist you but it’s urgent you clear it up, it could be a case of stolen identity if you weren’t in the state at the time.” I never got out of the car, he handed my documentation back to me, I signed the ticket and we went our separate ways:

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It wasn’t until I was about mid-way through my exercise that I realized how privileged fortunate I was to be in that gym. I was exercising, enjoying freedom on my terms, eventually I’ll be on the job site and I’m doing it all with an 8 year old warrant. I thought about my tool partners at work, my apprentice, Angelo, a Mexican and our material handler, Donny, a black guy. I wonder how the details of that traffic stop would vary, if at all, had one of those guys been behind the driver wheel instead of me?

When I got to work I told them about my morning and I described the chain of events that happened just as I described them to you. I asked them “would you be here to talk about it right now had you been the one that got pulled over?” Angelo spoke up first: “No. No way! I would’ve been in the back of his car, no questions asked. They would tow my car. I can’t make bail so I’d wait in jail a couple days until it gets fixed. IF it gets fixed!” “What about you Donny, would you be in his car?” I was expecting his response to be even worse. He’s a black guy, a pretty big guy, too, tattoos, grew up in South Central Los Angeles. “Nah I probably wouldn’t get arrested, I’d be calling you to say I’ll be late though but I would for sure be down on the ground on all four’s. Empty pockets, searching me, tear apart my car but he probably woulda let me go to work.”

Three different people - Three identical starts - Three very different endings. I didn’t even have to fake my seatbelt was fastened. All I did was roll down the window, turn the car off and place my hands on the steering wheel. From that point on it’s just a checklist with some formalities:
License. Registration. Proof Of Insurance.
Bye!