Justice Rarely Found

   
We went to see a show at one of the venues on Market Street on evening. We exited somewhat disappointed by enjoying the evening none the less when we saw a white yuppie-ish woman pushing a black homeless woman over. The cops descended on the conflict like pigeons to breadcrumbs. They immediately went after the black woman.

I looked at my friend debating what to do with only hunched eyebrows and slightly squinted eyes. Her return gaze said "Keep to yourself". The brief look was all I needed to enter the middle of the conflict. When she said no, I always said go.

"Excuse me, but I am a witness. I saw what happened," I interjected to the police. An officer, not the one cuffing the homeless woman, approached with an air of annoyance and the body language of "Back the fuck off." I persisted.

"The white woman," and here the supposed "victim" started shifting on her feet, eyes darting between me and the woman she pushes, "started it all."

"Excuse me sir, but we don't need any help right now."

I was befuddled. My only interactions with police until that point was casual. I was in my early twenties, and I tended to only see the side of the police meant for white folks: "law enforcer", "hero", "authority". I hadn't yet witnessed the "selective enforcer", "racist", or "authoritarian". That was the land of literature, movies, news articles, and research papers.

"But she," and I pointed to the white woman, "started it. She pushed the other woman."

"If you don't back up right now, you too will be arrested." His voice deepened and grew gruff and blunt with no hint of truth-seeking.

"But she started it. What don't you understand about that?"

The white blond woman started crying. My friend pulled my arm begging me to leave; she had seen this side of the police before and knew it was time to go. The officer started to grab my other arm. I pulled away thanks to my defiance towards authority entering dangerous territory. I was about to ask for a badge number and the station he worked out of when my friend hailed a taxi and demanded to leave.

As I entered the cab, I noticed the homeless woman with her face on the ground crying, an officer's knee in her back. The white woman was telling another police officer she'd like to press harassment charges. I felt helpless, distance growing between me and the incident.

I wanted justice terribly. I wanted to lend a voice where I could. But I realized that justice, especially institutional justice, is rarely given or found. Rather, we find justice in those small moments of voice even when they aren't heard. And institutional justice? It resides only in the lands of Batman and fiction.

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