Ivan Clark is a senior journalism and telecommunications major and writes "Through Ivan's Eyes" for the Daily News. His views do not necessarily agree with those of the newspaper. Write to Ivan at iclark@bsu.edu.
It’s Friday night and I just worked my shift at Pruis Hall for Friday Night Filmworks. I’m driving down a busy road filled other young adults heading to their party destination. I come to a four-way stop on Bethel Avenue. I turn my left turning signal on to let the other drivers know which way I’m going. As I make my left turn I notice red, blue and white lights through my rearview mirror. Thinking they were going after someone else, I still manage to follow the rules of the road and pull over to get out of the officer’s way.
As I pull over, I notice the officer pulling over as well.
After I have completely pulled over to the right side of the road, I begin to ask myself, “Ivan what did you do?” As I watch the officer slowly walk toward my car, with his hand on his holster, an instant reminder of what my mother always tells me plays in my head.
“Ivan, when you get pulled over, always keep your hands on the wheel, do as they say, and always say 'sir' or 'ma’am.' I don’t want you to be the next victim.”
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Before the officer reached my window, I made sure that I had my license, registration and proof of insurance waiting for him as a reassurance for myself that that would not be a reason for him to shoot me.
My window is already rolled down waiting for him.
He walks up to my car with a beaming bright flashlight looking all into my car, almost as if the officer was looking into my soul.
“Young man, do you know why I pulled you over?” says the officer.
“No sir,” I fearfully replied.
The officer stated that I had turned into the wrong lane and for that he needed all my information.
I watched him walk back to his car to check my information.
I forgot to mention that “Straight Outta Compton” was shown at Friday Night Filmworks. So after watching a movie full of police brutality all I could do was think about how this interaction with the officer would end.
As I waited for him to check me out all I could do was pray. My heart was beating fast and my palms were sweaty. I was in fear for my life.
The officer walks back up to my car with a paper in his hand. I was pissed because I just knew he was going to give me a ticket.
The first thing I said to myself was, “How are you going to pay for this ticket without your parents knowing?”
“I’m going to let you go with a warning. Next time drive with more caution,” says the officer.
“Thank you sir,” I said in response.
I rolled up my window and drove off. I felt a great weight of relief lifting from my chest. All I could think about was how fearful I was. With all the police brutality going on against black men in America, how else am I supposed to feel? The police are supposed to protect. I should feel protected by them, not afraid of them.
When finally reached my driveway, I said to myself, “I made it home alive.”
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