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The limits of power. What an odd thing for someone like myself to ponder. My name is Anthony Saint-Pierre and I’m a six-foot-one, lean and athletic Black male in his mid-twenties living in the city of Boston, Massachusetts. A proud member of the Haitian-American community. Currently, I’m a patrol officer with the Massachusetts State Police. It’s my second year on the job and so far I’m loving it. Hard to believe that three years ago I was a Criminal Justice student at UMass-Boston filled with uncertainties about his future and the path his life would take.
Life is constant change and these changes must be embraced. That’s what my father, Franklin Saint-Pierre, always told me. He’s a Boston municipal police officer. Twenty two years on the force. Law enforcement runs in our blood. My grandfather, Eric Saint-Pierre was a policeman in rural Haiti back in the day. I recently visited the Haitian fatherland and it changed me forever. The place my father calls home is a wondrous, beautiful and dangerous land. Rife with turmoil and filled with savage beauty. The island paradise of my ancestors.
I grew up in the South End of Boston. The only son of a Haitian single father. A lad whose mother, Beatrice Saint-Pierre, died giving birth to him. My father’s older sister, a hard-working attorney and single mother named Annabelle Saint-Pierre had a big hand in raising me. I love my aunt. I am extremely close to her brats, my cousins Madeline, William and Armand. We attended Boston-area colleges together. Madeline went to Wellesley College, William went to Northeastern University and Armand went to Boston University. These days we form a tight-knit clan. We have to stick together in these dangerous times.
Tonight, I’m leaving work early. My precinct Sergeant, Wilma Jacques, was okay with my leaving early. After all, I’m one of the most devoted state troopers on the force. I’ve arrested forty six men and twenty nine women throughout my career. And the cases I’ve investigated have an over ninety percent rate of resulting into convictions. They call me the Bloodhound at my precinct. Simply because I am relentless when investigating a suspect. From drug dealers to people who engage in illegal arms traffic and all kinds of other stuff. It doesn’t matter to me if you’re male or female, rich or poor, Black or White, straight or gay. If you break the law and I’m the cop investigating you, you don’t have a prayer. And I make sure I get the kind of evidence that not even a hard-nosed lawyer like the late Johnny Cochrane could get a jury to ignore. I’ve been commanded for my work by the Massachusetts Attorney General herself. Like I said, I’m good at what I do.
Enough about work, I think. When you started reading this, you wanted to read a story rather than the resume of a rather cocky guy. That’s cool. I can dig it. There’s something I’ve been meaning to get off my chest. There’s this new lady in my life. Her name is Maria Joseph. A Haitian-American beauty I ran into at the Boston Police Academy. I haven’t been able to forget her since. This five-foot-ten, chocolate-skinned and short-haired sister with the almond shaped brown eyes and heart-shaped booty was simply unforgettable. And I don’t mean just for her looks.
My good friend, Boston Police Academy instructor Patterson Russell invited me to be a guest speaker before his class. I thought nothing of it so I showed up that day, looking bright and spiffy in my uniform. There were ninety people in the class. Sixty nine percent of whom were men. There were twenty five African-Americans in the group. Not bad considering we were in a Recession and the police departments around the state fired their freshest recruits whenever the Governor announced a round of budget cuts. I originally supported the Governor of Massachusetts because he was the first African-American person with a good chance of reaching that office in my home state. He was also good-looking, intelligent and friendly. I find him extremely likeable as a person. However, he needs to stop slashing the budgets of police departments, fire departments and public libraries. I’ve got friends who work in all three fields and they’re not happy. Not one bit. The state of Massachusetts need to take better care of civil servants. We’re tired of being given the shaft whenever budget cuts need to be made. Without us the state can’t run. Something the Powers That Be need to remember.
With those thoughts in mind, I stood before this group of young men and women, aspiring police officers all, telling them about the harsh realities of being a law enforcement officer in the state of Massachusetts today. I told them that the police force was one of the most racist and sexist environments in the world. African-Americans, Hispanics, Asians and Middle-Easterners were not exactly welcome. Female officers weren’t welcome either. Women and ethnic minorities still had a long way to go in law enforcement. They did make great strides toward being accepted, though.
And there was also the backlash against the backlash. Call it political correctness gone amok. To prevent themselves from looking soft on prejudice, at the first allegations of racism or sexism, the police departments were quick to fire the men who were accused. And these were often innocent men. Male cops, especially White male cops, were seen as the dominant group in law enforcement and paid the price by being the sacrificial lambs on the altar of political correctness. I didn’t like watching fellow policemen get axed simply for being White and male. I also didn’t like being scrutinized by some of these same policemen simply because I was Black and male. Male cops were collectively endangered by allegations of misconduct, whether true or false, especially when those allegations were made by persons of the opposite sex. The field of law enforcement was a minefield. Definitely not a career for the faint of heart.
Male and female, Black or White, straight or gay, all cops had it tough. Political correctness gone amok further strained relations between policemen and policewomen along the lines of race, gender and sexual orientation. The public often doesn’t realize how hellish the life of the average cop could be. We had high rates of divorce, alcohol abuse and family troubles. Civilians don’t like cops. And cops don’t trust civilians. The last thing a civilian wants to see is a cop, until he or she gets hurt and needs help. Are some cops racist or sexist? Sure. Are all cops human? Absolutely. All cops are human. With the exception of the Canine Units, but they’re still living things with needs too.
After I got done with my speech, I waited for questions. Everyone clapped. Everyone except a tall, good-looking young Black woman with the most intense eyes I’ve ever seen. She called me out, firing question after question. She asked me point-blank if working in law enforcement made me forget that I was a Black man. I thought long and hard before I answered her. I hate it when people, especially Black people, ask me that question. I can never forget that I am a Black man. The world doesn’t like my kind. Being Black and male in America isn’t a combination which makes for an easy life. However, it’s what I am. And I embrace it.
There were so many stereotypes about Black men which I detested. In college, we were worshiped for excelling on the football field and the basketball court yet many of our Caucasian classmates would switch sidewalks if they glimpsed us walking around the campus at night. Many people are surprised when they see Black male intellectuals shining at traditionally White institutions. Women of all races and gay men can’t seem to stop talking about the sexual powers of Black men, yet Black men are the ones most often accused of sexual misconduct. Whether we’re guilty or innocent, the world already sees us as predators. It’s just the way people think. The President of the United States is a Black man. The Governors of Massachusetts and New York are Black men. Black people have come a long way.
But racism will never die. I was in Brockton the day that racist bastard, Keith Luke, went on a rampage to kill as many non-whites as possible.
I looked Cadet Maria Joseph in the eye and told her that even if I became Emperor of the planet Earth tomorrow, I could never forget that I am a Black man. Not ever. Maria smiled, and told me she had no further questions. The entire room was silent. The Cadets looked uncomfortable, the way so many White people did when matters of racial discrimination came up. Russell thanked me, and I got some applause as I wished the Cadets good luck and left the room. I went to the cafeteria and had myself a bite to eat. I was famished. Guess who came by to see me? It was none other than the seductive interrogator from hell, Maria Joseph. I looked her up and down. Had she come to grill me again? Hadn’t she done enough for one day? Maria smiled at me and held her hands up, telling me that she came in peace. She asked me if she could share a lunch with me. I shrugged, and she sat down.
I looked at her. Beautiful Black women like her didn’t approach young Black men like myself without ulterior motives. What did she want? Maria told me she was impressed with how I handled myself earlier. She liked making the almighty state troopers uncomfortable. They were the law enforcement elite in Massachusetts. I shook my head. She was an antagonistic sister. Figures. For the next hour, we talked. I had time. I had originally set about an hour for the Academy visit, and it only took me twenty minutes so we were cool. Maria had a lot of strong opinions about cops. And she wasn’t shy about expressing it. She had beauty and brains. I was puzzled by what she seemed. A young woman who applied for the Boston Police Academy after earning her bachelor’s degree in business from Emerson College. I would have thought Business School to be her next logical choice. Why did she want to be a cop? She didn’t like us, for one thing. Surprising, considering she was training to be a cop. I had met my share of bad cops, before and after joining the MSPs so I kind of knew how she felt.
Maria told me how her younger brother Joel Joseph got a severe beat down from some Brockton cops and her father James, himself a Brockton police officer, sided with his co-workers against his estranged son. I sensed there was more to the story, but I didn’t want to press Maria for more. She told me anyway. Her younger brother Joel was a Brockton Community High School football star who liked driving fast. He’d gotten accepted at Boston College on a football scholarship and celebrated by partying hard and driving fast with his girlfriend Melanie Silvia and some of his buddies. The incident made the local news. It was cited as yet another example of racist police at work. The story had a happy ending, though. Joel went on to play football at BC and was currently in his sophomore year.
When Maria finished with her story, she looked at me with those wide eyes of hers. I sighed, and told her nothing comes before family. Not even the police force. Her father had been wrong to side with his co-workers against his hot-headed son. And the cops had used excessive force when they tackled and roughed up young Joel Joseph as he came out of his car after pulling over like they told him to. Maria laughed, and told me cops were all dogs and bitches, but she thought I was okay. Then she got up and left, telling me to get back to work. She didn’t want me to waste taxpayers money by chatting up pretty gals instead of chasing bad people. I watched her go, then smiled and resumed eating. It wasn’t later that I noticed the card she left under my plate. A card with her cell phone number scribbled on it. I looked at it, grinned and pocketed it.
That night, I called Maria, and another conversation ensued. And that’s how it began, folks. Maria and I started to hang out. Before long, we were dating. That was a year ago. She’s been there for me and I for her. We went to BC football games together and sometimes took mini-vacations to her mother’s old house in Cape Cod. We had become an inseparable couple. I was there when she graduated from the police academy. Her brother Joel and I were the first people to congratulate her after she took her picture with the Governor. Yeah, we’d come a long way. And now I was about to introduce her to my family. I can’t tell you how nervous I am. This is definitely one of the most exciting moments of my existence. I hope all goes well. Wish me luck!
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Black Men Control White Couples
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