We Stand Together

We stand together.

I am the one you observe on the streets, but never truly see. You wave, give a nod, talk to me about my day but you don’t see the face beyond the mask. You don’t see my family, my pains, my joys, my sorrows, or my fears. I am a body to serve your needs. I am nameless, one among hundreds. Indistinguishable from the others. 

We stand together.

But I see you. I see your clenched fists. The way you turn your children away and speak of my kind in hushed words. I am the one you curse for the unpaid bill, the consequence at the end of the night. The one you warn your friends about. I see the hate in your eyes, hear the resentment in your voice. You tell me how you support us; how you are an ally, but when I need help, you are the first to turn away and record the whole thing. Recordings that only show a fraction of the truth; when we push them down, not their raised fists or the pocket and the unknown risks they were reaching for. When I need a friendly face, or an encouraging voice at the end of another long night, you are no longer there, or you stand with bricks in your hands. Bricks and bottles, raised against us.

We stand together.

We are judged for the actions of one. Forced to suffer and stand another night. To fight back the fires, the shouts, the hate. We, who are persecuted for one’s actions, whether justified or not. In your eyes, all of our actions are wrong, are the acts of cowards who won’t relinquish our powers. You call us out on what we’ve done; call us murderers, power-hungry, bastards. You, who is quick to tell us what we should have done. How we should have talked to them longer and understood their backgrounds. How we should have put our guns down. “He was just a boy! It was just a cell phone!”

But you will never put yourself in my shoes. You will never consider the gun pointed at us, the knife in their hands. You will never consider the dangers I face, the potential that I might not come home. You will never join my ranks where the danger is ever-present; where I am a target no matter where I go. You will stand where it is safe; the keyboard warrior. You criticize our every action but refuse to stand beside us. Hate, racism, it sells more.

We stand together.

You don’t see my family. I left them, promising my wife I’d be home when the sun rose. How I kissed my baby on the cheek, watching how he tossed and turned in his sleep. I promised my daughter I am safe, that I will always come home. My wife made a face; she knew the lie. She bit a remark but couldn't stop the tears in her eyes. You don’t see how she sleeps with the phone beside her bed, waiting for a call she hopes to never receive. You don’t see how she avoids the news; how her family calls us killers. How her own brother won’t talk to us. She sits at night, listening to the chants, the cries for your version of justice. The chants grow louder. They come closer. I am the only thing on her mind. She cries herself to sleep only to be plagued by nightmares; possible futures she hopes will never come to pass. Night after night. This is her life. 

My daughter is bullied at school because of us. They tell her we are thugs, that we are criminals. Someone told her I am a killer. At five years old, I had to explain why people hate, and that I am not a killer. She doesn’t go to sleepovers- other parents are wary of us. Even if they believe we are good people, they don’t want their neighbors to judge them. My daughter brushes it off. She says she wouldn’t want to go anyways. Her lip quivers; she lies.

I kissed them all goodbye and promised to be home by morning. You made me a liar.

We stand together.

My wife, now a widow, will be hated because of us. “He deserved it. All of them deserve to die. Good riddance”. Her only condolences. I will never hold my daughter again, bring her to prom, scare away her first boyfriend. I will never walk her down the aisle or hold her children. I will never again be able to tell her how much I love her. My son will grow up not knowing me. He will hear stories but never remember me. My face is from a photo; my voice from a video. You will tell him I was a monster who deserved my fate. My people will tell him I was a hero. I don’t know which one he’ll believe. I will never throw a ball with him or teach him how to change a tire. I won’t be able to show him how to treat women or how to take care of his mother and sister. You stole me from my family.

We stand together.

My people, the one you all hate. You cry for our disbandment. For us to be demilitarized, to get better training, but you won’t pay for that training. You forget the people we face are better armed than we are and follow no rules; you are demanding we bring a knife to a gunfight. You are calling for our deaths. My people have my back. They give me the courage to go on; to stand firm when the chants and fires come closer. They hold my family up. They will make sure my daughter’s husband treats her well. They will teach my son everything I can’t. They will tell my wife how much I love her. They will protect them and will be with them every step of the way.

We stand together.

They helped me when I saw my first dead body. A young woman who had overdosed. She was going to be a lawyer but turned to fentanyl to escape her pain. They rushed inside with me when a pregnant woman was being beaten by her alcoholic boyfriend. When the nightmares visited, they gave me advice and taught me how to beat them. When I didn’t know how to fix the plumbing, they came over and saved my basement from becoming a pool. When I was in a fight for my life- a junkie with a knife-they came and saved me. They, who have been with me through it all, and I with them. I stood with John when his father passed. I helped Derrick when his wife left. I let Sophie cry on my shoulder when the media called her a criminal for saving another’s life.

We stand together.

We stood as a line when the chants and fires met us. The sweat rolled down my back as I swallowed my fear. Your shouts and fists were raised as I flinched. There were hundreds of you and only fifty of us. I thought of my wife and children and wanted to walk away. I didn't want to come to work that night; the first time I had ever felt that. I came only to stand with my brothers and sisters. My people.

We stand together.

I knew I was in the right place when the first brick was thrown. They are my people, my family. I would always stand beside them, no matter how many bottles you heaved at us. I looked to those on my left and those on my right. This is my family and I will always stand beside them, and I know they will always stand with me

We stand together.

We do not condone the action that started this. We do not condone those who abuse their power and take it out on those who can’t defend themselves or those who are different. Most of us joined to stop that. No one hates those actions more than we do. He is a murderer and we caught him. Now we have to wait for justice, just like any other. We are not the judge; we don’t get to serve the final sentence, so why should you? 

Because of him, we are standing here wearing helmets and carrying shields. Because of him, I am scared to go home in my uniform. Because of him, people hate us once again. He deserves those charges; he disgraced us, but why must we all pay for him? I know there have been others, but why must my wife, daughter, and son pay for that? Some have been completely justified, and I stand with them, but you are told they are killers by people who know nothing about what we do or those who have caught only a glimpse of the truth.

We stand together.

I don’t want to be here, punished for the actions of one. But I will stand here for the rest of them; my people who condemn him just as much as I; those who just want to survive the night and go home in the morning; those who see the burning cars and looted businesses. Those who stand here with me, for me. I also stand here for you. The shop owners that wail with every shattered window. The college student that can’t afford a new car. Those who are just trying to walk home, and get attacked by those drunk on rage. Those who stand and shout with bricks in hand. Those who hate us, we still stand here for you. 

We stand together.

The bottles and bricks are unrelenting. The shouts are one large roar like the ocean. Our hands have been tied; we have been told not to do anything unless absolutely necessary. You broke Jensen’s arm last night and we couldn’t do anything about it. She texted all of us saying she wanted to be here, to be with us. She took solace in babysitting Sawyer’s son, supporting us anyway she could. You keep coming closer and closer. My eyes are sore and my body aches, but I know to keep vigilant. To be complacent is to get killed, or let your brother or sister die.

The riot is getting worse. Glass is breaking, car alarms are blaring. People are jumping and shoving against our shields. My shoulders ache from keeping them back. The sun is a long ways away. My people’s faces match my own; they’re tired, angry, confused, and hurt. We stand with you, we want to shout, we condemn his actions too! But you don’t care. To take a knee right now is to get hit by a brick.

We stand together.

There is an opening in the mob. A brick crumbles against my shield. A flash of silver. A shooter’s stance. “Gun!” I don’t know if I shouted or someone else. I drop my shield and grab my weapon. The opening closes; rioters surround me, shouting and throwing. My people surge forward, trying to protect me. Where’s the gun? Where’s the gun? Where’s the gun?

We stand together.

A crash of thunder. Screaming. Shouting. Electricity in my neck. I fall, unable to stand. My people surround me, shouting. “Where’s the shooter? How’s he doing? Dammit, we need EMS! There’s no way EMS is coming here.” Caleb pulls at my clothing. My vision is dark. 

Where’s the gun? I push at Caleb’s hand. He’s blocking my view; the shooter is still out there. People are in danger. Us and you. We have to find him before someone else is hurt. I pull at Caleb’s hand, trying to form the words. I can’t breathe! Why can’t I breathe?

“White male. Black clothing with a red bandana.” I’m not sure how much he heard. A thick, warm liquid is pooling at the back of my throat. My hands shake. I need to get up. We have to find him. He’s going to hurt someone else. We can’t let him hurt anyone else. Caleb nods and brushes my arm, assuring me they’ll find him, to rest and focus on myself, but how can I when all of us- you and my people- are in danger?

We stand together.

“You’re going to be okay, buddy! Hang in there!” He’s lying. I can’t breathe. Everything is warm. The shouts and screams dissipate. It’s just me and my people. No, not anymore. It’s just them.

We stand together.

I am another statistic, another name among hundreds on a sheet of paper. I am nameless, forgotten by you. We, me and those who passed before me, were only there to protect you. That’s all we ever do. There will be no riots in my name; no marches through the streets. According to you, I deserved to die, right? I signed up for this. Good riddance.

We stand together.

I am gone but my people and what we stand for remains. My watch has ended but they will continue. They will stand where I fell, night after night. They stand side by side ready to protect another, die for another, and yes, if the situation deems, to kill for another, and for you. It will never end, and so we must persevere onward. When you need help, when you are scared, we will come and defend you to our last breaths. But what about us? Which of you will defend us?

We stand together.

We stand with each other. We will always get back up. We will never give up. We will always have each other: Caucasian, African American, Native, Hispanic, homosexual, straight, male, female. Human. We are all together. 

We stand together.

We, the thin line of blue.