Now I Know by LaVasha Murdoch

I just got home. Tonight I learned how seeing police officers get away with killing black and brown people has affected me. I was traveling home after my Council dinner in Omak and just getting to Wenatchee when there were red and blue lights in my rear view mirror.

 My first thought was “Please Jesus, let me make it home to my family.” 

I signaled, pulled over, put my car in park and then put both hands on the wheel. “Please, God. Just let me make it home.” The officer gets to my window and signals for me to roll it down. I do. He tells me his name. I don’t remember it. He asks if I know why he pulled me over. “No, sir. I don’t.” He tells me I have a headlight out. “Oh. Okay.” 

My hands start to shake. He asks me if my name is La Vasha, but he mispronounces it. I correct him and then say “Yes, sir.” He asks for my license. I look at my purse on the passenger seat and see that it’s zipped. I look back at him and tell him that I have it, but it’s in my purse. “I’m going to unzip it, okay?” He says it’s okay. Hands still shaking, I open my purse and am relieved that my wallet is still on top and visible. I pull it out and struggle to release my license from the pocket. I hand it over and he looks at it and asks me where Kittitas is. “Um... it’s ten miles left of Ellensburg.” Yeah, I know, but I couldn’t think to say “East.” 

He asks me for my registration. I point to my glove box. “It’s in there. I’m going to open that, okay?” He says it’s okay. I fumble through the pocket that holds the manual and the registration. I pull out the old one. Nope. Keep looking. I find it and can’t hold it steady, but he manages to take it. 

He asks if I have insurance. “Yes, sir. It’s in here, too.” I look in the pocket. I can’t find it! In my head, my prayer has been cut to “Please, God. Please. Please, God. Please.” He tells me he’s going to go check my information and he’ll be right back. Okay. I keep looking. By the time he comes back, I still haven’t found the current one. The only one I have on me that I have torn my wallet apart for is 8 years old. He looks at me and I tell him I can’t find it. 

He tells me that I look nervous. 

“Yes, sir. I am very nervous.” He asks me why. “Because I’m a black woman on this side of the mountains and you just pulled me over.” His eyes are brown. He says it’s going to be okay. He asks if I’m sure that’s the only reason? He smiles at me. “It’s okay. I just wanted to make sure that you aren’t nervous because you have a trunk full of cocaine or something.” I think he’s trying to make a joke to put me at ease. I don’t laugh, but I say “No, you can check it if you want. I’m a teacher and I’m coming from a meeting in Omak. I’m just going home.” 

He tells me he’s going to let me go with a warning to find my insurance card because that’s a $500 ticket if it’s not with me in the vehicle and since I’m almost home, make sure to get my light fixed. Actually to maybe stop at Fred Meyer and pick one up. I tell him I’m going to have my husband take care of it first thing in the morning. My hands were still shaking when he gave me my stuff back. My stomach was jumpy. He goes back to his car. I put my car in gear, signal and head home. I was still so nervous. I had intended to stop and gas up in Wenatchee. I didn’t. I just kept driving until I got home. I got into my house, saw my husband who has always been my safe space and just started to shake and cry.

In telling my husband this story, I asked him if it were him, would his first thought have been that he wasn’t going to make it home. Would he have thought he was going to die? His answer... no.

This is what privilege looks like and feels like.

That officer was nice to me. He could have given me a ticket for not finding my insurance card. He didn’t. He saw that I was nervous and he could have easily escalated the situation. He didn’t.

But let me say this, I am a law abiding citizen and I was terrified that because I’m black I was going to be killed over a traffic stop. You think I’m overreacting? Philando Castile. Freddy Gray. Samuel DuBose. Natasha McKenna. Countless others. 

Tonight, I just thank God that La Vasha Murdoch didn’t join that list. I really didn’t know how all of this has been playing on my psyche. 

Now I know.