An open letter to my community, as well as to the Northern Regional Police Department. If you love someone, you must make them conscious of the things they cannot or do not see.

It goes without saying that I am privileged. I grew up in suburban heaven, I received an incredible education, I never went to bed hungry; and the color of my skin is white. In fact, 98% of Richland Township, Pennsylvania, shares the same skin color as me. With that being said, I found myself asking the question: Where does a homogenous community like mine fit in the narrative of this racial awakening?

I contacted my local police department and encouraged my peers to follow suit in order to get this question and similar ones answered. The letter simply asked what our police force was going to do in response to the rising concerns of the American population in regards to racial injustice. We were met with a request from the chief to have an in-person meeting and discuss these topics. My peers and I were looking to start a conversation and move toward change.

Before the meeting began, I asked the officers if it was okay to count this meeting as “on record,” meaning that anything they said could be used for publication unless indicated otherwise. They obliged.

Upon entering the room, my friend Maggie Allwein and I were greeted by six armed officers in full uniform. We shook each of their hands before the false enthusiasm began to take up space. We took our seats and the chief left no time silent. He began by introducing himself and asking his team to do the same. This immediately set the tone of how this meeting was going to go. Within the first 10 minutes of my being there, I knew that this discussion was going to be one about themselves and not the issues at hand.

I could count on my fingers the amount of times that Maggie or I spoke during that two-hour meeting, not to mention that we didn’t even get a chance to introduce ourselves. An officer asked Maggie her name on the way out. As we predicted, the red carpet was rolled out for us, and the officers left no good deed they had ever accomplished unsaid. This continued for quite some time but slowly morphed into something a bit different. We found the officers using this space as a therapy session, discussing how hard it has been for them since the murder of George Floyd. 

I am not one to discredit anyone’s feelings. I highly value empathy, but some people are unable to feel genuinely sorry for anyone besides themselves. I can confidently say that Maggie and I sat there with open minds and hearts, willing to hear their stories and discuss change, but I did not feel as though we got that in return. I heard stories that broke my heart, as these people risk everything for the sake of their community. I heard stories where lives were saved and ones where lives were lost. I heard stories about courage and selflessness, drug addiction and theft, domestic violence and animal control. But that was not the reason I reached out. 

As the meeting progressed, I realized more and more that it was necessary to force my voice to be heard. I held up the original letter that I wrote and asked if we could address the very first question on the letter: How do you ensure Black men and women feel safe in our community? 

The chief took a moment to think and blurted out, “We don’t,” to which Maggie and I shared a shocked expression. “We treat everyone the same. We don’t see color,” the chief expanded. I responded by explaining how seeing color is extremely important  and listed reasons that turning a blind eye to color is detrimental to our society. The officers didn’t like this. They liked it better when we smiled and laughed at their jokes. 

One of the field officers jumped in, explaining to us his childhood. He grew up with a single mother and in a Hispanic home where drug addiction ran rampant. He stated that he would never want to have “special treatment” because of his heritage, proceeding to let me know that he “doesn’t see me as just a little white girl.” Ah yes, I feel so safe knowing that these officers clearly do not see color and race does not affect their work. 

Feeling a bit hopeless after this statement, I tried my best to steer the conversation towards officer training to learn more about how the system operates. We were proudly told that the training they go through during the police academy is all mandatory, but after that, the updated training sessions for specific things are not required. It is up to the officers to individually seek out the additional training opportunities..

The officers delivered this information to us in a way that championed how they can tailor their training according to their interests and passions. The same field officer explained that he sought out updated training focused on drug-related crimes and how to handle them properly, to which I asked the question: If you get a drug related call, would you be the officer to show up then? Because of your extra training and experience? The answer was no. 

The officers compared their job to emergency room doctors, explaining that they are generally trained for all responses but refer victims and criminals to the appropriate resources.

But I wouldn’t call a marriage counselor if I got into a car accident, and I wouldn’t call a drug expert if I witnessed a bank robbery. 

The hardest part about this meeting was the fact that the officers saw no need for change. I was heartbroken because they saw no issue in what they were saying. They were proud. They were extremely proud of their program and looked at this meeting as a way to prove this. It was interesting to hear the wonderful things they have done for my community, but the need for reform was a topic that they refused to put in the spotlight. 

Every opportunity I saw to have a real discussion about change was dodged. “This is how reform happens ladies,” echoed from one of the officers as things began to wrap up. “Not with fire or violence but from conversation.” Reform happens when conversation turns into action. Reform happens when a problem is not just recognized, but understood. Reform only happens when we recognize that reform needs to happen.