Ramesh Nyberg
There’s something happening here…what it is ain’t exactly clear
There’s a man with a gun over there, telling me I got to beware…
“For What It’s Worth (Stop, Hey What’s That Sound)” – Buffalo Springfield, 1967
If any profession can consistently claim the phrase “damned if you do and damned if you don’t” as their own, it’s we in law enforcement.
A year and a half ago, I published my memoir and one of the main reasons I wrote the book was to draw back the curtain for the public and show them some of the things they’ll never see depicted in Hollywood or on social media. I wanted them to not only see cops as human beings (not uniforms) and provide them with insight about how we do things in police work, but also how it feels for us when we do them. After all, not all of us are the same. We have our lives in our homes with our families and then we put on the uniform or cinch up our tie and business clothes (as I did in homicide for 22 years) and become part of a different family.
I don’t remember caring about what my colleagues’ political persuasions or personal affectations were. None of us had time for that. We had to rely on each other for our lives, so there was a silent acceptance of everyone, even the ones who acted like alpha-hotels from time to time. In 27 years of police work in South Florida, I rode patrol with fellow officers of every color, political party, ethnic background, gay and straight, and from every Latin American and Caribbean country in existence. I worked with officers who indeed were immigrants. We did raids together; fought with people; got shot at together; had rocks, bottles and blenders (yes…see my book for that story) thrown at us and we all had a common goal: control our streets, protect our citizens from the criminal element and have each other’s backs. I didn’t care – and still don’t – about who you voted for, where you were from, or who you rolled around under the sheets with. That’s in your hands.
The public, however, sees us differently. They just see the badge and nothing else. As we well know, when there’s a bad shooting, we’re all a bunch of trigger-happy goons. When there’s a corrupt cop, we’re all crooks. And, now, just as it has been with every effort to do our jobs in an environment of civil unrest, we’re the bad guys with the riot helmets and shields; we’re the arm of the big bad oppressive government. The public doesn’t even care to make the effort to understand that, when we go to roll call and are given an assignment, we head out and obey our orders without any discussion about politics. And, for the record, to any non-law enforcement people who might be reading this, going out and making sure the streets are not blocked is not an unlawful order – it’s our duty. (A thought just came to me. If you have a member of your family or a friend who constantly criticizes the police for doing their job, I urge you to share this column with them.)
You and I, my brothers and sisters, all know the difference between a protestor and a rioter. Protestors do things peacefully. Protestors, when told by a police officer to move off the street, do so immediately. But what happens on the field force line? There’s always a few – well, more like a crowd – who decide they are going to break the law and refuse to move and, as soon as we do our duty and fulfill the oath we took, we become the enemy. Again, for civilians who might be reading this: When you peacefully walk the sidewalk or a designated area to protest, it doesn’t matter what you say. You can wave any flag you want, wear any T-shirt you want, and scream any insult you want about anyone. The police aren’t going out and looking for people to arrest because of what they are saying. We don’t care. In fact – I can say with certainty – some of the hearts beating within those riot uniforms share your viewpoints and emotions about politics, about immigration, about whatever the cause may be. They might be on your side. When you look over and see that line of scary-looking, military style cops in formation, know this: None of them want to be there. It’s scarier for them than it is for you. You chose to be there; they didn’t. You can run away; they can’t. Know this as well: In spite of whether we might be sympathetic to your cause or not, the moment you pick up a rock and throw it at a cop, you become a felon. It’s that simple. The moment you shove a police officer or even refuse a lawful order to clear the street, you have broken the law and what you believe in, your identity, your words – and whether I agree with you or not – all end up swirling down the sink of irrelevance. You are now a lawbreaker.
This isn’t our first rodeo by any means and it won’t be our last. A couple of years back, I wrote about the nationwide riots of 1968, fomented primarily by the protest of the Vietnam War. Compared to the current protests about ICE and immigration, those riots were significantly more violent and deadly. The police in that era were not as well trained or equipped as we are today, but the same dynamic existed. You don’t think that, within the ranks of those cops, there were some who had lost family members in Vietnam and were against the war, too? But, like today, they suited up and did a job which no one else would be willing to do for the peanuts they were paid. I’m not going to be so naïve as to suggest that there wasn’t unnecessary brutality during that era. There definitely was. That’s going to happen – today as well – because those aren’t robots wearing those uniforms; those are people with emotions. Throw in long hours in hot uniforms and, when you throw a brick or a bag of feces at one of them, there’s a good likelihood that the response will be with a baton, and your head’s going to take a hit. Call it brutality, if you want, but the fact remains that it is a normal human reaction to being attacked.
Today, even with the enhanced equipment and tactics we have, the job of controlling civil unrest is more complex. We are well aware of the social media tactics. We’ve seen them in riot situations for the last three decades: A member of your group shoves a cop or throws a water bottle at one of them. That is when you turn on your video and capture law enforcement’s reaction and that’s the segment of the video which makes it onto your cherished X/Twitter or TikTok account. We know the strategy well, but we’re going to do our job anyway. Just like in 1968, the cops in those uniforms are hot and tired and they have emotions, too. You can only push someone so much and then they can easily forget about things like “restraint.” At that point, it doesn’t matter whether or not I agree with what’s said on the sign you carry.
We are also well aware of the Monday morning quarterbacking. If we had not properly controlled the streets so that traffic can get through, and if we had not contained the crowd and allowed widespread damage and looting, then we were to blame. We shirked our duty. We were incompetent.
So, yes, my brothers and sisters in blue and brown (my old department), we truly are damned if we do and damned if we don’t. Own it. It’s part of what we do. I’ve been off the job now for 18 years and you’ll notice I still say “we” when I talk about law enforcement. That’s because I salute all of you and I have a spot in my heart – as a civilian now – which empathizes with what you’re going through. You got into this profession for the right reasons. Hold down the fort. Support one another and always have each other’s backs.
For what it’s worth, I’ve got yours.
Ramesh Nyberg retired from law enforcement in November 2006 after 27 years of police work. He lives in Miami and teaches criminal justice at a local high school. He also teaches regional law enforcement courses through Training Force, USA. He enjoys getting feedback from readers and can be reached at ramesh.nyberg@gmail.com. Also, Ram has written a new book, Badge, Tie and Gun: Life and Death Journeys of a Miami Detective, which is available on Amazon in both Kindle eBook and paperback. You can find it by visiting amazon.com/dp/B0CTQQKQTV