Trapped in the Plantation

Chapter 5- Reflections

"What was policing like growing up?" With my hand clenched to my cheek, I glared into the distance as I flashed back. Fierce and feared were two words I remembered my ideal job to be. I sat under the oak tree in Twickenham Park, Spanish Town, reminiscing with a warm feeling of gratitude for what policing was like growing up. I did not then understand what the police did. All I knew was they drove around in cars and bikes with guns on their hips chasing criminals or waiting in a dark spot to grab one in the act. I never wanted to know anything else. I was fine with that. I never wanted to be a doctor, teacher, or lawyer. I wanted to be the person that stood over a dead body trying to figure out things.

The respect and honor given to Jamaican police in the 90s and the late 2000s was a great deal. Every Jamaican boy and girl could relate, wanting to become a policeman or policewoman. The warmth of just their presence was everything. Maybe I was wrong, but that is what I remembered. The free time as a child to exploit fun activities had police games incorporated into it. A game every Jamaican knows, "Police and Thief," was the number one game of a young boy's life. Children wanted to hold the end of the stick that was shaped like a gun. The bigger the stick, the more authority showed, and the police were always the heroes of the game. The thief was caught or killed; the police were immortal.

Seeing the police cars was like Christmas for kids. The joy and excitement were out of this world. Every home in Jamaica that had a young boy had a toy police car. The police were in every young child's heart. A few of the kids feared police because of what was told to them by their parents. If a child was troublesome, our parents would threaten to call the police to lock us up. Most of us at the time had that moment of fear not knowing we could not be locked up for being a child. Just the thought of the handcuffs made us terrified. We were always kept on track by the threats of calling the police.

Career day at school got transformed into a police station and a hospital — every boy dressed in a police uniform and girls dressed in nurse's uniforms. The only way to make a profit on career day was to make police uniforms. The dressmakers would have a field day at those moments. Like it or not, police officers were loved and adored; they were highly regarded in stature to the society that they served. They were a cut above the rest you may say.

The entire feeling that embodied the word police was a one in a million experience. For some it meant a noble institution, but for others it was a much different feeling. Hated by the few Rastafarians in Coral Gardens, riots were a familiar story. "Who could have forgotten that milestone in Jamaican police history if you were privy to know about it?" The tensions had been building for about 5 years starting in 1958. Rastafarians were being targeted by the police, arrested for marijuana possession which they used in their religious practices, so they could evict them. Yearly the tensions grew with public beatings, arrests and shaving of their dreadlocks. Hate was on both sides with police even using pictures of Rastafarians for target practice. The Coral Gardens Incident, which is part of Rose Hall Estate, exploded after years of evictions from the more wealthy as they forced the Rastafarian share croppers off of their land. Things became explosive on April 11, 1963; armed with machetes, hatchets and spears, a group of Rastafarians robbed and set fire to a gas station. In the ensuing fight with police, eight died: three Rastas, two police officers and three civilians. Those Rastas not arrested at the site were tracked down and killed. The next day, Good Friday the 12th, also known as Bad Friday, Prime Minister Alexander Bustamante issued an edict to "bring in all Rastas, dead or alive." Many were tortured and killed as police entered Rasta encampments and working class neighborhoods to hunt them down. I learned all that in school, as I wasn't even born. An event that was not a proud one, it resonated with the people. No wonder there was still so much conflict. But Rastas still feel like even though the government has issued an apology and restitution, that they are still persecuted.

Another hatedred towards the cops that I could recall as a child growing up was from those who enjoyed smoking marijuana. Although legalized now, smoking ganja back then for a policeman was a gruesome crime. Carrying ganja around was more dangerous than carrying a machete sharpened on both sides in public. It was always a misadventure for individuals smoking when they suddenly saw the police. Some swallowed the light splif while others hid it in their clothes. Nobody wanted to spend nights in jail, especially on weekends.

The police force itself had come a long way but had more ground to cover. As I suspected, the basis of why policing started was much bigger than I had understood as a child. It was originally formed to protect the wealthy at all costs while the less fortunate suffered, as ancestors told it. I never saw that in writings, so it was neither here nor there for me. The basis of existence was not a matter of importance to my mind as becoming part of this elite force was my career aspiration. I saw it as a perfect career opportunity. Even though expectations for officers were high in that they were expected to be immaculate in appearance and possess integrity of gold; it was all I wanted to become. Of course, as a child, I possessed little or no knowledge of the reality behind the image, but nonetheless, it was my dream. It was to be my castle with the fairy tale ending. I felt most persons saw police as this superhero despite knowing the real danger beyond it. Never having experienced firsthand, they did not know the grim reality that was the life of an officer.

"Muster!" Muster!" a loud voice echoed, awakening me from slumber beneath the oak tree. I looked around; I was the only one sitting there. I questioned myself how I fell asleep sitting under the tree. And "why did I keep on overthinking this job?" My mind was full of unanswered questions, but I was almost back to reality of moment I had dreamed of my entire life.

The training was finally finished, and I graduated. This was a proud moment as I was finally a law enforcement officer. I was still on the compound at Twichenham Park though, awaiting dispatch weeks after graduation. Even after seeing so many negative things on television back home, I was still hopeful it would be the ideal career. As I moved off with a brisk walk to the basic area, I smiled and said gracefully, "God, let all that I have seen in my dream, let it be a vision of truth." I remembered this gem from childhood vividly as it was my favorite line directed to God.