Once my kids asked me about “juvey.” We happened to be next to the “Youth Study Center” at the time. “Will I ever have to go to juvey,” my daughter asked.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you grew up with access to good schools and your parents would never allow you to end up there.”
I’ve never threatened them with Juvey and I’ve never threatened them with the boogeyman or the police, except perhaps playfully less than a handful of times. Even then, I feel little guilty because I’m not quite sure if the children understand I’m being playful. But I only did it in silly situations, anyway. I’ve heard too many stories of kids getting seriously wrong ideas that mess with their head years after they’ve grown up.
I have, however, told them to be very careful around the police. Always behave politely and cooperatively because they’ve got the guns, and we don’t. They see or hear stories about police brutality and ask us about them. I tell them they are unlikely to be victims because they don’t belong to the race or class that is most often the victim of police brutality.
Still, I know good people who have been hurt by police in protests or on the way to jail Anti-nuclear protesters and other kinds of political protesters. People falsely accused of being abusers. The police take the woman’s word for it because they don’t know she’s crazy. My friend ended up with a broken tooth and other abuse and a blood borne fungus and god knows what else because the police thought he was some kind of home terrorist. They sent thirteen police to arrest him. Thirteen.
I work with a criminal justice department at a university on occasion. I’ve heard the stories of the problems they have working with police. They are defensive, slow to change, and reluctant to give up old habits. Their training is woefully inadequate, not because they don’t know how to do it, but because they don’t want to. They won’t share data with the researchers because they are afraid of getting beaten up (metaphorically) when the data are analyzed.
Where I grew up, the biggest bully in my school was the son of the police chief.
So I don’t trust the police. They often just do what they’re told, and interpret their orders in the most draconian way—using it as an excuse to exercise the power they have.
Sure, I call the police when my car is stolen, not that it does any good. The one thing the police will do is show up if you tell them someone is trying to break in or someone has been mugged. I’ve seen them show up as quickly as in five minutes. Of course, the intruders and muggers are long gone by then.
But even when they are here to “help” us, I am wary of them. You never know when they might just decide you aren’t cooperative enough or nice enough, and they’ll find something to hurt you with. So I tell my kids to be polite and calm and to do nothing to set a cop off. Just keep it professional. The police are not your enemy, but they are also not your friend.