SKIN PRIVILEGED

Slices of Life and Racial Profiling in New York City by
David Benjamin

A year ago, my friend Marcus went to work at a record store downtown. Marcus carried a knife in his pocket. Under-cover police officers entered the store and bought a brand of magic markers called Krunk. When selling the magic marker to the undercover officer, he did not ask to see the officer’s ID to confirm his age.

Marcus didn’t ask to see ID because no one had told him that in order to buy Krunk Markers in New York City, you must have a valid ID showing that you are at least 18 years of age. When the officers ran Marcus’s Name, they found that he was wanted for murder. The only problem was that the 28 year old soft-spoken, college educated store clerk was not wanted for murder. Marcus had no record, but did have the same name as a wanted suspect. He is also black.

When the officers searched Marcus’s person, they found that he was carrying a knife. Not a switch-blade or dagger, but a fold-open pocket knife with a three inch blade. The kind of tool one uses to open boxes, in a store processing shipments and putting out merchandise.

Marcus didn’t leave work that day with a warning, or even a summons. He left in handcuffs and was delivered by the police to central booking, where he sat in a jail cell for almost two days. A few cheese sandwiches and hours of confinement later; Marcus was released and issued a court date. Then he got a lawyer, and appeared before a judge. He sold a magic marker, while carrying a knife to open boxes, and ended his work-day in jail, and with a four figure lawyer’s bill.

One can only wonder what would have happened if he didn’t have the pocketknife or if he didn’t have the same name as a wanted criminal, or if he weren’t black.
I worked in retail as a clerk for years. I opened boxes on a regular basis, and I carried a knife both at work, and while going about my daily activities. Unlike Marcus’s flip open three-inch knife, I opted for a six inch tanto-style switchblade.

Sure, a smaller knife would have worked fine for my purposes, but I wanted something, well, cooler. Once, about two years ago, a young man entered the store where I was working and asked for a tobacco product. I showed him one and he came to the counter. I asked to see his ID. He said he didn’t have it. I told him I couldn’t sell him any tobacco product without seeing his ID. He immediately left. A man standing by the register opened his wallet and showed me a police badge. He told me we had passed the inspection for ID checks. He then checked our cigarettes to make sure the tax-stamps were as they should be, and that we had all the legally required signage posted in plain view behind the cash register. He filled out some forms on a pad, and told us we had passed inspection.

During this process, I had my switchblade clipped to my pants pocket, its large plastic handle in full view of the inspecting officers. Nothing happened. I left work that day thankful that our store passed the rigorous inspection. Then again, I am white.
Often, when we think of racial profiling, we are drawn to cases where bullets fly, or cars are stopped on the side of the road. While violence may command our minds and headlines, we ought to give a moment to think about the daily life occurrences that can change dramatically based on race.