Legendary war hero General Jordan Wicks, a towering black man, traveled powerfully through the busy main thoroughfare on this shining sun afternoon with all the swagger associated with heading towards, rather than being from, war. In all ways, Wicks was leading men into one hell of a different kind-the real struggle that lurks invisibly behind what on the surface can feel unceasingly safe.
He was dressed in full military gear, testament to his years of service and dedication to his country. His chest showed a number of Medals of Honor that he had gotten from decades of service in the U.S. Army. He was on his way to see his mother who lived in a town not too far away.
As Jordan drove, a feeling of pride welled up. It hadn’t been an easy route to U.S. Army general, but he had worked his way through, did all that was expected of him to gain the respect and responsibility his position held. He thought about how nice it was to surprise his mom-the feel of her warm smile when she saw him. The serene drive was suddenly ruined when flashing blue and red lights appeared in his rearview mirror. The shrill sound of a siren followed, signaling him to pull over.
Jordan was startled and confused as he eased his SUV to the side of the road. He replayed the last few moments in his mind-he hadn’t been speeding, and his vehicle was in perfect condition. As he parked and rolled down the window, he took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. His heart pounded slightly faster, but he reminded himself to keep all calm. Firmly grasping the steering wheel, he prepared to be polite and cooperative. Jordan had always held onto his belief in doing the right thing and abiding by the law.
Officer Clay was a white police officer who came out of the patrol car and approached Jordan’s SUV. He was tall and broad, with a hard, unreadable expression that gave little away. At first, Jordan thought this might be a routine stop, but the moment Clay glanced inside and met Jordan’s eyes, everything shifted. Jordan could sense it instantly. In an instant, the officer’s body language changed: his posture was tight, his jaw clenched, and a scowl contorted. Without greeting or explanation, Clay barked, “Step out of the vehicle. Now.” His tone was sharp, laced with hostility not at all required.
Jordan blinked hard. “Officer, could you tell me what this is about?” he asked, his voice low, calm, and respectful as he worked to diffuse the tension.
“I said, step out of the car,” Clay snapped again, louder this time, his hand dangerously close to his holster. There was a thick, unspoken tension in the air, heavy and oppressive.
Jordan’s heart was racing, but he kept his cool. He had been in life-or-death situations on the battlefield, yet something about this felt different. This was his home, where he was supposed to be safe. Slowly, he unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door. Standing tall in his full military uniform, its polished medals catching the sunlight, Jordan made sure to move deliberately, avoiding any sudden gestures that could escalate the situation.
Clay’s eyes flickered to Jordan’s uniform, narrowing as he took it in. For one quick second, there was the flash of something- recognition-but instead of respect, Clay’s face twisted into a sneer. “What are you doing around here?” he asked accusingly, tone suspicious.
Jordan felt a surge of frustration but kept his voice level. “I am on my way to visit my mother,” he said, steadied but firm. He just could not make out why things were going on like this. He was a general in the U.S. Army-a symbol of service and devotion. Shouldn’t that mean something? Yet, all the same, Clay didn’t appear to care. He didn’t request Jordan’s license or registration; he was wholly skipping the normal procedure. He focused on only one thing: Jordan himself.
“You’re lying,” Clay spat, stepping closer until his face was just inches from Jordan’s. His tone was low, almost a growl. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
Jordan took a deep breath and said nothing, instead of responding to such blatant hostility. He knew too well from experience that trying to reason with an individual who was so confrontational would further escalate the matter. He stood there as other cars slowed down to pass, staring at the unfolding spectacle, while drivers gawked. A small crowd began assembling on the sidewalk, their looks changing from curiosity to concern.
What’s hidden in the car?” Clay asked suddenly, in the most suspicious tone possible. “Contraband? Guns?” He didn’t let him answer as he growled, “Step away from the car,” his hand down near his holstered weapon now.
