Who is the Real Danger? Fighting Bad Policing and Bad Policy

While going through my grandfather's belongings after he passed, we discovered a book of poetry he had written. One of the most intriguing elements was a series of poems regarding the advancement of Black Americans. What fascinated me was that these were written long before the Civil Rights Movement of the late 1950s and '60s. Even in an era when lynchings still occurred and racial discrimination was legal, he remained proud of the progress being made. It makes sense; he likely knew people who had been enslaved, and he understood that the march toward full citizenship and freedom is a long one.

I found myself reflecting on this a few months ago after I was pulled over for a traffic stop for no discernible reason. I was stopped by a Metropolitan Police Department (MPD) officer and his partner in Washington, D.C. The MPD is the District’s local police force, and being stopped without cause is a frustrating experience.

The "Talk" and the Reality of Power

Unfortunately, I have been stopped by various police several times for reasons that eluded me. As a young driver, I remember being pulled over just two blocks from the U.S. Capitol while driving my mother’s Ford Thunderbird—with her in the passenger seat. I was young and confused, but even today, I clearly recall her frustration at what she saw as blatant discrimination.

Nothing came of that incident, but it served as a stark reminder of “the talk” many African American parents must have with their children, especially their sons. It is a warning to always be careful—not just because of bullies, thieves or gangsters, but specifically to be aware of law enforcement. The lesson is that some may perceive you differently because of your race, necessitating extra caution around authority figures who may not like or trust you. Unlike common criminals or school bullies, police officers are government officials who can act with (apparent) impunity. That reality makes police misconduct and violence especially dangerous.

Shortly after my graduation from Howard University (HU), the death of Prince Jones was a constant conversation point among my fellow Bison (HU students and alumni.) He was a student driving to his girlfriend’s house, and was chased by undercover Prince George’s County police and fatally shot in Virginia in a case of mistaken identity. The officer was in an unmarked vehicle, and it was never clear if he had identified himself. Regardless, the consequences were deadly. The 16 bullet wounds in Jones’s body, including five in his back, were a haunting reminder to be careful. It did not matter that the police officer was also Black, but only that he mistakenly saw Prince as a threat and he was dead because of that. The frustration deepened when the officer was found not guilty; many of my fellow Bison feared that Prince had died in vain.

The Safety Blanket

I left the region to head away for graduate school. As a leader of a student organization, I became aware of tensions between Black students and police even in the Ivy League town of Princeton, NJ. I recall a few incidents of treatment that seemed different from my fellow students, including a bank teller who refused to cash a large check, even though I had proper ID and the check was from an account at that branch. (Unlike Oscar award-winner Ryan Coogler’s similar incident in 2022, I was able to leave without being detained by police). A few years later, I returned to the region and became a Maryland state employee. That was a transformative experience. The state police were also state employees and we were on the same team. When driving a state vehicle, they were comrades, filling up at the same special gas pumps, and even sharing friendly waves when driving by.

Because of this experience, I began carrying my state government ID in my car at all times. If an officer stopped me, it would signal that I was a "friend" rather than a threat. Though I never had to use it to save myself, that ID served as a safety blanket that made me feel safer in those potentially deadly police interactions. I kept it in my car long after I left state service, until the ink finally washed out and became illegible. It always made me feel just a bit safer.

Metropolitan Police Checkpoint in Southeast DC, August 2025

The Incident

All of that serves as the necessary background for what happened on a cold night in late 2025. Federal officers had been ordered to patrol the District by the White House, and tensions were high. I had just left AARP studios after filming a launch video for the 2025 update to the award-winning AARP Livability Index™ platform. This project is perhaps my greatest professional accomplishment— we created the first and best measure of quality of life for every neighborhood in the country. I take great pride in our annual updates, and speaking in cities and towns across the nation. In those talks, I share how communities can improve quality of life and address challenges. Of course, among the attributes we measure are personal safety and crime rates, so the perception and reality of crime was on my mind on that day.

While driving from downtown D.C. toward my home in Maryland, I traveled through the H Street corridor and onto Bladensburg Road. Suddenly, an SUV began tailing me closely. It was rush hour, and I was traveling at the 25 mph speed limit; the proximity of the vehicle felt strange and intimidating. Eventually, they passed me, and I lost track of them.

Moments later, an MPD vehicle pulled behind me and activated its lights. Since I was following all traffic laws, I initially looked for a way to move out of the way on a road with no shoulder. As I pulled into a gas station, it finally dawned on me: they were coming for me.

Following the MPD vehicle were several others, including a dark SUV that looked like the one I had seen in my rearview mirror. As the MPD officers approached, FBI agents in full tactical gear parked, jumped out and stood menacingly nearby. While their weapons were not pointed at me, their presence was an explicit display of force. They stood at a distance with their hands resting on their firearms, watching the proceedings.

The Confrontation

I turned my attention to the MPD officers. I am no longer a young man, so my primary response wasn't fear—it was anger at being stopped for no reason. However, remembering the lessons from my father, I remained calm and respectful.

During the interaction, it became clear they were searching for guns. I was driving a well-maintained, late-model two-seater with little interior space. I was wearing my best camera-ready suit. My frustration peaked; I could not imagine a vehicle less likely to be involved in gun running. But remembering Prince Jones and seeing the armed federal officers looming nearby, I kept my composure. I phrased my anger as a question: Why would you stop someone like me?

The answer was vague: "Sometimes we find guns in fancy cars." I was eventually given a warning for a minor license plate infraction and sent on my way. I waited for the officers to clear the area before leaving. In the 30 seconds I sat there, I watched four or five cars pass by with missing or obscured front plates. No one stopped them.

The Duty of Citizenship

At that point, my frustration boiled over. The interaction lasted only 15 minutes, but it ruined my day. Reflecting on it, I remembered a previous encounter on H Street. Years ago, I had asked an officer about deciphering a complicated parking sign. He told me he wasn’t worried about parking; he was “out here to catch killers.” At the time, I thought it was noble. Now, the context has shifted. I have been on H Street hundreds of times and never feared for my safety. But now, I have a new fear: they aren't just hunting killers; they are hunting me. And this time, federal officers were leading the party.

I am now an adult, a tax-paying, law-abiding citizen. I serve on boards and dedicated my career to improving quality of life across this country. I am too old to be caught up in street violence, yet I now have a revived worry related to violence: the danger posed by the police. I am convinced that federal agents directed that stop—that they saw who I was and what I was driving and instructed the MPD to pull me over. If I am right, that is a violation of my civil rights and MPD policy.

A friend in law enforcement later explained the concept of "pretextual stops"—stops for minor or obscure infractions used as an excuse to search for larger crimes, even though they have no probable cause. For the officer, it’s a fishing expedition; for the citizen, it is at best an annoyance and at worst a death sentence. Federal officers have no place in local enforcement; they lack community ties, lack local oversight, and bring their own unchecked biases. A few months later, federal officers killed two citizens in Minneapolis, confirming the potential dangers. And until this day, armed federal agents and National Guard members are patrolling DC to keep the District “safe.”

The Record

You may wonder why I am writing this months later, in March. It is because I only recently completed my interview with D.C.’s Office of Police Complaints. A friend of mine who is a decorated officer for another department reminded me that a formal complaint is the only way these incidents are tracked and addressed. I filed that complaint a few months ago.

Excerpt from my report:

It is my belief that this traffic stop was directed by the FBI and executed by MPD officers in violation of MPD policy and federal law. This practice is improper, does not make District residents safer, and must be stopped.

Was this discrimination? Were policies violated? I don't know for sure, but my incident is now part of the official record. If this has happened to others who look like me, a pattern will emerge. If I had stayed silent, change would be impossible.

This is my charge to you: It is your job as a citizen to be frustrated by what is wrong. Do not keep it inside. Take advantage of your rights and report. Administrations change, but the official record remains. The investigator told me that if they find a pattern of stopping Black men in nice cars, the department will recommend policy changes.

As I think back to my grandfather’s poem, I believe he would be proud that I live in a time when I can stand up and raise my voice. Things could have gone much worse, but that doesn't absolve me of my responsibility to act. We all have the power to help prevent these incidents from happening in the future.

Please, speak up. It is our right—and our responsibility.

The thoughts in this post are mine alone and do not represent those of any organization.