Why Defund the Police? A Story
On my way down Central Park Drive into Berkeley's Tilden Park yesterday, I saw a white man of about sixty--twenty years my junior--standing by a black car. I paused to see if he needed help. He made a small hand gesture, which I took as a "drive on" wave, so I continued. But fifty feet later, troubled by something about him, I decided the gesture had been ambiguous. Brought up by parents who always stopped for strangers, I flashed my blinkers and reversed.
Rolling down my window, I asked, "Are you okay?"
"Don't try to qualify me." He stared angrily.