In 2011, my younger brother Lee was stopped and frisked on his way to buy ginger ale at the grocery store on 216th Street and White Plains Road.
Walking into the market, his black du-rag on and headphones plugged in, two white police officers stopped Lee and asked to search him.
"What's the problem?" he asked, looking back and forth between the officers, his heart rate starting to rise. "Why are you stopping me?"
The officers told him he fit the description of someone they were looking for before starting to pat him down. Moments later Lee was pressed against the wall and handcuffed for (legally) carrying a small pocket knife for protection.
Hours went by before my older brothers and I received a call that Lee, then 18, had been arrested and was being held at the 47th precinct in The Bronx. He came home with us that night in one piece—the pocket knife they'd arrested him for was within his right to carry. But I still think about all the things that could have gone wrong with his arrest.
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