Why I Hate Cops – Written February 27, 2003

Last night, I found myself in a very stressful situation regarding a group of Oxen and my roommate, who I will refer to as S.D. The whole night we had been dealing with Oxen disrespecting our apartment and disrespecting us, both verbally and physically. Once they showed up at our front door to drag S.D. out of our apartment, however, the situation really escalated.

After the Oxen attempted to break our front door down, S.D. opened the door to ask what the problem was; he promptly found himself getting drug out of the house and thrown on the ground by the Oxen. This was on our school’s property, so I immediately called our security office to send an officer over. Assuming that our security was inept (which they proved to be by showing up and watching my mate get beaten), I called 911 and requested officer assistance with a domestic dispute – my roommate was about to get stomped by a large group of drunken Oxen.

One particular Ox managed to smash S.D.’s head off the cement, after which he placed S.D. in a “full Nelson,” allowing all the other Oxen to take free punches at him. S.D. stood there with more honor than all the Oxen combined and laughed as his body was berated by the drunken rabble. You see, dear reader, the Oxen definition of honor is different from most; Oxen believe that the honorable way to solve a situation is to gang up on someone and beat them into submission. I witnessed one of S.D.’s best friends – dare I say one of my closest friends – who I had previously never seen act out of pure passion, tear into a large group of Oxen all by himself. Barefoot, stomping over shards of broken glass, I watched as The Surfer laid into the Oxen with his fists as if they were whitecaps. There was no fear except in the eyes of the Oxen as they watched their wicked plan crumble around them, for they could beat these men but they would never beat them.

Shortly after the Oxen managed to incapacitate The Surfer and stomp him into the ground, the High Point Police Department showed up in their entire splendor. I must admit, I felt a great sense of empowerment watching ten cops pour out of squad cars that had surrounded our building. This mood quickly changed as the police seemed to not care what the situation was – simply that it was stopped. Fortunately, I was one of the only sober people outside who could provide an accurate portrayal of the whole situation, so I assumed the officers would at least be interested with my statement. I was wrong. After an hour and a half of debating whether or not S.D. was being beaten or simply fell on the ground multiple times, the police deemed there was insufficient evidence to charge anyone with anything.

After discovering this, I approached three officers that I had talked with earlier to discuss the situation. I directly relayed my sense of concern regarding a repeat offence, since Oxen have a tendency to reappear in even greater numbers after a defeat. Their aloofness bothered me, but more than that their arrogance enraged me. I actually had one of the cops say, “We are not here to protect you.” This sent me into a fit of rage where I told the officers how I am constantly questioned as to why I am so “anti-establishment,” and how this was the exact reason. I have never had faith in my government to treat me as a person with rights, and I definitely do not believe that the police are there to uphold those rights. In our own Declaration of Independence it states that all people have a right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Last night I watched as a group of people with badges which read, “To Protect and Serve” as they burned down my ideas about freedom. I watched as S.D.’s right to life, our rights to liberty, and everyone’s rights to be happy were treated with utter disregard.

I am reminded of the saying, “A well-armed populous is the best tool against tyranny.” Well, I am armed. I am armed with the same weapons we should all arm ourselves with: our right to be free – a system of rights that was detonated in front of my very eyes last night. This is a call to arms – this is a call to the populous to arm themselves with the knowledge of freedom; not freedom to burn flags or have abortions, but the freedom to be free. This is a cry to the youth of our nation to stop being treated with such disregard – we are the future and a future without freedom is no future. There is no struggle to be free: FREEDOM IS A STRUGGLE. And I will never stop struggling; I will never lie down, not for an Ox and not for a badge, not after what I saw last night.

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