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In December 2017, as I was wrapping up my graduate studies and was in the final weeks of my pregnancy, I made a legal right turn on red. Almost immediately, I noticed flashing blue lights behind me. I figured I must have committed some minor traffic violation. The officer approached my car, asked for my license and registration, and then began to interrogate me about my presence in the neighborhood. I explained that I was on my way to my internship, but he continued to press me with questions about where I belonged and why I was there, especially since my license was issued from a different city.
In that moment, I wanted to respond with sarcasm, perhaps pointing out that cars are meant to transport people from one place to another. I might have joked about his questioning if I had felt safe, but standing alone on the roadside with my large, prominent pregnancy, I didn’t feel comfortable at all.
The officer accused me of being in the area to buy drugs, and when I pointed to my noticeable pregnancy, he coldly replied, “Pregnant people smoke crack all the time.” My anger surged. I’ve never done drugs, nor do I drink; it baffled me that someone meant to serve and protect could so fundamentally misjudge the situation and harass a visibly pregnant woman.
It was clear he disregarded my explanations. To him, my presence was merely an excuse, and in his mind, I must have been in the area for illicit activities, as that was the stereotype associated with someone like me. He couldn’t comprehend that I—a small, articulate, educated Black woman—might be in a predominantly white area to pursue my education. The reality was, I had done nothing wrong, and he was forced to let me go, although I couldn’t help but wonder if his decision would have been different without the dash cam recording.
As I continued to my internship, he followed closely behind and parked, waiting for me to enter the building. The most frustrating part was that I tried to convince myself that race wasn’t a factor in his behavior. I didn’t want it to be about race. If it was something about how I spoke, I could change that. If it was my driving, I could work on that. Anything other than my race or gender, I could modify. But I couldn’t change who I am.
A kind-hearted colleague noticed the incident and rushed to confront the officer, her face flushed with anger. She told me it was because I was Black. I accepted her words with a nod, brushing off her concern, assuring her I was okay. But I wasn’t okay; I felt a deep hurt and, once again, a sense of not belonging in the country where I was born.
This experience was not new to me. Some days, I find the strength to speak out, while other times, I choose to stay silent for my own safety. It shouldn’t have to be this way. No one should have to worry about their safety based on how quiet they can be or how comfortable they can make others feel.
If you want to read more about experiences like mine or learn more about home insemination, check out this blog post for more insights into family planning. For those exploring pregnancy options, Cryobaby is an excellent resource, and WebMD provides great information on various treatments available.
Potential Search Queries:
- Racial profiling experiences
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In summary, my encounter with racial profiling while pregnant opened my eyes to the harsh realities faced by many individuals. Despite my qualifications and intentions, I was subjected to suspicion and prejudice. This experience is a reminder that our society still has much work to do in addressing racial biases and ensuring safety and respect for everyone, regardless of their background.
Keyphrase: Racial profiling during pregnancy
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