Yesterday, I had an interaction with the police that’s still sitting heavy in my chest. I didn’t film it—honestly, I didn’t think I’d need to. I was coming from a place of peace. I was showing up for our Sunday gathering with the Nomadic Spirit community—our version of church. We talk, eat, smoke, and if the mood strikes, I’ll say something vaguely profound. That’s the vibe.
So when the cops pulled in behind me as I arrived, I didn’t feel immediately targeted. I figured something had gone down. My first thought wasn’t fear—it was hospitality. I told myself I’d make them coffee, bring them into our circle. I want the Nomadic Spirit to be a bridge, not a battleground.
But then it flipped.
The officer walked up and the first words out of his mouth were: “How long are you going to keep this here?” No “hello,” no “what’s going on?” Just straight into confrontation. I’m standing on my own property, mind you. And suddenly I’m supposed to justify my presence.
That’s when the mask comes off. I get angry. I don’t shrink. I don’t retreat. I push back.
What I Know About Policing—and People
My stance on policing has changed since the height of Black Lives Matter. I believe in systemic racism. I believe we judge people by their skin before we see their humanity. I’ve seen it. And yet I also believe that we need to find a way to love our police—because they’re part of our community too. That might sound contradictory, but that’s the complicated truth.
I’ve seen the Black community rely on the police. It’s not just the white suburbs calling 911. But that doesn’t excuse the aggression, the profiling, the power trips.
What happened yesterday reminded me of the Stanford Prison Experiment. Give someone a uniform and authority, and they can become unrecognizable. You don’t need training to become authoritarian—you just need the green light.
The homeless people I love? They get quiet. They disappear when the police show up. They’ve learned to survive by becoming invisible. But I’m not built that way. I get loud. I get angry. I confront. Maybe that’s my privilege talking. But it’s also my wiring.
That House, That Kid, and That Cop
They asked if dead bodies had been found in the condemned house we own. Dead bodies? No. A man was shot once near the yard. But the fact that a cop thought our space was a crime scene—that’s about stigma. That’s about classism. And that’s about how the narrative is shaped before you ever open your mouth.
One of the guys in the house—Aaron—he’s mentally ill. He’s lost toes to frostbite. He throws things out the window. He pees out the window. He’s chaos incarnate. But he’s not dangerous. He’s just abandoned by the system. He gets arrested, pink-slipped, tossed in psych wards—and then dropped back onto the street. What are we supposed to do?
One of the cops asked me if I wanted to press charges. And I could tell—he wanted me to say yes. But no. That’s not going to help Aaron. That’s just another way to warehouse poor people and call it “justice.”
And yet, there was another cop there. One who knew how to speak like a human. Who de-escalated the situation by just being… present. Calm. Real. It’s amazing how powerful that is.
We Need a Better System
At one point I said to them, “You’re the frontline of homelessness, addiction, and mental illness.” And it’s true. We’ve made police officers the default response to every social crisis. It’s unfair to them and to the people they’re sent to confront.
We talked about guns too. Ohio no longer requires a concealed carry permit. The cops didn’t seem bothered. They just want to get guns out of the hands of people who shouldn’t have them. That was an unexpectedly civil moment.
Still, when I told one of them the mayor could “suck my dick,” it broke the tension. Got a laugh. It’s dark humor, but it’s how I survive.
Final Thoughts
I walked away from that encounter shaky. I couldn’t sleep. I was frustrated. I was sad. And I was tired of being in this endless, hopeless dance of confrontation and dehumanization.
Some of these cops genuinely think they’re the good guys. Maybe some are. But the culture they work in is poisoned by authoritarianism and racism. And while I don’t believe every cop is a Nazi—I do believe we have Nazi cops. Especially here in Akron.
But most of all, I believe we’re all trapped in a broken system. And nobody—least of all the most vulnerable—is being helped by it.
So that’s the story. That’s what happened yesterday. I’m still processing it. Maybe writing this helps. Maybe reading it helps you too.
Stay human,
Sage
Here’s the video: