"...insignia"

This from summer 2020 blog archives. The country was convulsed by the murder of George Floyd. Yet another unarmed Black man killed by police over a minor infraction. He passed a phony $20 dollar bill in a convenience store. Ordinarily a court appearance and fine. So often for Black men small charges means the death penalty. He should not have done it. It was wrong.

But he shouldn’t have been executed.

Once upon a time:

Coming home yesterday I saw my first Federal Marshals. This in my Brooklyn ‘hood in front of our library.  See above. Unlike the sort out on the coast the South Midwest or D.C. These folks had federal insignia. I saw these were legit. Not the phony movie prop “Police” patches worn by mercenary cops.

I chatted with a few. They were reserved, but polite. I asked if there was trouble in the library. They said no but didn’t elaborate. In my centuries of experience with cops. When not being roughed up by them. I’ve found that acknowledging their humanity, and that they’re in an impossible situation can get through the barriers…not always, but sometimes.

I was standing with fellow humans and was concerned for them. 

These were not the figures in the frightful violent videos from around the country this summer. These were real souls I was speaking to. I also noticed the culture of arms they lived by. By their every movement they were protecting each other.

How hard it must be to be a warrior. Worse to be in a war declared or not. From their Esprit de corps I could feel that they would do whatever they had to if ordered. Such for our whole history is the soldier’s lot. I came away from this meeting with a world of mixed feelings. Nothing is simple especially in conflict.  

They were professional reserved, and as say correct...polite. They gave no information and didn’t break ranks. The warrior’s life the ancient culture of arms. I will never understand what they understand.

We must pray for them as we do for all.