I took all that in, Jacq, or as much of it as I could. I knew him finally, my old man, and ain’t even matter to me how ashamed he felt cuz of his past, cuz I know every man and woman got they past and the next perfect person will be the first. The only way the old man ever did me wrong was not to let me know him. And then when that wall he had built and maintained came falling down right there in that house in Antioch, it felt like more of my world might make sense. It felt like I could be true to myself, which is all that matters, not no judge, not no jury and po-lice and records and documents and shit.
“You a leader, boy,” he said. “You did that protest. You stood up for your friend, may that child rest in peace.”
“When Miguel got got—”
“Say less,” Momma said. “We know you ain’t kill nobody.”
“These people want me dead, though. That’s why I cain’t turn myself in.”
“Yeah,” Daddy said, “definitely don’t do that shit.”
I caught myself about to laugh and let go his gaze, and all of a sudden, I felt the future arriving. I looked around the living room where we sat and it was so bare. None of his things was there. The loose papers and old notebooks and tapped-out laptops and cardboard and pasteboard and this and that and the other. I seen how much of it was missing and I realized how much I missed the sight of his half-created ideas, the buckets of thoughts spilling everywhere even if they ain’t go nowhere, or at least seldom did. None of it had came with them from Oakland. That father who I never really knew but by his commands was gone, and in his place was this revealed and frail old man. He sat there open to me, and I wanted to praise him and mourn him and mourn the god that died so that I could see the man for who he truly was. I felt the air in the house lose all its tension, like all the smoke and fires that was hawkin’ us was put out with one bucket of water. And I didn’t know whether what I had found in Antioch was better or worse, but I knew for damn sure it wadn’t the same. And it wadn’t just my old man and it wadn’t just the home that was different. I thought about how much I had changed. It had been a long time since I had stood in the old man’s home with his presence my sun, his word my scripture, his rule my law. I realized then that my changes couldn’t be put down to the island or its poison, but that it was a more complicated maturation that had changed me over many years and across many environments, not suddenly, but slowly, into myself.
“I have to leave,” I said.
“To where, though?” Momma asked. She looked out the kitchen window at the unnatural sun, and I followed her eyes into what looked like a whole ’nother world.
“I don’t know,” I answered her. “Out there.”
“The boy gotta lay low, Sherelle. He understands how to move. He needs to get where he can see them but they cain’t see him, where he can speak freely and then say his side.”
I nodded with each word he said.
Soclear Broadcasting Insurgency Alert Desk, Third Bureau*
We come to you from inside First Congregational Church in Alameda, California. As we look in on this rather remarkable and of course altogether tragic sight, you, the viewer at home, can see the processional making its way up the aisle. Dignitaries and the deceased’s family will take up the frontmost pews. Here is Officer Bergen’s wife and their two wonderful young children. American hearts are broken. We’ve all fallen in love with this grieving family. We mourn with them.
Behind the family you see the processional continue: the mayors of Pleasanton, where the Bergen family resides; Oakland, where Officer Bergen, of the Oakland Police Department and of Redwood Homes private security, a subsidiary of Soclear Security, was murdered; and Alameda, where the funeral has begun.
The head of the Fraternal Order of Police, former Allan Creek Township police chief and National Security Administration regional administrator Antonio Marciano, leads the representatives of law enforcement. Here comes the Oakland police chief. Also, all of Officer Bergen’s fellow Oakland beat cops are here. These are the men who patrol our roughest streets and keep the good citizens of this tough town safe day after day and night after night. If you’re hearing some rather passionate cheering in the background, that is because the embattled officer Abel Enriquez is part of that group dressed in full police uniform. Officer Enriquez was involved in a tragic confrontation with an Oakland street thug that precipitated the mob action in front of the Redwood Homes in East Oakland where Officer Bergen was murdered. You can hear the pastor calling the congregants to order, but some things aren’t about law and order, like honoring our brave police officers whether currently serving, under investigation, retired from the force, or fallen in the line of duty.
And now we have the governor entering to a smattering of cheers and jeers. We might not agree with his liberal politics, but it is safe to say that the jeers are in poor taste given the gravity of the moment.
Coming to the stage is Antonio Marciano. You see the congregants rising to applaud Mr. Marciano as he makes his way up to the pulpit. Let’s listen.
“Policing ain’t easy. The thin blue line is the only barrier between the good people of America and the immorality and chaos of the criminal underworld. It is the job of our police force to hold that line with integrity, with justice, and, where necessary, with appropriate force. We keep the people safe from the bad guys, simple as that.
“Colt Bergen graduated from high school, and instead of going the easy route, enrolling in a university and getting blind drunk like the average twenty-year-old, he went in a different direction. Now, in fairness, if I had to listen to the enemies of the state who teach college, I’d probably need to throw back a few shots of tequila on the way to class myself, but that’s beside the point. Colt chose to be police. It was either that or the military, he told me. Either he would serve country or serve community. Colt chose community. He graduated from the academy in good standing and went to work. He was an easy mentee, never slacked off or thought he was too smart to learn from those who went before him. Over the years, he made a name for himself, a true police.
“He never fired a shot in anger, a sign of a policeman that knows both courage and restraint. Was good with the mitts, which is something we see far too little of these days. You want to know how to reduce the number of unjustified police shootings and quell civil unrest? Make sure each newly hired officer is experienced in no-holds-barred hand-to-hand combat before they join the force. We need gym wars in our academies. We need fighters. Officers have to be ready to go up close and personal, not just reach for their gun. Colt was one who was not afraid to handle things with his hands.
“Colt was a hero, no doubt about it, just like every man and woman who wears the uniform, police department or private security. A coward took out a hero. A sick animal took out a hero. It’s an ugly fact. But it’s one that the brave men and women who protect America accept. No, policing ain’t easy. But it’s what we do. And I promise you that the blue line will prevail. May God bless you and may God bless the United States of America.”
You’re hearing thunderous cheering for Mr. Marciano.
Now, proceeding to the pulpit we have Mrs. Colt Bergen and Officer Dondra Blanton. Some moments simply deserve our silence. Mrs. Colt Bergen is exhibiting incredible emotional strength simply to be here today at her husband’s public memorial, let alone to offer us her words. Officer Blanton, I assume, accompanies her for moral support. It seems like Officer Blanton will begin the remarks.
“Ya know, y’all, it’s been a strange few days, a rough few days. Don’t nobody on the force wanna experience this tragedy, but we all know it’s a possibility every time we put on the uniform. That goes without sayin’. But some things that shouldn’t go without sayin’ is that Colt wadn’t no racist and he wadn’t no sexist. He helped train me, a black female, when I came on the force. He was the best mentor a minority could have in this job. Honest, fair, straight shooter. That was Colt.
“Ya know, part of dealing with diversity is being smart enough to understand the
different ways different people from different backgrounds come at you. Some of us like sweet potato pie for Thanksgiving, others of y’all like apple pie. And ain’t nothin’ wrong with either, sugar. Colt was a straight-up corn-fed white boy from the burbs, but if you put in an honest day’s work at his side, you was his brother, you was his sister, no ifs, ands, or buts—and he might could just hook you up with some private sector work. See, it don’t matter the color of your skin, your sexual preference, or your gender. On the force, we all bleed blue. That needs to be put on the record: blue lives do matter.”
“Thank you, Dondra.”
Mrs. Colt Bergen is now taking the mic, beginning to speak.
“All praises to Jesus Christ, my personal Lord and Savior. Only the mistakes are mine. I know there were people in the community who pressured Dondra not to speak, just like there are some people on this side of things that don’t like wives of officers who speak our minds. So I appreciate Dondra from the bottom of my heart.
“I met my husband during our junior year of high school. I remember helping Colt with a few math problems—math was never his strong suit. I was surprised when he asked me to the Christmas dance because I wasn’t a cheerleader or the kind of girl who people praised for her looks. I always considered myself average looking, and guys like Colt aren’t average. But Colt asked me out and I thought, Why not?
“If I was maybe not the closest thing to a supermodel, that didn’t matter to Colt as much as the fact that I had a good heart and a smart head on my shoulders. I think he saw that I was the kind of girl that he could make a life with. Six years ago, I gave birth to our eldest son, Aryan. Then I gave birth to Abyad, our youngest. They are Colt’s greatest contribution to my life and to this world.
“The person who killed my husband was, according to the news reports, barely older than a child. He probably does not know the true meaning or value of life. That ignorance allowed him to commit murder. I don’t know what’s on God’s mind. I don’t presume to understand His ways, why He brings certain people into the world and removes others, or why evil is allowed to flourish in this land. I don’t believe that that young man who killed my husband was intent on murdering Colt Bergen. I think he meant to kill a symbol of something he hated, that he’s learned to hate. Maybe a policeman treated him like he wasn’t a human being, or maybe he just watches the news and sees the instances of unarmed black men who have been killed by officers. Police are not perfect; they are human beings with human imperfections. My husband was human, which means he was fallen. Scripture teaches us that we are all fallen beings, that we all must seek forgiveness and grace. Please, if you can hear my voice, hear this heartbroken plea that we see each other for who we are, one life, one person at a time.
“I want to thank the union. I want to thank Colt’s police chief, his security team at the Redwoods, and all those fellow officers who were honorable in their service to their community, as well as the instructors who trained Colt in the academy, and his high school and grammar school teachers. I want to thank his parents, who accepted me, the child of refugees, who revealed to me the Word of Christ Almighty so that I might be reborn a follower of the one true God and His Son. I am grateful.”
And there she goes, a woman who is the essence of honor, of stoic grace under terrible circumstances. Today, despite her personal tragedy, Mrs. Colt Bergen has risen to the challenge of this terrible moment to mother us all, to tell us as a nation that despite this horror, we as a people will be all right. We still have protectors in this world. We are not truly lost, only finding our way.
And now please rise for the president and CEO of Soclear Security, Inc. Here he is, flanked by heavily armed personnel, at the podium:
“In my executive capacity, it is my honor to address the men and women who wear the badge and protect and serve in both their public and private sector capacities. When Officer Bergen was murdered by a street animal who cloaked himself in political protest, this nation passed a threshold. Law and order came under siege. Police officers came under siege. God and country came under siege. From here forward, I pledge to end the carnage that has beset our urban areas. Here, today, this terrorism comes to an end. The gang violence, drug violence, human trafficking, and animalistic assaults perpetrated on our brave men and women in law enforcement come to an end. Do not believe the fake research from the Marxist university propaganda machines that claims that crime is not skyrocketing. Do not believe them when they tell you that gentrification has changed the demographics of our cities and made them safer. Do not believe them when they tell you that you are safe. You are not safe.
“Our cities are under siege. Gang cartels have made urban America’s streets free-fire zones, where women and children are gunned down in cold blood every day. The murder rate has never been higher. Criminals reign like warlords over slum neighborhoods. Homeless, psychopaths, and sex offenders lurk in the shadows. Immigrants and insurgents use racist, antiwhite activist front groups for their destructive mission. How do we bring an end to this carnage? Gentrification alone cannot end the carnage. Mass incarceration cannot end the carnage. Stop-and-frisk cannot end the carnage. We need a War on Urban America to save America. Only this war can bring peace. Our brave men and women in uniform are trained and prepared to retake America, and they will do just that by any means necessary. We are the great insurgency; with God’s blessing, we will prevail. May God bless you all and may God bless the United States of America.”*✦
Cope:
And may God bless Miguel. Where’s my man’s high-esteemed funeral? That’s what I wanna know. Where’s this CEO and this Fraternal Order of Police joker when it comes to us? Where are they? Where’s the po-lice and the government and these companies when it comes to us? Where are they?
Jacqueline:
Where are you, Cope?
Cope:
I’m where the priced-out, pushed-out, exiled folks is at, Jacq. Where if they don’t kill you or break you, you might just escape to. It cain’t be that everyone who been moved out is living in some homeless camp under a bridge. We cain’t all been moved back to our people in Louisiana. It’s somethin’ else for us out here.
California is named after the myth of an island where black Amazon women and griffins rule, but in reality it’s an island for all of us who nobody but they momma and maybe they daddy love—for all of us who can confess how scared and scarred and fucked up we actually are, and how much and how long we been wanting to get ghost. This island is everywhere that the powers that be done condemned, done put outta sight and sense, which is why they won’t find your boy even if they come lookin’ for me with a candle in daylight.
From your perspective back there in the world, it probably seems hella sad that things went down like they did, but from where I am, the truth is that I gave one life up to get another, just like the Copeland Cane that came before me, na’mean? Except I found the freedom in exile that he’ll never know. All’s I ever wanted was to know the man so I could love him and bury him and be free, and I did that, Jacq.
You know, girl, at first I thought this story was the defense of my character. I was dead set to prove to the people all the reasons that I’m not no monster. But then I realized it don’t even matter what people who don’t know me and won’t never meet me take me to be, not unless they’re sitting on my jury, and seeing as I ain’t tryna turn myself in, a jury’s not in my future no kinda way. I know you believe I can win my case. I don’t, but even if I did, I’d still have to live in this bitch, and how you think I’ma do that? I’m just the rabbit—and the rabbit cain’t win. I’m just the sacrifice, which makes me the executioner, too. And maybe it’s no honor above being chose for the race, your life and death the example, but I for damn sure can think of cooler ways to live and better role models for the young ones out there. So it don’t really matter ’bout me anymore, Jacq.
It’s only in coming to the end that I realize that this story that was mines to tell ain’t mines to keep. I said from jump I w
ould give it up to you and now it’s all yours, to do with what you see fit. I just hope someone out there will listen to it and open up they mind a little more. But America ain’t fittin’ to stand still in a mirror long enough to judge me fair.
Jacqueline:
America can change. I don’t want you to disappear, Cope.
Cope:
Jacq, I ain’t fittin’ to fight these folks forever.
Jacqueline:
I hear you, I hear you. I just want to believe that there’s more for you to do and to be if you work through all this in the courts. I want to believe that America is more than this hate and contradiction and all of these escalating tragedies. I want it to be more, which only means that I want us, all of us, and especially you, not to disappear. Is there more? Are we more?
Cope?
Cope??
*Code 4-1117: As an extension of the right of law enforcement personnel to turn off their body cameras in situations that present as highly dangerous, law enforcement review boards may also hold sealed the footage of all incidents that bring about citizen complaints. This right does not protect against search warrants for said footage in cases where felony charges have been filed against officers or in class action civil suits against police departments and/or their administrators.
The Confession of Copeland Cane Page 32