Quotessence
Home / Topics / Police Brutality Quotes

Police Brutality Quotes

Browse 388 quotes about Police Brutality.

Related topics

Police Brutality Quotes

“The majority of the common people do not realize that calling 911 may result in a stressed out armed police officer that has a range of medical issues and is taking potent prescription drugs being sent to out to them.”

“We cannot know whether our pain is like anybody else's pain until we talk about it. Once we do that, we speak and think in ways cultural and individual. In this country, for example, someone fleeing for his life will think he should call for the police. This is a reasonable way to cope with the threat of pain. But in my country, no one calls for the police, since it is often the police who inflict the pain.”

“I believed strongly in being an engaged citizen and had a certain level of social and political awareness, but my understanding that the struggles of the Civil Rights Movement and its accomplishments shifted during the course of the Obama administration and especially in 2013 when I witnessed the acquittal of George Zimmerman and the attack on voting rights in the state of North Carolina. (Interview with aaihs)”

“If peaceful protesting really worked, the need to peacefully protest would have subsided to almost zero a long time ago! Instead, the thing that has subsided to almost zero are the number of complaints filed against police officers that are actually upheld.”

“Perhaps the police could have shown me more mercy, but their brash confrontation of my rebellion taught me something just as important: the world did not revolve around me. No matter how badly I wanted everything to benefit me and work out in my favor the world did not revolve around, nor conform to, my every fleeting fancy.”

“Don't you believe in nonviolence?' I asked. "'Yes,' said Miss Minnie, 'when the other parties are nonviolent, too. But when I have just come out of a funeral parlor from looking at a little small black boy shot three times by a full-grown cop, I think it is about time I raised my pocketbook and strike at least one blow for freedom.”

“I see the poets, who will write the songs of insurrection generations unborn will read or hear a century from now, words that make them wonder how we could have lived or died this way, how the descendants of slaves still fled and the descendants of slave-catchers still shot them, how we awoke every morning without the blood of the dead sweating from every pore.”

“I woke to the news you were dead. The what arrived before daylight; the how was agony unfolding as I dreaded my way to dusk. Unfolding against my want not to know (but I already knew, have known since I could know): officers, arrest, Black, man, twenty, video, knee, sir, back, dollar, 8, counterfeit, hands, sorry, 46, mama, please, breathe, please! Were you tired George? I feel tired sometimes. America on my neck--my lungs compressed so much they can't expand/contract--”

“To the Po'lice In case you are wondering the answer is yes: you have hurt us. Deeply. Just as you intended: you and those who sent you. You do know by now that you do not send yourself? I imagine your Designers sitting back in the shadows laughing as we weep. Though usually devoid of feeling, they are experiencing a sensation they almost enjoy: they get to witness, by twisted enchantment, dozens of strong black mothers weeping. They planned and nurtured your hatred and fear and focused the kill shot. Then watched you try to explain your innocence on TV. It is entertainment for them. They chuckle and drink Watching you squirm. They have tied you up in a bag of confusion from which you will never escape. It’s true you are white, but you are so fucking poor, and dumb, to boot, they say. A consideration that turns them pink with glee. (They have so many uses planned for the poor, white, and dumb: you would be amazed). You and the weeping mothers have more in common than you might think: the mothers know this. They have known you far longer than you have known them. After centuries, even those in the shadows, your masters, offer little mystery. If you could find your true courage you might risk everything to sit within a circle, surrounded by these women. Their eyes red from weeping, their throats raw. (They might strike you too, who could swear they wouldn’t?) Their sons are dead and it was you who did the deed. Scary enough. But within that enclosure Naked to their grief Is where you must center If you are ever To be freed.”

“this country might have been a pio neer land once. but. there ain’t no mo indians blowing custer’s mind with a different image of america. this country might have needed shoot/ outs/daily/ once. but. there ain’t no mo real/white/ allamerican bad/guys. just. u & me. blk/and un/armed. this country might have been a pion eer land. once. and it still is. check out the falling gun/shells on our blk/tomorrows.”

“Just us and the blues kneeling on a neck with the full weight of a man in blue. Eight minutes and forty-six seconds. In extremis, I can’t breathe gives way to asphyxiation, to giving up this world, and then mama, called to, a call to protest, fire, glass, say their names, say their names, white silence equals violence, the violence of again, a militarized police force teargassing, bullets ricochet, and civil unrest taking it, burning it down. Whatever contracts keep us social compel us now to disorder the disorder. Peace. We’re out to repair the future.”

“Maybe he was reaching out to me through those words, and I let him slip away. I stayed silent. If I had written to him more often, been more honest, would it have helped him work through some of his problems so he wouldn’t have run away from home? Maybe if I tried to find him, I would have. Maybe he wouldn’t have become an addict if someone were there for him. Maybe he wouldn’t have been killed in the street by the police, his death tallied as an improvement to society.”

“From back of the houses, we hear some mother calling her son, the voice edgy on the last syllable, getting frantic. Probably Miz Baker, whose six-foot twelve-year-old got a way of scooting up and down that resembles too much the actions of a runaway bandit to the pigs around here. Mainly, he got the outlaw hue, and running too? Shit, Miz Baker stay frantic.”

“Can a black man succeed today beyond his wildest imagination? Can he experience the so-called American dream? Sure he can! He can overcome bigotry and societal views and ideas that stand in his way. But that doesn’t mean that he, unlike his white counterpart, doesn’t have to rise above adverse societal views and bigotry. . .”

“Should I grab something, start crying and screaming, punch you or one of your detectives? Would that get your attention? Maybe the media would come running! I punch you; you arrest me! The media would be all over that! ‘Crazy black mother punches police captain! Details at eleven!’ I’ll do that if it’ll help me find my daughter! How’s that sound to you?”

“How we treat Sarah Hayes is important. But we must follow up this meeting with a call to action. I do not want to see any innocent citizen, white or black, killed unnecessarily by a police officer. When something like this happens to a black kid, my natural instinct is to say, ‘Thank God it’s not my kid’ or to ask, ‘What if that were my kid?’ Wouldn’t any officer feel the same way if a person of their race was killed?”

“Marcus tries to stay calm for the sake of his family. “I’m not asking. Step out of the damned car!” The officer is becoming unglued. “I’m getting out, damn you, but, here, let me just show you my—” “Don’t reach. Stop!” “I’m getting what you asked for, just going to show you my—” “Put your hands where I can see them!” The officer snarls. “Jesus H. Christ, officer. I’m not—” Thunderous shots ring out, and Marcus slumps away from the dash, back toward the driver’s seat.”

“What made you suspicious of this person?” “He seemed out of place.” “How do you mean?” “He didn’t fit the profile of a resident.” “Was he white or black?” Jones breaks eye contact and stares at the floor. “He was black, sir,” Jones says to the floor. “Thank you, Officer Jones. We’ll be in touch.”