Back in the eighties, my brother was slowly going crazy. A few years after graduating cum laude from Yale, he started having occasional psychotic episodes. I called the police at least three times that I remember, although there may have been more. Other people had to do it a few times, too.
The cops were always very patient and conscious of the delicacy of the situation.
Every time he had an episode, it would take longer and longer for him to come back to reality. Eventually, his psychosis became a virtually permanent condition, only treatable by very heavy medications.
I grew a tremendous respect for the cops because of the care, professionalism and integrity they demonstrated in handling my brother.
I've been arrested twice in the last 15 years at various protests. The last time was at UN disarmament talks. The cops were very good.
I'm white--or, what we call "white." Actually, I'm the same color as everybody else: flesh tone. Plus, my ancestors are from the same continent as everyone else's: Africa.
The squatters in our doorways are holding us all hostage with LANGUAGE, because language governs thought, and consciousness.
We can't save the planet without the revolution of consciousness that opens our eyes to our oneness. I insist the police treat ALL my brothers now with respect, because the police are my brothers, too, from now on. ... like Walt Whitman said ...
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