This past Thursday, I did what I always do in the evening and watched the evening news. Over the years I have found that I need to moderate intake of current events, both good and bad, for fear that they may overwhelm me and shut down any consistency that I have in my life. For me, the evening news is the first time that I become aware of the majority of the world, and it’s such a relief to not spend the day toiling in a lot of these controversies that I know would distract me. Even living with anticipation that I will hear something so horrific that it rattles me to my core feels more tolerable because of how I prepare myself for that potential.
So I’m watching the news on Thursday, June 25, and there is one story that happens. A case has been reopened involving the murder of Elijah McClain. The footage plays and I witness the moment for the first time. It’s something that I’ve replayed in my head every day since.
McClain was walking down the street with a ski-mask covering his face. He was on his way from visiting a gas station where he bought iced tea for his brother. Somebody had called the police, claiming that they were concerned about this man in a ski-mask walking around, though they never suggested that he may be dangerous.
The police arrive to handle the situation. McClain acknowledges them before proceeding to reach into his pocket. He’s shutting off his music player, but there is suspicion of worse. As he removed his earbuds, he tries to calm the conversation, fixing any misunderstanding they might have. The issue was that the cops weren’t listening to McClain. They had already made up their mind, choosing to kneel on his back.
All the while McClain is trying to negotiate with the cops, asking them to be kinder to him. As the video continues, a certain phrase rings through. It isn’t just the now painfully common “I can’t breathe,” but one that struck me on a personal level. It was one that overwhelmed me in that moment, making sure that I looked closer:
"I’m an introvert. I’m just different that’s all. I’m so sorry. I don’t have a gun. I don’t do that stuff.”
He was given a sedative that knocked him out. After suffering from resulting respiratory problems, he died on August 24, 2019.
The case was closed until fairly recently. This is largely thanks to groups like Black Lives Matter, who have been vocal in criticizing police brutality. While the deaths of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and Robert Fuller were bad (they’re all bad, actually), there is something about McClain in particular that pains me on a deeper level.
I’ve spent days thinking about those words: “I’m an introvert.” I have never personally met McClain nor do I know much about him except what’s been publicly shared in the past few days. However, there is something I understood immediately in those three words that made him feel familiar, something real.
It becomes more tragic when you consider what the fuller picture presents. He was 23 years old, a massage therapist in Aurora, CO who played violin for cats at the animal shelter during his breaks because he thought they were lonely. From what I gather, his family describes him as a ray of sunshine, capable of making those around him happier for his company.
I’m not saying he was me, but there’s a rough outline of him that I saw in myself. While I cannot speak to being Black or ever being considered someone who looked suspicious, I do recognize internal traits in both of us.
When I was younger, my friends would say that I was quiet. I could be in a room for a half-hour, watching a conversation unfold before anyone realized that I was there. I kept to myself, mostly observing situations until I felt confident that my voice added anything to the moment. I was still smart, intelligent, able to focus on something if it really interested me enough.
Like McClain, I am an introvert. When I walk down the street, I need the stimulation of a podcast in my ears, centering me on the road ahead. While I can travel without sound, it helps me feel focused and relaxed enough that external factors don’t both me. With that said, I like to walk alone and feel strange about the passerby. I’m talking about the person that is walking slow enough that I can cross in front of them. I worry that they think I’ve been stalking them, or that I will hurt them. For something so mundane and ultimately untrue, it fills me with a dread that only I notice, especially if the space of passing is small.
I like walking, but it’s difficult for me to not want to be in a zone. I’m on a quest to and from someplace, and it’s maybe kept me from enjoying the scenery around me.
I can only imagine that McClain was doing the same on that night. He was just wanting to be left alone, pick up a drink, and return home for an uneventful night. He didn’t want to be bothered by those around him, and I sympathize with that aspect. You have your plan, and it’s difficult to want to give that up by these detours as minor as stopping and talking to a stranger, even if all they’re doing is saying that your shoe’s untied.
Then it became clear what else attracted me to McClain’s story. It wasn’t just that he was an introvert. He was a young autistic man. Much like my own struggle to be more than the quiet kid, the ability to always be there socially has been difficult, so an exchange with the cops must be paralyzing. No matter where those lights are directed, a cop car flashing those reds and blues has a chemical change in me. I can feel my body flaring up, especially if it’s from behind.
What I’m about to say should come with a certain preface. In all of these instances, the resulting interaction was uneventful. The people involved behaved professionally and performed their duties within civil law. With that said, it was hard not to see these moments from my own life and connect them to this moment. If I was Black, would these stories have ended similarly? Would I currently have more than fix-it tickets on my record?
The biggest story comes from when I was in my early 20’s. I was driving home from college when I noticed a cop car following behind me. It’s a 50/50 shot that they will pass, but it’s the type of moment where you tense up, stopping way too early at red lights and signaling every chance you get. When I took my first turn, it could’ve been a fluke that they were following me. By the second, those lights went on. Of course, by then I was already planning to stop on the curb, noticing the pattern that I was in trouble.
The routine is straightforward: license and registration. There is one catch, however. I discovered that my glove box was missing the registration. It was a detail that sent me into a panic. I never open that glove box unless I’m doing something important in there, and this wasn’t a special case. As I handed over the license, they left to do their routine.
I panicked some more. I needed some closure on where that registration card was and immediately began to dive into that glove box. Maybe it was stuck in a crack. Maybe it was under the seat. I had trouble believing that it wasn’t in the car. I didn’t want to be punished for this unfortunate piece of negligence. This was my dad’s car.
You can guess how well that went over. By then I was so stuck in my head, needing to find that card. As I looked over, the cop had come back to inform me of the obvious. I was told that I was looking suspicious and that when I dived under the chair, I looked like I was going for “something else.” I can’t remember if I calmed down after that, but I definitely became self-aware of this moment. I didn’t have a gun in the car. That’s not my thing.
But I realized that uncomfortable reality. I don’t think that I’ve had one pull-over that avoided something awkward from me. The first time that I got pulled over around age 19, I pulled into the center divider, believing that he just wanted to pass me by. The most recent time was probably the least eventful. Even then, it ended with me so nervous that I was visibly shaking to the point that the cop asked me what was going on.
If I overthink passing people on the street, imagine these moments where I’m doing everything to not be more guilty than I am. It almost makes me worse, because after the initial transaction, you’re dealing with this stasis where all you must do is sit still. So much can happen in that stasis, and it’s where I get overwhelmed the most because the continuous “What ifs?” begin to emerge, where maybe I get clipped with an additional fine. The aforementioned seat diving is probably the worst example of my behavior.
But they all end the same way. I get my cards back and am excused. It doesn’t get any easier even if I’ve never had an instance that was above fix-it tickets or expired tags. I’m terrible in those conversations because I’m trying to control myself while talking affirmatively. No matter how much I prepare, it never gets easier. Much like calling a new number, I have to overthink every scenario just to feel confident.
Again, I don’t know much about McClain as an individual though he sounds like a person with a good head on his shoulders.
Even then, hearing him cry “I’m an introvert. I am different,” struck me on a personal level. By all accounts, my encounters with cops are far less eventful. I leave them with nothing more than a bruised ego. However, I recognize the desire to panic, becoming overwhelmed by a situation that’s out of your control. You want your wishes to be respected, and the desire to flail as a form of panic is something that I get. I had to be told by cops to calm down on a few occasions. Ironically, there were two separate instances where they used the line “It’s not like you killed someone” as a calming tactic.
So yes, I understand that I am by no means special in how I was treated. If anything, my matters were handled fairly. However, I think of McClain as a human being, someone deserving of basic rights and decency, and notice something scary. It’s being an introvert, an autistic who feels panicked by situations outside of your control. It’s a bit uncomfortable.
The fact that Elijah McClain’s case involves a report that suggested that he was non-threatening only makes it seem all the more bogus. What value was there in restraining him like that? And all of this over an iced tea. Imagine your life being compromised over a menial task like that. It’s not right.
I hope that reopening the case will right some of the wrongs, though clearly, you can’t say the same for McClain’s life. Still, I think it’s a scary reality not only of a police state but the potential for them to not understand how to handle people on the spectrum, who are just minding their business and are forced into anxiety attacks. There has to be a way to not get to that point, though I have no clear answer.
As I have said before about George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and Robert Fuller before I would love Justice for Elijah McClain. This time it isn’t just because they were mistreated. It’s because of something personal that I recognized in him as I do myself. Nobody deserves to be treated that way and I want people to understand introverts ARE different. It doesn’t mean that they’re any more dangerous or worthy of death. They just handle these instances differently than you and are just trying to get out of there in one piece like you. Respect them and they surely will respect you.
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