It wasn’t until long after the car had passed, and I had escaped unscathed, that I realized I hadn’t panicked. I remember hearing once that traffic incidents often happen near home, probably because we let our guards down.
Maybe that was in the back of my mind as I rode my scooter, on my street, three houses from my home, and I saw the headlights veering toward me. Cars park along one side of my street, so it’s not unusual for a car to drift farther than necessary. I watched closely though, shifting closer to the sidewalk on my side of the street. The headlights kept coming. The speed was noticeable. I moved even farther to the sidewalk. Then the headlights swerved quickly toward me, then away, and the car passed.
I stopped, letting my scooter lean beneath me toward the sidewalk as I looked at the car, waiting for some sign that the driver was aware. It appeared to run a stop sign and hurry away. After continuing home, and taking stock of what had happened, I realized: I didn’t panic.
It may seem like a silly thing to think about, “did I, or didn’t I, panic, and why, or why not?” But I’m very aware of how much control over my reactions I do or don’t have in situations. As a radio host, I’ve been told I’m uncannily cool under pressure, under deadline, under the constraints of a clock. The fact about radio, though, is whether or not I hit a post (speak within my allotted time) or not, is not a life or death matter. Of course I have pride in my work, a deep work ethic, and a desire to do my best for my listeners, employer, and self.
But that’s not enough to trigger panic.
I recall during my open water SCUBA training that one exercise was to lose your regulator (breathing device) and have to calmly sweep your arm to retrieve it and breathe again. In the same way you lose your mask, and feel around for it, and have to clear out the water and carry on–all while under water. If you struggle too much, you can lose air and stamina quickly, so you have to keep cool. I could’ve panicked during this training, but I didn’t. Some students did, and I remember thinking that I wanted to gain as much knowledge as I could so I wouldn’t easily feel outmatched by the elements.
Often times the stress and drama of life can push us toward instability. We can feel overwhelmed, we can feel outmatched, we can feel out-classed. But if we take a step back, we can see that there is a way forward and a way out. We don’t need to be a deer in the headlights, we can shift and watch and act to get out of the way. We don’t need to gasp for air and grasp toward the surface, we can calmly feel around for the tools we need to recover.
Of course stress is a part of life, and sometimes we have to hold fast through difficult situations. It’s hard.
But it’s even harder if we panic, and harder to use the experience to make it to another day.
Our panelists included a former Turkish judge, and a former Turkish official fired in a consolidation of support by President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, who were to talk about realities in Turkey. What was Turkey like before the coup attempt, before the crackdown on journalists and protesters, before now? Why does it seem Turkey at one point was headed toward the constitutional liberalism of Europe, and even partnership with the E.U., but now seems clearly authoritarian? What is the reality for individuals who don’t agree with Erdoğan, and what does that mean for their security?
The panelists agreed to speak at the event, but demurred at the conversation being recorded, or their names or images publicized. They feared retribution against their families and friends back in Turkey. They feared that speaking openly in a forum on free speech in a Cleveland pub would bring harm and persecution back home.
We had our conversation, and those present could enjoy it, but we agreed not to share details of the event as much and as freely as normal.
And all around the world there is genuine persecution, including imprisonment and death, for the exercising of freedom of expression. But that direct and brutal imposition of censorship is compounded by the fear that causes people to self-censor out of a sense of self-preservation.
This is a reality of the internet that must not be forgotten, that a simple web search of a name might bring attention to someone speaking thousands of miles from a regime looking to suppress an opposition.
Journalists like me are at their core agents of free speech. Ideally, journalists work to promote and share the perspectives and realities of all segments of society. But it’s also sometimes a balance of protecting sources, protecting individuals, while letting the greater public know what’s going-on. I’m not a proponent of excessively allowing anonymity, and indeed think it should be used sparingly.
But sometimes granting that anonymity allows more information about the bigger reality to come through.
The best way to find out how people think about certain things is to talk to them, and listen. That may seem self-evident, especially when coming from a journalist, but it’s not. One of the casualties of the technology race to social media is the ability to read someone’s presentation of themselves and believe you now know their perspective. You don’t. Skimming a Twitter feed or Facebook page gives you nothing more than a snapshot of a moment in that person’s life. If you want to better understand a person’s perspective, you need to connect in a different way.
I don’t want to move, it ain’t about moving. It’s about change—trying to change it, so I won’t be a drive-by incident.
Cleveland has been mentioned among cities like Ferguson, Baltimore, and New York, in the national soul-searching over police-community relations. Heated debates and efforts toward police reform have been spurred by cases like the police shooting of 12-year-old Tamir Rice who had a pellet gun; the death in police custody of Tanisha Anderson who was suffering from mental illness; and the verdict of Patrolman Michael Brelo for firing the final 15 of 137 shots fired by police at a car after a high-speed chase; among others.
The Department of Justice, separately, found Cleveland police in the past to have exhibited a pattern or practice of excessive use of force, leading to a consent decree dictating reforms. The mayor has mentioned that the Division of Police was already modifying its procedures before the agreement, so the process will now have added elements and oversight.
Cleveland had seen a number of protests, legal actions, rallies, funerals, and memorials in the wake of the cases mentioned above, and many that I didn’t mention. By-and-large the gatherings were always peaceful–emotional and passionate, but largely peaceful. Local and state officials had launched various listening tours to talk to the public about community-police relations, which also drew passionate testimony, but I didn’t feel satisfied as a journalist. I had heard many soundbites, but I hadn’t often been able to listen to various stakeholders at-length. I began to wonder if there was a way to speak about many of the cases, issues, concerns, hopes, and fears that Clevelanders were feeling, while still giving a space to explore some of those issues more deeply than to which we’re accustomed.
This is how the Our Land series was born: through a desire to listen longer to more people, all kinds of people, about their views on Cleveland’s police, neighborhoods, and future.
As the series took off, starting in the Cudell neighborhood where Tamir Rice was shot, continuing to the police commander who oversees community policing, and ending up in a public housing development with many, many perspectives, the project was clearly no longer just about community policing. From the very first interviews, I heard concerns about community-police relations, sure, but also about neighborhood cohesion, economic development, gangs, perceptions of an ineffectual political process, and more. A perceived uptick in violent crime, including a string of shootings which led to the deaths of a number of children, all influenced the series’ tone.
Cleveland is sometimes called “The Land” or various nicknames playing off “land,” like “Believeland.” So in naming the series I wanted to emphasize a sense of community, first and foremost. There are many opinions, many perspectives, but Clevelanders are all stakeholders in the future of Cleveland–our land.
The series included video elements, occupied an episode of The Sound of Ideas call-in show, and connected the views of many kinds of Clevelanders with each other. I might hear one thing from a writer, and pose the question to a police commander, or ask a local pastor to comment on it all. And throughout the process the conversations were authentic, respectful, and I believe incredibly relevant and valuable.
In my work as a journalist I’ve found ‘listening’ to be one of the most powerful tools in my toolbox. Some journalists think they need to perfect the art of interrogation and accusatory questioning to gather powerful news material. Those skills have a place.
But so many people I have encountered in various states of distress, or joy, or business, or whatever, just want to be listened to, understood, and have their perspective fairly and accurately conveyed. It may sound like a given, but it’s not as present in modern journalism as it should be. The times we are in with respect to the issue of community-police relations and many others, demand that we up our games. As journalists we need to strive toward careful reporting and authentic depictions of our communities today. And as readers, listeners, and viewers, we must demand higher quality journalism.
We cannot have a dialogue if we instantly turn-off or tune-out views that oppose ours. I hope this series accomplishes at least that–that you don’t want to tune out if you hear something you don’t like. Maybe you want to keep listening, to better understand where that person is coming from. And maybe with that understanding, the path forward might be even a tiny bit easier.