Control: Something Is Wrong in America Today

I, Dalton Lewis, look at an unfair world: cops killing black people. People then riot and make demonstrations. People then get mad because they defend cops who are trying their hardest to learn how to treat people correctly — and failing.

What do we do? I don’t know. I don’t have any answers to many of the social and political problems of our era. I know that I grew up in an area with mostly white people. I know I live in the suburbs, and I’m sorry about the mistreatment which made many black people have trouble living in the suburbs comfortably. I’ve also known black people in every walk of life, just the same as white people.

Why do we care? Why does one’s skin color make so much difference to people? It’s such a simple thing, race. It’s such a simple divide. Why don’t we treat everyone the same? I don’t understand. Malcolm X is considered a god. He helped people. He believed in standing up for himself and his people. He did the right thing. He wrote an autobiography which shook reality.

I’ve been pulled over by cops for being mentally ill. I remember walking around outside of a gas station or something. This was maybe fifteen years ago, and I lived in Las Vegas. I drove around aimlessly and then stopped and wandered the casinos, rambling to myself in my own head, a figure alone in the depths of the sin that was Las Vegas, living my life, ignored by the world around me, blissfully screaming at the voices in my head, happier and more miserable than at any moment in my life. A cop stopped me.

He asked how I was. I said that I was fine, but I was just having a conversation in my head. The worst thing is: cops trust me, sometimes. I’m nice and polite and kind and white, and they let me get away with anything. I don’t want that. I want to be punished if I do something wrong, and I don’t get that. I get cops that are kind to me and give me a second chance. They aren’t mad at me for being fucking crazy in public. They stand there and ask if I’m okay and are comforted when I say, yes sir, I’m fine.

I didn’t have meds then so I didn’t know what condition that I had. I just knew something was wrong with me. I didn’t know what the problem was. I just knew that I got fired from my jobs and couldn’t pay attention to my friends. That’s all. I didn’t notice anything else wrong with my life. I didn’t know that I was mentally ill.

And what should I think of the friends I’ve had who have died in incidents involving cops? Aaron Furness and Rylan Hooke died in confrontations with the police. They were white, but come on. Something is wrong in America today. Someone needs to educate people. These friends of mine — friends who died — were wonderful people. They didn’t deserve to die. Aaron was the nicest kid in my middle school, a wonderful young man who was ceaselessly kind to every unpopular kid in school. Rylan Hooke was a geek who wanted to be an engineer but struggled in school. He was kind and goofy and a good person. He died way too young. Cops chased his car until it hit a pole. He died because cops are assholes. That’s how my friends died, and cops are nice to me. Total bullshit.

Thanks, and take care, friends.