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The emergence of community policing in the United States
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Waking up everyday to see four, sometimes even five, cop cars driving down my street. The sound of sirens always grew loud as they’d pass by and the lights would peer through my window. As a child, I never understood why the cops were down my street every day. I lived in the south side of Sacramento, California the community there had altered my way of living. My parents coached me that even though things were as they were I should still act as though the matter at hand was important, and that I should care. As I have gotten older I realize that it's my family and others around me that I love me had educated me to respected other In ordinary, I was born, and raised in California. As I was living in California raise in hood were cops
The beating of Rodney King from the Los Angeles Police Department on March 3, 1991 and the Los Angeles riots resulting from the verdict of the police officers on April 29 through May 5, 1992 are events that will never be forgotten. They both evolve around one incident, but there are two sides of ethical deviance: the LAPD and the citizens involved in the L.A. riots. The incident on March 3, 1991 is an event, which the public across the nation has never witnessed. If it weren’t for the random videotaping of the beating that night, society would never know what truly happened to Rodney King. What was even more disturbing is the mentality the LAPD displayed to the public and the details of how this mentality of policing led up to this particular incident. This type of ethical deviance is something the public has not seen since the civil rights era. Little did Chief Gates, the Chief of the Los Angeles Police Department, and the LAPD know what the consequences of their actions would lead to. Moving forward in time to the verdict of those police officers being acquitted of the charges, the public sentiment spiraled into an outrage. The disbelief and shock of the citizens of Los Angeles sparked a mammoth rioting that lasted for six days. The riots led to 53 deaths and the destruction of many building. This is a true but disturbing story uncovering the ethical deviance from the LAPD and the L.A. riots. The two perspectives are from the Rodney King incident are the LAPD and the L.A. riots.
I grew up in Hemet, California in a neighborhood filled with friends that I grew up with. I remembered a lot about my home that I grew up in mostly because I remember details better than most people. I may remember details, but I love looking back on memories I had with my family and friends.
On Tuesday, September 23rd, I had the opportunity to do a ride along with the Takoma Park police department. My ride along was quite interesting. I rode with Officer Carl, a twenty-six-year-old officer who has been with the police department for six months. During the ride along we engaged in so many conversations concerning his work routine, and some the important things to be aware of as a police officer. Officer Carl and I were about the same age group so I felt much comfortable talking to him. Before I went for the ride along I had a different perspective about police work, I thought police work was much amusing and entertaining, but after the ride along with Officer Carl, I have realized that there is much more to police work and it often
Rios describes how patrol officer didn’t really care, or to help these youth. Instead of helping out, law enforcement targeted these young deviant boys. Rios shows us a depth overview of Oakland Police Department. In doing so, he shows us how the miscommunication, and the inequality these law agencies in the inner city ghetto
During that time I went to go visit family in Reno, but For what I think it was a good experience visiting my relatives Who I’ve never even met yet. We went to go to nevada in the early morning, it was a tiring trip but we made it all the way but with a couple stops on the way, but we made there. The relatives I’ve met were my Uncles, Aunties, and couple of cousins I’ve never met But my mom were happy to meet again in such a long time we’ve never seen them.
So last year in my hometown my mom had approached me and told me that we were moving to Fresno. And that I would be moving to a new school. The thought of leaving, scared me and just made me so angry and full of woe. I have stayed in the same place my whole life. It is where I met my closest friends, it is where I had my first steps, it is where I have done everything. And I also had to make new friends which I suck at, and was soo scared to do. I was mostly scared of what everyone would think of me. And just curious about how everything looked and where everything was. And after all that scaredness and anger it finally came, the first day of school. It was time I had to try and make new friends and go to this humongous new high school and try to fit in.
Because of some of the circumstances that make me who I am, it is hard to say I have any one definitive home. Instead, I have had two true homes, ever since I was a young child. What makes this even more of a conundrum is that my homes have always had little in common, even though they are only a few hundred miles apart. Between the big city of Houston, Texas, and the small town of Burns Flat, Oklahoma, I have grown up in two very different towns that relate to one another only in the sense that they have both raised me.
“What should I do? Maybe if I tell them I really don’t want to move to California they’ll change their minds? Maybe it’s too late to change minds since we're already here? Why did we have to move so far?” All these thoughts were popping through my head as I stepped onto the plane, “We’re we really doing this? Were we moving to California?” I keep on thinking about all these things. “What was gonna happen tomorrow at school?” My thoughts were like a highway. The cars were each of my thoughts and the cars were zooming by me over and over again. All I think about is what lies ahead. Tomorrow was my first day at school and I felt like I was gonna puke.
Growing up, my mother lived in a typical two-bedroom home, had a traditional family setting that included a mother, father, and younger sister in a small town. For those reading my story, it might be hard to imagine why a typical middle American family would move to a Commune in California. Let’s start at the beginning. Small town Boise, Idaho in 1953, a cold Sunday morning a church service was to begin at the Owyhee Plaza Hotel, in which like most Sundays, my mother (Barbara) and grandmother (Muriel) headed to church. At the time their church affiliation was with the Church of Religious Science, which they dearly loved. Sitting in hardback chairs and talking before the service, they noticed a visitor who had just walked in. It was out
When my brother first set off for NYU, I had only heard of New York City through glimpses on the television. It was a glittering amalgamation of Broadway, ostentatious skyscrapers, and hotdog carts. Upon visiting however, I was immediately thrown off by its chaoticism. The buildings reached up into the sky, like trees competing for sparse sunlight, and seas of people rose and ebbed with the flow of traffic. It was brash and unrestrained, and I was shocked by such unflinching unfamiliarity. Suburbia had never prepared me for such an experience, yet I found myself entranced. The allure of NYU was in its alien nature, and tempting danger. I could see myself grow here, and grow beyond my current self.
Growing up in a low-income Mexican lifestyle proved to be difficult in my journey to become a successful student. Since I was a kid going into kindergarten, I understood the pain that my parents went through each day to set a better future for me. I knew that going to school was my only opportunity to give my parents and I a happier life. I started school late because of my late birthday and my mom’s excessive worry that I was not ready for school yet. Even though neither me nor my parents knew how to speak English, I felt the sudden urge to fulfill my dream of obtaining an education. I knew that I had to start somewhere to fulfill that dream no matter the ‘impossible’ obstacles I had to overcome.
Bits of episodes of “Cops” flashed through my mental eye. I imagined myself dragged out of my car and thrown to the ground while the officer put his knee into my back and wrestled handcuffs onto my wrists. The effect of his harsh command voice had the effect of pushing me impossibly further down into my seat. I thought, “Jail, and a beating.” I was sure I deserved it. I shakily handed my documents to the officer who started to examine the papers and my driver’s license right there beside my car. After a brief moment, he told me to come sit in his car. I climbed out and asked, dazed, “Which door do you want me to get in?” I was more than a little surprised when he told me to sit in the front passenger’s seat. For a moment I stood next to the officer and I noticed that he was just a little taller than me and maybe fifty or sixty pounds heavier. He had short hair, maybe a military cut. I noticed his name badge, “Officer Paul Munk.” He walked around and slid into his seat to talk to the dispatcher on the radio. He sat in his seat comfortably and seemed to settle down a little as he started conversing with the dispatcher in the choppy quick efficient way police officers and dispatchers talk. As he read her my Arizona driver’s license information, he hesitated
Everyday I get to come home to the fresh smell of homemade food of which my mom cooks. I get to wake up to the bright sun in the morning and the fresh breeze that flows through my long hair. I get to see the mountain view from my bedroom that glows in the distance. I get to go to school and have the opportunity to learn and meet new friends. I get to have a phone that allows me to look up anything that I wish and have answers within seconds. These are things that many people do not think about in America and people don’t realize how many things we take for granted.
For my first nine years, we used to live in a apartment in San Luis, Arizona. An apartment that consisted of three bedrooms, two bathrooms, kitchen and a living room. We were all piled with one and the other. My parents and my two little sister Elizabeth and Jouselyn slept in one room. My older two brothers Carlos and Emilio in another room. My sister Lesly and I slept together in another room. After school my siblings and I would spent most of our time outside. My brothers would roamed around with their bikes, play soccer with the kids next doors, and play videogames in their home. My sisters and I would played with any kid that was outside. We would played hide and seek, tag, collect white garden snails, climbed on trees, and anything else
Have you ever wanted to go somewhere so bad that all you thought about was that one place? In your dreams,your thoughts, and your every move. I would dream that one day I’d be able to go and see all the beautiful lights and buildings in New York City. I would watch the ball drop on new year’s and wish I was seeing it in real life. That’s all I would think about. I was in the middle of Time Square looking up at all the different buildings with all their colorful lights. That's when it all changed.