While I am certainly blessed at the number of encouraging examples in those employed in various fields of public service during the past year, I have also been an unfortunate witness to several who may need to consider taking a bit of a hiatus. A sabbatical. Time away to think about the path your life has taken and how you view your job and the people who depend on you to help them get away from very perilous circumstances. Time to meditate on how your actions, driven by the inability to see the files you rifle through your hands as the hurt and insecure human beings that seek your help, impact their lives, making things in some circumstances, impossible to overcome.
I am speaking to those who affected my life in such an overwhelming manner. To those in positions of public service responsible for protecting those in your community. You were aware what was happening to my money, and I heard about the jokes you would make to him. You were aware that he was spending the money you gave him on more drugs, trying to act like covering a few months’ rent in return should make me, an innocent bystander, the only one who protested your recruitment of the man who abused me, fall to your feet and do an act of obeisance as though you were Jehovah himself. You who know that I had been present when he was attacked by a relative of someone he helped you arrest. You who had no trouble allowing criminals to come into my home with their dirt, their weapons, and the poison they would sell to their own mother if they could a get dollar out of her in return for a buy. A sale. A case. A promotion and good press. With blatant disregard for my safety, you urged and prodded him, “Go forth my son and conquer them and bring them under your feet and subdue them and present them to us as a sacrifice!” A callous disregard for my safety. For my life. It is the color blue.
You perpetuated the growth of the monster that failed to stay in the shadows. You encouraged his avaricious appetite for drugs, for the streets, and you sacrificed me to the altar you pray at, arrogantly prideful of your achievements. Preaching to the public all the while about “protect and serve” as you auctioned off my dignity one piece of rock at a time. To the highest bidder. To whoever was willing to pay. To whoever got bit by the urge to be big boss on the street. And for his treachery you rewarded him by earnest manipulation every time trouble came his way. You made it disappear. You maneuvered it into non-existence. You bolstered and coerced my silence.
You helped keep me trapped, but I was not your prisoner. You just enabled a brutally sadistic man to be the warden. Handed him carte blanche on a silver platter and acted like you couldn’t see me standing there in disgust, verbally protesting that I did not want this game of yours to intrude upon and take over my life. The hunt was more important. I was fodder. Expendable and unimportant. And you wanted your notoriety.
I have to tell you at this point that, as all worthy informants do, he took your game and added a spin that you were oblivious to. And you thought you were working him? You thought a treacherous man like him wouldn’t speak with a forked tongue to you? My dear, sad, pitiful ones! What you didn’t know was if he could figure it out, he would break a piece of rock off for himself, make the seal looked unbroken, and you were never the wiser. If he got more than what he should have, he kept the extra. When he was not supposed to be using during sales, he was buying rock for you and himself. Telling dealers where they shouldn’t sell. What time of day you work, where the surveillance cameras are, who other informants might be, giving them hints about how to avoid being caught. So he could always have a dealer for himself. So he could always call in favors and hold things over their heads.
He knew that one guy had small children and still left plates of crack and loaded shotguns out in their reach. He knew another bought and sold crack and smoked drugs in the presence of his children. That one who tried to back over me with her car drove around selling with her two-year old daughter, bringing her around to peoples’ homes acting like they are her babysitter so she could smoke on the job. He laughed when the dealer who sold him $200 of wax was shot in the back of the head by the cop during a traffic stop because he thought the dealer was reaching for a gun.
It was because of you and his friends at the ATF that I could not feel secure going to other departments to seek his arrest after I left. Especially not since he is signed up with agencies in at least two counties and three towns. Your buddy, your friend, your blood could do no wrong. You always backed him. The same one who shoved a handful of bullets in my face, terrorized and tormented me. It was because of you, I could not risk my life and do the one thing that would have made this entire year and a half so much easier. If I only could have.
If only I was fawned at and doted upon the way you treat the rats in the streets. Is this what you set out to do when you started so long ago? Sell my safety, my dignity, my respect, and my peace off as though my life was of no concern to you? What is a person like me worth that you would keep your oath in tact instead of selling your soul?