“We’re looking for a suspect,” one of them said. “Yeah, I do,” I said in feigned-ass aplomb. Who a! There stood a phalanx of white dudes in the dim hall, some wearing jackets with insignias, others dressed in plain clothes. Since I believed my apartment building was at least semi-secure, I crept over and answered with only mild anxiety. One lonesome late night in Brooklyn, I sat grading essays in my crib when outside my door I heard a cacophony of gruff voices, a little squad of shuffling feet, and swift seconds later a KABLAMKABLOWKABOOM on my door. So help me, God.”-Slave Patroller’s Oath, North Carolina, 1828 “I, do swear, that I will as searcher for guns, swords, and other weapons among the slaves in my district, faithfully, and as privately as I can, discharge the trust reposed in me as the law directs, to the best of my power.
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