By Abigail Raghunath
In May of 2023, in a small cafeteria at Great Meadows Correctional facility in Great Meadow, New York, a choir of all men sang the words of JJ Hairston’s 2017 record “You deserve it.” Through their chorus, you could feel the brokenness in the atmosphere.
Most of these men have already spent seven years or more in prison; many will never return home. Most of them, in their late 40s, had over 50 years left to serve. Sitting in a small corner of the room, Reginald Cooke, aged 34, Daquan Jones, aged 32, and Cooke’s family ate and waited for the Holy Convocation preacher to begin.
Despite Cooke and Jones living in the same cell block in this maximum security penitentiary, they came from different walks of life. Cooke, my brother, is a half-Indian and half-African American man, who dropped out of high school, received his GED, and grew up in an abusive household with a chronic alcoholic stepfather in South Jamaica, Queens. In contrast, Jones, an African American man, grew up with a widowed mother in Yonkers, graduated from Syracuse University, and served as a US Army Officer.
The one common feature of their stories that influenced their life was how the darker color of their skin shaped their interactions with law enforcement.
Cooke’s Story
Cooke was only 11 years old when he first interacted with the New York Police Department (NYPD). His mother, an Indian Guyanese woman, and father, an African American man, had been separated for about 10 years. His mother remarried to an Indian Guyanese man, who began abusing her about one year into the marriage.
“I was running through the sprinklers in front of our house when I heard my newborn sister crying. I ran inside and saw her crib on the floor and [my] mom’s head dripping with blood. I ran to pick her up and fix the crib. I picked the broom up and ran in front of Mom to cover her,” Cooke said.
At this moment, the innocent veil of Cooke’s childhood was torn. Moments later, the NYPD banged at the downstairs door. One of the neighbors heard the yelling and called the police. Cooke’s mother quickly washed her face and answered. The tension in their home was still high, and Cooke was still angry. With tears streaming down his face, he started pleading for them to arrest his stepfather.
“I don’t remember much. I kind of blanked out; I just remember being on the ground and hearing mom say ‘don’t hurt him’ and ‘stay down, son,'” he said.
This was the first of Cooke’s consistent interactions with the police. For the next 9 years of his life, the officers in his neighborhood would follow him after school over claims that he looked like a thug or a pimp. At 14, some officers in his community stopped and frisked him four times in one week over suspicion of selling marijuana and illegal CDs. Those officers knew his name but he recalled that they would refer to him as “a low-life nigga.” At 16, he’d been manhandled by local officers about six times when they frisked him under claims of selling drugs.
From 2002 to 2013, Michael Bloomberg, New York City’s Mayor, enforced the stop-and-frisk policy designed to reduce the number of illegal weapons or contraband. The policy tasked the NYPD with detaining, questioning, and searching civilians; however, African American and Hispanic communities were disproportionately targeted by the police because of the racial stigmas and stereotypes. The policy reflects a bigger problem that NYC faced: institutional racism.
In 2006, when Cooke was 16, out of the 506,491 NYPD stops reported, 267,468 involved Black individuals (53 percent), and 147,862 were Latinx individuals (29 percent). During this period, 90% of the people stopped were innocent. But, the trauma left on their lives from these interactions continued to build distrust between the NYC public and the NYPD. Many of these stops were humiliating and forceful for people of color.
“They knew I only sold CDs, but every time they stopped me, they told me it was because of drugs. And it was the same officers every time,” he said. “It was like no matter what I did, the police were always chasing me down, like being Black was a crime.”
Jones’ Story
A few miles away, Jones lived with his mother in Yonkers. His father was a firefighter and passed away from cancer when Jones was only 13 years old. Because of his father’s legacy, he was inspired and optimistic to one day grow up and serve his community.
“My old man was everything I wanted to be. He always told me to go to school and stay out of trouble. That’s why I went to Syracuse, and even after this, I wanna see what I can do in my community in his honor,” he said.
Despite the positive influence of Jones’ father, Jones’ skin color prevented him from reaching a safe and secure future. In 2014, Eric Garner, a 43-year-old African American man, was murdered by a NYPD officer in Staten Island, NY. He was put into a chokehold while being arrested over suspicion of selling untaxed single cigarettes. The death of Eric Garner shook young Jones’ life forever. He never thought that something like this could happen so close to home.
“I was already serving in the army when I heard the news. Maybe two or three days later, I got back home. I was so angry, and I went for a walk. I guess I had my pants too low and hoodie on, so an officer stopped me,” Jones said. “The officer searched me, saying I looked like someone they were looking for. I was already mad, and I walked away. Next thing I know, I’m on the ground in handcuffs.”
Jones was dishonorably discharged from the military because of this arrest. He lost all hope for himself because he could not get a job, afford health care, find housing, and receive other services. Eventually, Jones got hired as a chef in a restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen, Manhattan.
“I was excited at first. But, about two months later, I started working the night shifts. Every single night, I kid you not, I got stopped by cops,” he said. “One time, the cops told me they couldn’t tell the difference between me and someone else they were looking for.”
The constant targeting of Jones eventually fostered a strong sense of frustration and insecurity with the NYPD. Finally, he started resisting the NYPD’s request to search him, which resulted in a violent encounter with an officer. Due to this incident, he lost his job again and struggled for about 7 years until he made a choice to participate in an armed robbery.
The US has one of the highest incarcerated populations in the world, with about 1,204,300 people serving time in a US facility. African Americans make up about 37% of the incarcerated population, and African American youth, specifically, are 5 times more likely to be detained or questioned than White American youth. Like Cooke and Jones, many African American men who currently serve time have experienced repeated racial profiling and targeting as youth by their communities’ local officers. These interactions continue to build distrust and normalize violence between African Americans and local authorities that are supposed to protect them. This distrust between African American communities and the police further alienates African Americans because they fear that they will face similar race-related discrimination if they utilize other available community resources. This problem of racial profiling, especially towards African American youth, continues to reproduce a cycle of violence.
Prospects for a Better Future
Today, Cooke has seven years left to serve for a sex offender charge. He was transferred to a medium security facility, Washington Correctional Facility.
“Almost 80% of the people here are under 25 and serving time for gang-related charges. The white kids, the police beat on them worst here and say its ‘cause they wanna be ‘gang bangers’ and act like ‘niggas,’” Cooke said. “The black kids, the police beat on them and accuse them of drugs. Then they take their ID card away so they can’t access any of the resources here, which is illegal. It’s not right, and I’ll report them. I know better; they shouldn’t be doing this to these kids, man.”
In this new facility, he has become an advocate to protect the incarcerated youth from violence within the prison and hopes to continue this advocacy after he finishes his time served. He is currently working on a book to share his story.
“I recognize we do bad when we’re outside, but we were punished when we got sentenced. The police are not supposed to take this into their hands and become a second punishment,” he said.
Jones remains at Great Meadows Correctional Facility and has four years left to serve for an armed robbery charge. Despite the intense restrictions on his freedom, he found his purpose in this prison. He wants to become a teacher for incarcerated individuals after he returns home.
“There’s a sense of respect for one another here, but I see most of my black brothers here do not know how to read or even write. I wanna fight to help bring education reform for incarcerated individuals serving time in maximum security facilities,” Jones said.
Despite these men’s very different backgrounds, their experiences of growing up with darker skin and being targeted by the police have made them feel as if “being black was a crime.” This feeling has been shared amongst many in the African-American community and continues to be a problem in America today. However, these men have used their voices and experiences to empower others facing similar struggles.
Note: Due to the restrictions on incarcerated individuals, the author could not record her interviews, and had to reconstruct quotes from memory. Mr. Jones remains at Great Meadows Correctional Facility. Mr. Cooke has been transferred to the medium-security Washington Correctional Facility. As a result, the author could only conduct follow-up interviews with Mr. Cooke.