He helped his fellow black brothers and sisters fall into the trap—the trap of the system. He joined the task force to help rid society of criminals. So he joined the bait car unit. At first it was exciting seeing the thieves fall for the trap every time. He felt like a wild animal—predator vs. prey. And he got a rush when he saw the prey land into his trap. The rush had blinded him that he couldn’t see that most of his prey were black.
He had been called an Uncle Tom before, but it was something about the way the two thirteen-year-olds that he had recently arrested said it that made it stuck.
“You fuckin’ Uncle Tom!” one of the thirteen-year-olds said with hatred and disgust in his voice.
So as he sat back and watched he noticed that his fellow race was the ones who fell for the bait more. He didn’t know where he stood with this scenario anymore. Every now and then they caught a white guy or a white woman, but their prey was mostly minorities.
His heart sank every time he heard “We have a black male with a hoodie approaching the bait car.”
He would pray that it would be a Good Samaritan, they’ve came across that sometimes. He would sit back and silently pray that the prey wouldn’t fall for the trap, but they fell for it every time. He started hating his coworkers every time they’ve shown their satisfaction of apprehending another black man. And he hated his self for helping them do it.
He felt the love for his job slowly draining out of him, especially since one of his latest prey was a thirteen-year-old boy. He wanted to serve his community, but who knew that that meant turning on his people.
He was the baiter and he was trapping his own people.